#and she rinses and repeats every week

[asvidema]

sometimes i wonder who's testing me

[benechillax]

okay I’ve officially hit terminal burnout for real

[idkhowtopickausername]

I really am going to fail my classes it looks like 😔

[abbytism]

WISHBONE — a. anderson

SUMMARY: Everyone in town seems to catch Abby’s attention but you, and you can’t help but wonder why in a drunken haze. Little did you know Abby has to stop herself from taking you exactly how she wants you every time she sees you, but you’ll see soon enough.

GENERAL WARNINGS: no-outbreak!au, AFAB reader, smut (in part 2), drug use (marijuana), r! and a! are both faded in this, jealous! abby?, endless flirting, some angst, reader cries because of abby, abby babies reader, lots of fluff, a lot of ooey gooey feelings from both reader and abby, some alcohol consumption. I’m a florida girl who wrote this totally imagining countryside florida and cuntry ass! Abby. I love it. I won’t stop with Florida Cowgirl Abby now… i’m addicted… Lmk if I missed anything!

PAIRINGS: Abby Anderson x Afab!Reader

WC: 5.6k

A/N: Ahhhhh!!!! I had so much fun writing this, I randomly just couldn’t sleep for like 2 nights in a row and I’ve been wanting to actually sit down and write this for so long but I’ve had so much writers block lately :( But anyway! I’m back and better than ever. Please send me a bunch of requests for some characters you want to see me write for!! Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy this, reblog, and like!! :) Leave any thoughts 🩶 Pt. 2 coming soon <3

There was a curse put on you.

Or at least that’s the theory you and your friends had convinced yourselves of, because you’d dreamt of her every night for the last four months without ever muttering a word to her. 

Abby Anderson was a paradox. 

She had moved to your quiet, quaint little town six months ago with a group of friends, and the second she arrived, she had two girls on each arm. She was worse than the men you had grown up around, persuading and enchanting the misses to go home with her in two seconds, with nothing but her Cheshire grin and an offer to make their night better than their man at the bar could. The countryside wasn’t exactly full of women-loving ladies, but that changed when Abby arrived. 

Her and her stupid braid and her stupid boots.

Her stupid, big arms that you had seen beat everybody at the bar in arm wrestling. That you had thought of late at night when you were alone. Her stupid, thick thighs that helped her keep her spot as the number one bull rider in your town, mechanical and real. Her stupid, yet perfect, smile seemed to make its way to every pretty girl in town but you. 

You were not jealous-

“You’re so fucking obsessed with her,” interrupted your best friend, Jesse. You had spent weeks trying to convince Jesse that you had not planted this lavender plant just because Abby told him that she had one of your fresh lemon-lavender muffins and loved it. But you both knew it was a lie. Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes and turned around from the beds of your Lavender garden to face him. “What do you want?” You huffed, smacking your gloved hands together to let the soil fall away to the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your amazing best friend who managed to get you the best shot with the girl you’re not-so-secretly in love with?” Jesse scoffed, following behind you as you put your gloves up in your work shed and opened the back door of your house to the kitchen. 

You weren’t sure what was more annoying, the fact that Jesse was right, or the fact that your heartbeat had already started racing before he even told you what he did. “A shot?” you repeated, trying and failing to keep your voice level as you rinsed your hands in the kitchen sink. “With Abby?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re catering the VFW fundraiser this Saturday, right?”

“Uhh.. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to this year?”

“She’ll be there. And I signed you up, so you have no choice.”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Abby goes to VFW fundraisers now?”

“She happens to be volunteering. I signed her up.. she was talking about how she wants to ‘give back’ or whatever.” Jesse made air quotes. “So I figured why not. But giving back is just code for; she’ll be standing behind the beer table all night, flexing her arms and smiling like a goddamn wolf.” You cursed under your breath. Because yeah, of course she’d be there. Of course, she'd be charming old war vets and making every bisexual girl in town drop their drinks and their panties at the same time. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered to Jesse, wiping your hands on a towel. “And you’re gonna wear that blue sundress everyone likes,” he shot back without missing a beat. 

“I am not.”

“You are. You look hot in it.” He was already walking away. “I’ll see you Saturday, lover girl.”

*:·

You hadn’t seen Abby in person since that mechanical bull contest last month, the one where she’d beat the record and high-fived everyone except you, even though you’d made damn sure to stand in her line of sight the entire night. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were just thirsty, and the beer tent was in her direction. That you just happened to be wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks. But you saw it. The way her eyes had skimmed all the pairs of legs filling the room. The way her smirk faltered just slightly when seeing you, before she turned away. Like she wasn’t expecting you to look like that. Like she had to collect herself. You told yourself it meant she was out of your league.

You told yourself that again now, standing in the backroom of the VFW hall with a tray of cornbread in one hand and your heart clenching like a fist in your chest. Because Abby was here. And she was dressed like a real cowboy, not the ones you see in TV, wearing jeans slung low on her hips, boots scuffed, hair braided like always. And that same goddamn smile on her face– but this time, it was for you.

You didn’t see her right away.

Too many people, too much chili, and your hands were full, juggling trays and napkins and people trying to kiss your cheek and ask if you’d brought the peach cobbler this time. But she found you. Of course she did. You were in the back hall, crouched beside a cooler, trying to fish out a bottle of water without knocking over the stack of BBQ trays, when her voice found you like a spotlight. “You always work this hard, Angel?” You looked up and there she was. Abby Anderson, arms crossed, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Braid slung over her shoulder. Grin a little too smug for someone who just watched you almost faceplant into a bag of ice.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” you replied, trying not to sound winded. Or affected. Or like your brain short-circuited at the sight of her in that stupid tight shirt. Or at her harsh voice calling you an angel. “Yeah,” she said, her smile tilting. “I’ve noticed.” She offered you a hand. You stared at it for a beat, then took it. And maybe she pulled a little harder than necessary. Maybe you stumbled. Maybe your palm fit into hers in a way that made your pulse skip.

“I didn’t know you volunteered for stuff like this,” you said once you were both upright.

Abby shrugged, looking around the hall like it was a new world. “First time. Figured I'd give it a shot.” You quirked a brow. “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.” There was a beat, then she added, quieter, “My dad used to take me to these shelters. Animals mostly. We’d clean kennels, feed the strays. I hated it when I was ten. Thought it was gross.” She smiled to herself. “But he loved it. Thought it mattered.” You said nothing at first. Just watched her. Something shifted behind her eyes when she talked about him– soft, unguarded, like a part of her was still that kid with too-big gloves and a grudge against wet dog smell. “He still does it?” you asked gently. She hesitated. “No. He died a couple of years ago.” Your heart thudded. “I’m sorry,” you said. She shrugged again, but it didn’t have the bite it had before. “It’s alright. I think he’d like this. All the weird old men and canned beer and baked beans.” She glanced down at you. “You?”

You blinked. “What about me?”

“What brings you to the land of lukewarm hot dogs and raffle tickets?” You smiled quietly, sad. “My parents used to come every year. My mom was known for her cornbread. My dad thought he was a grill master.” 

“Was he?”

“Not,” you laughed. “But he loved it. They both did.” Abby’s expression shifted. “Are they…”

“Gone,” you said softly. “Car accident. A few years ago.” Silence. “I don’t know… I get you, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.” You expect her to nod and move on. To say “sorry” the way people do when they want the conversation to end. But she doesn’t. She tells you more about her dad, Owen, and how he used to drag her to all kinds of things when she was little. How she hated it. How she pretended she hated the circus and festivals when in reality it was her favorite time of year, and how she pretended she didn’t cry when they left the old dogs behind.

“Now I volunteer ‘cause... I don’t know. Still makes me feel like I’m still doing something with him,” she says. Her voice is quieter now. A little rough. Your heart catches. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur. She shrugs. “You never asked.” That makes you flinch. Because you had, or tried to, in your quiet ways. You’d lingered near her at events, tried to catch her eye at the bar. You’d smiled once, and she hadn’t smiled back. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until she looked at you.

“What?” she asked, head tilting. You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… kind of funny, I guess,” you muttered, giggling. “What is?” You looked down at your hands. “I always thought you hated me.”

There it was. Out loud. The thing that had pressed like a bruise behind your ribs for months.

Abby’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the smirk. Gone was the teasing edge. She stepped in — not close, but closer. Enough to lower her voice. “I don’t hate you,” she said, and her tone made your throat tighten. “Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered. “You’ve talked to everyone else in this town but me.” “I was trying not to,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe herself. “Because when I talk to you, it’s… different.” “Different how?” Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again. “You make me forget how to be smooth,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that.” You stared at her. And suddenly it all made sense. The glances. The way she avoided you. Not indifference — fear. Not disinterested — nerves. You weren’t the only one who felt it. You never had been.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but someone called her name. Someone from the beer table, waving a clipboard. She sighed. “That’s my cue,” she said, stepping back. “And hey…” You looked up. “That peach cobbler’s gonna be hard to beat,” she said, mouth twitching. “But you just might be my favorite thing here.”

You froze.

She smiled, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with your cheeks burning and your heart somewhere near the floor.

Later, you passed each other throughout the night like magnets that never quite touched. In the kitchen, her hand brushed your back as she reached for a crate of cups. You swore you felt it long after she walked away. She smiled at you during cleanup, towel over her shoulder, and you nearly dropped the tray in your hands. You brought her a piece of cake during a lull. She said thank you like it was sacred. You’d bonded. Somehow. Through grief and food, and that thing that always sat quiet and unsaid between you. By the time she found you alone in the kitchen, just you, the peach cobbler, and the hum of old country through the walls, it felt inevitable.

“Hey,” she said when you crossed the kitchen threshold.

It was soft. Curious. You froze mid-step. “Hey,” you managed. She stepped closer, eyes skimming over you. That dress suddenly felt like a terrible mistake and also the best idea you’d ever had. “You made the cobbler?” she asked, gesturing to the pan you were setting down. You nodded. “ And the chilli.” Abby’s smile widened. “You’re dangerous.” That made your breath hitch. You busied yourself with the foil. “You’ll live.” She hummed low in her throat, and god, even that sent heat straight down your spine. For a second, it was just the two of you in the narrow kitchen, the hum of country music floating from the hall, the muffled voices of townspeople laughing over beer and barbecue. Then Abby leaned a hip against the counter and tilted her head.

 “You don’t talk to me much,” she said. 

You blinked.

 “You don’t talk to me much.” She grinned. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.” That did it. You looked up– fully, directly, heart in your throat. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Abby shrugged, that cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re really pretty when you get all flustered. And you don't look at me like everyone else does.” You swallowed. “I don’t?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside you. “You look at me like you see me. And you don’t run.”

You should’ve run. Right then. Out the kitchen door and down the gravel road and straight back to your garden.

Instead, you said, “You don’t scare me.”

And that made her smile for real, wide and bright and terrifying in its own right. “Good,” Abby said. “Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for months.” Her hand brushed yours, knuckles grazing like an accident. Like she was testing something. And maybe she was. Your breath caught, eyes locked on hers, something tight and burning coiled behind your ribs. “You have it,” you said, voice soft and certain. Abby’s smile faltered,  just a flicker. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like you had caught her off guard for once. She stepped in again, close enough to smell the cedar in her shampoo, the salt of her skin. You could see every freckle, every line, every notch of her jaw as it clenched and unclenched.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured. “Slow shit. Talking shit.” You tilted your head. “You’re doing fine.” Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because her hand was already reaching up, slow, careful, and then hovering there, palm open beside your cheek, not quite touching. And right before you leaned into it, right before your lips would’ve met hers, warm and sure and all-consuming, the door swung open.

“Cobbler’s out?” someone shouted from the hall. You jolted back like you'd been electrocuted. Abby’s hand dropped to her side. The moment was shattered, suspended in the thick, charged air between you. 

“I’ll uh– I’ll take this out,” you mumbled, grabbing the tray. Abby didn’t say anything as you left the kitchen.

But you felt her eyes on you the whole way out.

The almost kiss wasn’t sudden. It was the echo of something already decided. It had already started hours before, with soft confessions and shared ghosts. With laughter in the hallway and your knees brushing under the drink table. With the way she looked at you like you weren’t just another girl at the bar. You weren’t. And she wasn’t just some crush.

Not anymore.

*:·

You don’t see her for the rest of the night.

Which, honestly, feels like a personal attack considering how hard it is to breathe after what just happened in that kitchen. You tell yourself you’re grateful for the space. For the break. For the time to cool down. But then you catch yourself standing on your tiptoes near the beer tent, pretending to grab an extra napkin just so you can see if she’s there. You pass the dessert table twice. You even circle the raffle booth, slow and casual, scanning the crowd for her braid, for her arms, for that crooked, cocksure smirk.

Nothing.

She's gone. Or she’s hiding. Or she’s just too busy. You’re trying not to overthink it, truly, when you catch Jesse near the old jukebox in the back, already nursing his third beer and chatting up a girl who graduated high school last summer. You cut in without apology.

“She almost kissed me,” you hiss. He chokes mid-sip. “Jesus. What?” You drag him away from the dancefloor, behind a row of folding chairs no one’s using. “In the kitchen. Right before that idiot from the aux hall came in looking for cobbler.”

Jesse blinks at you, stunned. Then his mouth splits into a slow, gleeful smile. “No fucking way.” You nod. “I’m serious. She said she’d been trying to get my attention. Said she liked how I looked at her.” He whistles low. “Damn. Okay. Big moves, Anderson.” You’re still buzzed with the tension of it, skin prickling from the almost of her hand. Jesse grabs your wrist and grins. “I told you the dress was a good idea.” You laugh despite yourself. Slap on his arm. He catches your hand in return and spins you in a ridiculous mock waltz, and you're both giggling by the end of it, flushed and tipsy and dizzy from everything.

You don’t know that Abby sees it. From across the tent, from behind the beer table she’s been stuck at for the last hour, handing out plastic cups and watching the girl in the blue dress laugh with someone else. You don’t know how her jaw clenches when your fingers stay on Jesse’s arm. How her eyes narrow like a warning shot.

She doesn’t know Jesse is your best friend. That he’s a brother. That he’s the reason she got to see you at all tonight.

She just sees red.

The rest of the night passed with slow agony. You search for her again once it gets late, but she’s nowhere. And by the time you help clean up, your feet aching and your brain spinning from what-could-have-beens, it hits you, she never came back.

*:·

The days drag.

At first, you think it’s a coincidence. Then you think maybe she’s busy. Then, by day four, you realize it’s avoidance. She doesn’t come into the co-op where you work on Tuesdays. Doesn’t ride by the stables on Thursday night like she usually does. You pass by the gym on purpose Friday morning, sunglasses on, pretending to check your phone, and nothing. No sign of her braid. No sign of her boots. And no text. Not that you expected one. But still. 

By the weekend, you’re restless. The buzz from the kitchen moment has curdled into something bitter. Something tight in your throat. So you get dressed. Something stupid and short and flirty. Jesse raises his brow when you meet him at the bar and says, “You’re spiraling, huh?” You are. Obviously. And it’s going okay, kind of. The bar’s crowded and the music’s loud, and you almost forget about her for a second. Until you glance toward the pool tables.

And you see her. She’s standing against the wall. Wearing the same fucking jeans and boots and expression that made you stupid in the first place. Only now, she’s got her arm wrapped around someone else’s waist. A girl. Blonde. Laughing at something Abby just whispered in her ear.

Your stomach drops. Abby leans in closer, hand skimming the hem of the girl's shirt, thumb slipping just beneath it. It feels like being slapped. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Just that the cool air outside stings your skin, and the walk home is slow and silent and awful. Jesse catches up to you on the porch, says your name three times before you look at him.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “You’re crying,” he says softly. “I said I’m fine.” You light a joint on the back steps. You don’t even offer him any. He stays until you tell him to go.

Three more days pass. You tell yourself you're over it. Over her. Then Ellie shows up at your door with that look on her face. “Abby’s a dick,” she says, pushing her way into your kitchen like she owns the place. “You want me to fight her?” You raise a brow. “What?”  

“I saw her. Saturday night. With that girl.” You exhale slowly. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. You cried.” “I was high.” Ellie crosses her arms. “You were heartbroken.” You glare. And then you laugh. Not a real one, something mean and dry. “She didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not. But she wanted to. That’s what makes her an idiot.” You wave her off, already reaching for your lighter. Ellie sighs and disappears down the hallway. You’re halfway through your second joint when there’s a knock at the door. Not polite. Not soft. Someone is angry. You open it expecting Ellie again, maybe pissed that you locked her out. Maybe Jesse is coming to check on you. But it’s her. Abby Anderson. Leaning on the frame like she’s not shaking. Like she didn’t wreck you last weekend and disappear. You blink slowly. “Seriously?” you say. Abby looks like hell. Hair loose, dark circles, eyes bloodshot. Her voice is rough when she speaks. “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend.” You blink again. “What?”

Your stomach flips. You blow out the smoke slowly. Of course, it’s her. You don’t say anything. You just open the door slightly more. Abby stands there looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen her. Hair loose. Face tight. She shifts like she might leave. Then she looks past you, into your living room, and frowns. “You high?” 

You take another drag. “What do you want?”  “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend,” she blurts. You blink. You grab your lighter and hit your joint again as you watch her quizzically.  “At the fundraiser. Jesse. I saw you laughing with him. Thought– fuck.” She scrubs a hand down her face. “I thought you were into him.” 

“You ghosted me,” you say flatly.

She winces. “I know.”

“I waited days.”

“I know.”

“Then I saw you with that girl.”

Abby looks at you like it physically hurts. “I was pissed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” she snaps. “I don’t do this…feelings. This shit. I’m not good at it.” You scoff. “So you made me think I imagined everything.” She’s quiet. You shake your head, stepping back inside. “You should go.” She follows anyway. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Too late.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You blink at her. Abby steps closer. “Since the day I moved here. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t flirt. Didn’t pretend.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that now.” She’s in front of you. Her voice was low. “I’m saying it anyway.” You push past her, but she catches your wrist. You don’t shake her off. You should. “I hated seeing you with him,” she breathes. “It made me crazy. I didn’t know what to do with that.” Your heart is pounding. “And that night at the bar,” she says. “I didn’t even touch her. Not really. I just wanted to see if it would make you jealous.” You stare at her. “That’s fucked,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I was pissed. Jealous. I thought I’d fucked it all up before it even started.” You’re silent. Just watching her. Holding the door half-shut. Then she says it. “I haven’t seen you in days and it’s driving me fucking insane.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Poor you.”

“I thought about coming here a dozen times,” she says. “But I figured I blew it. Then Ellie found me.” You stiffen. “Ellie?” Abby nods, jaw clenched. “Cornered me outside the gym.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“She called me a coward,” Abby says quietly. You lift a brow. “She said I made you cry.” Your stomach drops. “I didn’t know. I swear. I thought you were just mad. That you hated me. That it was over.” She exhales, like it hurts to admit. “But when she said that, when I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t stay away.” You stare at her for a long moment. Then turn, walking back inside. You don’t invite her in. But she follows. Because, of course, she does. 

Ellie had found her that morning. Cornered her between the bench press racks, fury on her face and fire in her voice. “You are a fucking coward. Abby didn’t look up. Kept unwrapping the tape from her fists, slow and tight. “You broke her,” Ellie had said. “She cried. I watched her. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her look like that.” Abby had frozen. Ellie kept going. “You don’t get to play with people like that just because you don’t know what you want.”

“I wasn’t playing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ellie spat. “All that tension, that pining bullshit.. then you ditch her and grope the first blonde with two legs?”

Abby had looked up, finally. “I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh, congrats,” Ellie said, voice dripping with venom. “Medal’s in the mail.” That one stung. And when Ellie finally turned to walk out, she left one last blow. “She waited for you, Abby. She believed in you. Don’t show up again unless you mean it.”

Now she’s here. You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, joint between your fingers, ashtray full. Abby hesitates by the door before she walks in slowly, like it might detonate. You offer the joint without speaking. She takes it. Inhales. Sits beside you like she’s afraid to touch anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Finally, you say, “I thought you didn’t do feelings.” “I don’t,” she says. You glance at her. She looks ruined. “I don’t,” she repeats, voice low. “But I do you.” Your chest caves in a little. She passes the joint back. You take it, hands brushing. “You hurt me,” you say softly.

Abby nods. “I know.” 

“You didn’t even try to explain. Just vanished.”

“I panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

You take another hit. Hold it. Let it burn. Then you ask the thing that’s been rotting you from the inside out, “Was it just flirting?”

“No.”

“Then why her?”

“I wanted to forget,” Abby says. “And I thought if I touched someone else, it’d dull it down. Make it easier.”

“Did it?” You smiled at her condescendingly, a hint of disgust written on your face. “No.” Her voice cracks. “It made it worse.” You stare at her. She’s not even looking at you–not really. Just on the carpet. The joint. Her hands. “I’ve never wanted something slow before,” she says. “Never wanted to earn someone. But you..” Abby turns, finally. Meets your eyes. And it’s like her whole face shatters as she looks back down at the floor in shame. “You make me want to try.” That breaks something in you. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, Abigail! You can’t even fucking look at me! And you think you can just show up after fucking with my brain like that? Did you know that I’ve liked you since the day we met? Did you?” You scowled at her. She shut her eyes and winced at your voice rising out of frustration. “I didn’t know that.” She mutters, grabbing your wrists and trying to get you to relax, and maybe even listen for once.

“But what I do know is that I can’t let go of you, fuck, I dream of you and every corner I turn there’s something or someone there to happily remind me of your existence. Do you know what it’s like to see the one girl you’ve had an interest in, touching a guy who looks at her like she hangs the sky with her existence? Do you even comprehend the beautiful and amazing woman you are? Do you comprehend that when I saw him there… touching you… I just lost it. I thought I lost it all before it even started, sweetheart.” She inches closer. You don’t stop her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night,” she says. 

“How close you were. How soft you looked. How bad I wanted to fuck it up because I knew it’d matter if I didn’t.”

“You still fucked it up,” you whisper.

“I know.”

The silence is so loud it buzzes. She presses her forehead to yours, gently and slowly. “Let me try again.” Your hand finds her jaw. And you kiss her. It’s smoke and apology and everything neither of you could say right. She kisses like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like she’s trying to make up for every hour she wasn’t here. You climb into her lap. Her hands grip your thighs, your waist, your spine. It’s different now, not rushed, not wild. Still desperate, but quietly. You whisper against her mouth, “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “You do. More than I know how to handle.”

“I cried.”

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

You want to scream. You want to hit her. You want to kiss her until your mouth aches. Instead, you say, “You’re a fucking idiot.” She exhales. “I know.” And then you’re kissing her again. It’s rough and messy and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. Her mouth is warm and desperate. Her hands are everywhere. You back into the wall, teeth scraping, fingers in her hair. She groans into your mouth like she’s been starving. She lifts you without warning, and you wrap your legs around her, letting her carry you across the room, and slam you onto the couch. Her mouth trails down your neck, biting, bruising. “You don’t get to fuck this up,” you whisper. “I won’t,” she breathes. She pulls your shirt over your head. Her hands tremble. You don’t say anything. She kisses your collarbone. Your ribs. Whispers something about missing you so bad it ached. She kisses you again. Slower this time. Like she’s not running. Like, she finally gets it. Like, she finally wants to stay. And just before the rest of your clothes come off, before the night turns into everything you both tried to avoid, she murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.” You freeze. And then, slowly, your mouth finds hers.

Not an answer. But not a no. Not even close.

Your legs are still bracketing her lap, your knees pressed to the outside of her thighs, but the weight of everything, the silence, the confession, her... has you trembling. Abby’s hands haven’t moved since she cupped your face, her thumbs now motionless just under your jaw, as if she’s afraid you’ll fall apart the second she lets go.

Maybe she’s not wrong. Because you are falling apart, tears slipping down your cheeks without asking permission, your breath catching, your body caught between heartbreak and want, grief and the dizzying, terrifying bloom of hope. You try to laugh, but it comes out watery and thin. “God,” you whisper, wiping under your eye. “I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” she says immediately, firm, low. “You’re- fuck. You’re everything.”

And there it is again, that softness in her voice. That look in her eyes is like you’re made of something sacred. Like you are the thing worth protecting. You lean forward before you can think too hard about it, pressing your forehead against hers, breath mingling between you. Her braid brushes your arm where it falls over her shoulder, and you feel her chest rise beneath yours. You grab the braid, tugging softly at the hair tie before her hair fell out and slowly unravelled itself. 

Abby looks at you wholeheartedly, running her hair through her hands to make it sit better. You smile at her, “I love you with your hair down.” Abbys hums, almost as if in agreement, before wrapping pieces of your hair around her fingers.  “I don’t know how to say it right,” you whisper. “But I need you to know.” Abby blinks. “Know what?” You let your fingers trace down her jaw. “What you mean to me.” Her breath hitches. She doesn’t speak. So you show her instead. You kiss her. Not desperate, not rushed, but deep. Intentional. Like you want her to feel it in her lungs. Like it’s the only language you speak anymore. Her hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like she’s anchoring herself. You can feel the tension coiled in her, the need just barely restrained. But she’s waiting. For you. You pull back, just enough to look at her. To memorize her face, how wide her eyes are, how vulnerable she looks, mouth parted, skin warm beneath your fingertips.

“I want to give you everything,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her throat bobs. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt softly. “If you’ll let me.” 

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to stretch tight, breathless between you. Then, finally, Abby nods. You tug her shirt over her head, slow, careful, and your fingers follow the path of the fabric as it lifts away. You let your palms map the stretch of her shoulders, the strong slope of her arms, the curve of her waist where muscle meets softness. She’s flushed. Breath heavy. But still watching you, eyes burning like they’re memorizing every second. “God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, and you mean it like a prayer. You lean in and kiss her collarbone, the edge of her jaw, the scar on her shoulder that you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hands cup her face, smooth back her long hair, touch her like you’re trying to say I see you. I want all of you. And Abby, who never lets anyone touch her first, who never sits still for this long, closes her eyes and lets you.

You undress her slowly– your fingers reverent, your mouth never far from her skin. There’s no rush. No frantic pulling. Just quiet gasps, lingering kisses, the kind of touches that feel like worship. And when you finally press your forehead to hers again, bare and tangled and aching with something far too big for words, you whisper, “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to give.” Abby exhales like she’s breaking.

“I want you to take, baby. I want you to take whatever you want or need from me. I want to give you everything, too. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Abby presses gentle kisses onto your shoulders and collarbone as you keep your hands fixated on her neck and face. 

“I want you, Abs. I’ve always wanted you.” 

A/N: ahhhhh i hope you guys enjoyed this first part!! please like, leave future story suggestions, comment, reblog!! and follow if you’d like :) sorry if some of it has typos, i proofread but not the best…. anyway the second part with all the goodies should be out VERY SOON! if you want to be tagged, comment and i’ll add you to the tag list for this fic! 🫶

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

MICROFRACTURE—A quiet crack, invisible but irreversible.

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the roiling clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

“Good morning, Joel,” Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. “Mornin’.”

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

“Loose hinges?” she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. “Mhm.”

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

“You need anything else?” he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

“No, I just...” Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. “I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you.”

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you.”

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. “I know that's not true.”

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “You oughta get inside,” he said instead. “It’s too cold for the kid.”

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the band-aid off a baby.

“Okay. Yes.” She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—“It’s nice to see you around, Joel.”

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

“You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?” Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course not. He adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. “Like dancing?”

“Exactly like,” Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. “Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that.”

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

“There are more pressing matters than romance,” Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

“Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl,” Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm. He was about to lay one on this bitch.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, “Goddamn kid.”

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day, when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. Good for the baby. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

“Ain't my problem.”

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

“Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place.”

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. “Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl.” He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. “Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see.”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. He focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. “Nursery ain’t even done yet.”

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you know that, Joel?”

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. “They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss.”

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. “Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?”

He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start, Ellie.”

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. “You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to act on,” Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. “I helped her out. End of story. Moving on.”

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. “Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?”

Joel’s jaw ticked.

“Yeah,” Ellie added, grinning. “Why’s your face doing that thing?”

Joel frowned. “What thing?”

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. “The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise.”

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. “You could just go over there, you know.”

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. “Oh, c'mon. For what?”

“Dinner,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big.”

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

“We don’t need to be doin’ all that,” he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. “She’s got that nice, big dining room. A sweet bar cart. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party.”

Joel didn’t respond.

“C'mon, man,” Tommy pressed. “What’s stopping you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, “Pass.”

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each. And one scoop in cold water.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Protein powder. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light from the hearth turned her edges golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins, protein powder,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

“Eat,” he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, it wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. It had been two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

“Good with his hands, my ass,” Joel muttered. “What a fuckin' tool.”

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson. In Texas. In this country.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, welling with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like an untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle against her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. He didn’t have the time to name it. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologising, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. “It should fit. My father was a tall man.”

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. “I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste,” she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

“Oh, man,” he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, “Dad, just try it on.”

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; that was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

“Can you pass something to Tommy for me?” she asked, voice soft, controlled. “It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible.”

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, levelling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom-made and still brand-new. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the stitching around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled. "A damn beaut."

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten, when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueller one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed. Dad, eighty-four."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slowly, one after the other, before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel sensed that change, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this baby." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is fantastic."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, plunging deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

It didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking while he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse sealed the space, anchoring Joel in the moment. He clung to that belonging.

“Tommy!” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

“What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. “She really did all this?”

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled as concrete in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams }

[gracie-eilish]

billie x reader SKINCARE SESSION

LIKE SPA DAY AND ALL

-weirdo 💙 (yk who i am now but i’ll still ask anonymously)

spa day🧴🫧

It had been a long, exhausting week, the kind that left both you and Billie craving nothing but each other’s warmth, soft touches, and the promise of a quiet night in. So when Billie leaned against the kitchen counter after dinner, eyes a little tired but twinkling with mischief, and said, “Wanna do a little spa night, babydoll?” you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Only if you do the full routine on me,” you teased, already knowing she’d love the idea.

Her grin was immediate, dimples popping as she pushed off the counter and wrapped her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, baby, you are in for it.”

And just like that, the two of you were setting the mood—candles flickering in the bathroom, your favorite playlist humming softly in the background. Billie pulled you into the shower first, the water already steaming, filling the air with the scent of vanilla and warm amber from your body wash.

The second the water hit her skin, Billie let out a soft sigh, rolling her shoulders like she was already melting into relaxation. “God, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Me too,” you murmured, stepping closer so you could slide your arms around her waist. She was warm and soft against you, slick with water, her fingers immediately finding your hair to massage your scalp in slow, lazy circles.

“Turn around, let me wash your hair,” she whispered, and you obeyed without a second thought.

She took her time, working the shampoo into your roots, her nails scratching lightly in a way that sent shivers down your spine. Your head tipped back into her touch, a hum escaping your throat as she giggled behind you. “Feels good, huh?”

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in her hands.

She rinsed the suds out, careful not to let anything get in your eyes, and then repeated the process with conditioner, running her fingers through the strands with so much care it made your heart squeeze.

“You’re so soft with me,” you murmured, turning back around to face her.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she reached for the loofah, lathering it up before pressing it against your shoulder with a sly smile. “Your turn to be soft with me.”

You took your time, just like she had—gliding the soapy loofah down her arms, over her back, across her stomach, savoring every little breath she let out. Billie was usually the one who took care of you, but you loved moments like this when you could return the favor, make her feel just as cherished as she made you feel.

When you two finished and stepped out, steam clinging to your skin, Billie wrapped you in a fluffy towel before pulling you into her arms. “We are gonna be the softest, coziest people alive after this.”

“Oh my God,” you giggled, pressing your face into her neck.

She led you to the bedroom, where she had already set out everything you’d need—your favorite body lotion, and a little massage oil.

“Lay down, lovey,” she instructed, and you happily flopped onto the bed.

Billie climbed up beside you, straddling your hips before squeezing a bit of the lotion into her hands. The second her palms pressed into your shoulders, you melted.

“Ooh, that’s good,” you sighed as she kneaded at a particularly sore spot.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “Can’t have that.”

She worked her way down your back, her fingers pressing and smoothing, her lips ghosting over your skin between strokes. By the time she got to your lower back, you were practically purring.

“Your turn,” you mumbled sleepily once she finished, rolling over so you could sit up.

Billie let out a dramatic sigh but flopped onto her stomach anyway. “If I must.”

You warmed the lotion in your hands before gliding them over her back, tracing the curve of her spine, tracing down her tattoo, pressing your thumbs into the knots in her shoulders. She let out the sweetest little sighs, her face buried in the pillow, completely at your mercy.

“Love you,” she murmured, voice muffled.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss between her shoulder blades. “Love you more.”

Once you were both thoroughly relaxed and smelling like vanilla and coconut, and cozy in your bathrobes, Billie was tugging you back to the bathroom.

“Okay, now for the most important part—your hair,” she announced, fingers already combing through the damp strands.

You chuckled, letting your head fall back into her hands. “Most important, huh?”

“Duh,” she grinned, reaching for a bottle of hair oil. “I got, like, a million things I wanna try on you.”

She squeezed a few drops of oil into her palms before rubbing them together and gently smoothing it through your hair. Her fingers were slow and deliberate, working the product from root to tip.

“This one’s gonna make it super soft,” she murmured, standing on her tip toes to kiss the top of your head.

Next came a leave-in cream that she massaged into your strands with so much care, like she was sculpting something precious. She twirled a few strands between her fingers, watching how the product settled before nodding in approval.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

Then she reached for the blow dryer, running her fingers through your hair as she dried it, making sure to keep the heat low so it wouldn’t damage your strands. Every so often, she’d fluff up a section and giggle, clearly enjoying herself.

“I should go to beauty school just so I can do this for you professionally,” she teased, ruffling your now-dry hair before reaching for the final step—her secret weapon.

She grabbed a sleek little bottle, spritzing it into the air before smirking down at you.

“Hair perfume. So you smell extra good.”

You raised a brow. “For me to smell good… or for you to smell when I cuddle up to you later?”

Billie’s smirk widened, but she didn’t even try to deny it. “………Yes.”

You laughed as she sprayed a few mists over your hair, fingers gently fluffing it out before she nodded in satisfaction.

“But now, it’s time for the real magic,” she said, tapping your nose with her finger.

“You’ve said that about every step love,” you chuckled. She just hushed you with a finger to your lips before grabbing her skincare.

She started with a gentle cleanser, massaging it into your skin with the tips of her fingers, taking extra care around your cheeks. Making sure to be extra gentle and soft and did she mention, gentle…. (🤪)

“You have the prettiest skin,” she murmured, rinsing your face with a damp cloth.

“That’s only because my superstar girlfriend keeps me up with her routine,” you teased, grinning as she reached for the toner.

She patted it onto your skin before layering on serums, explaining each one as she went—even though she knew you wouldn’t remember half of it. But you loved listening to her talk, watching the way her face lit up when she got into something she was passionate about.

She finished with moisturizer, rubbing a little extra onto your cheeks before leaning in to kiss your nose.

“There. Softest girl in the world.”

“Your turn,” you said, grabbing the cleanser.

She let you pamper her just as much, humming softly as you traced the same careful steps she had just done on you. By the time you finished, your skin was glowing, your muscles loose, and the exhaustion from the week had been completely replaced with pure comfort.

Billie flopped back against the pillows, pulling you with her. You curled into her side, legs tangled, her arms wrapped around you, her nose nuzzling into your freshly perfumed hair.

“Squeaky clean, super soft, and in bed with my favorite person,” she mumbled, voice sleepy and content. “Literally perfect.”

“Mmm, we should do this every week,” you sighed, nuzzling into her.

She chuckled, stroking a hand down your back. “Anything for you, babydoll.”

And just like that, wrapped up in Billie’s warmth, fresh and soft and completely loved, you drifted off into the best sleep you’d had in days.

[katelynnwrites]

Here’s To Hoping You’re Worth All My Time (I Hope You’re Worth My Time) | Lea Schüller

warnings: some swear words, description of migraines in detail

word count: 4451

summary: five months after you and lea break up, you’re convinced you’ll never cross paths with her again. life has a funny way of bringing people back together though.

a/n: realised that if i want to read schülli fics, i have to write them so here we are 😊

The headache started somewhere in the middle of your third class.

Rather gingerly, you rub your temples and try to ignore the pulsing pain. Despite your best efforts, the pain continues to grow till it’s clear that you are going to have one of your full blown migraines.

You get migraines every so often but with have gotten better at managing them over the years. The combination of cutting out caffeine, medication and getting enough sleep have worked so that the truly bad ones, the kind that keeps you incapacitated for hours have become few and far between.

One hasn’t happened for a while and you suppose, with a wince that you were inevitably due for one.

Now that it’s happening though, it is all you can do to text your classmate and tell her you won’t be able to make the rest of your classes.

The bright glare of your phone screen makes your head ache more fiercely. With squinted eyes and more than some difficulty that you read her reply in which she hopes you feel better soon and that she will convey your apologies to the professors.

That being done, you try and fail to focus back on your current class. By the end of it, you are desperate to go home and just lie down with all the lights off.

Normally you would take the bus but today even the thought of it is too much. A ride sharing service would be the quickest way back to your apartment.

The ride itself passes in a blur, nausea has begun to affect you and you spend the twenty minutes back to your apartment concentrating on trying not to throw up.

When the driver drops you off at your apartment, you stutter out a quick thank you before you run up the stairs, taking it two at a time to get to your bathroom.

Just in time too because you gag uncontrollably, whatever is left of your breakfast coming up unpleasantly.

You stay beside the toilet, coughing until your stomach somewhat uneasily settles.

With watering eyes, you stand up shakily to rinse your mouth and then reach for the bottle of Eletriptan that usually sits on the shelf above your sink.

Except that your hand closes around nothing. Your migraine medication isn’t there.

You stare at the empty space uncomprehendingly until it hits you.

It’s at the place where you babysit. Sometimes the parents would pay you extra to stay overnight with their kids when they had late night work functions. Last week you’d stayed over and brought your medication over as a precaution.

The family is nice and you know they would have no problem bringing over your Eletriptan if you asked. The problem is that they are currently on vacation in France.

You can actually picture where you left your bottle of medication. On the counter of their guest bedroom.

Blinking back tears of frustration and pain, you bite your lip. You hadn’t gone through a migraine without medication in years. Especially not one as severe as this.

‘Fuck.’ You say out loud.

‘Fuck.’ You repeat and then do the only thing you can do.

Going into the kitchen, you get a glass of water and take it into your bedroom.

Thankfully, the blinds are already closed so you don’t have to deal with the bright sunlight making your head hurt more than it currently is.

You manage two sips of water and then toe off your shoes, collapsing into bed.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale and inhale, slowly counting to a hundred and then eventually to five hundred.

Everything is okay, you attempt to convince yourself as you start counting from one again.

You ignore the fact that even with your pills, your migraine usually takes an hour to subside. There’s no telling how long it will go on without the medicine.

Another deep breath in and out. Over and over again.

Somewhere in between, you briefly entertain the notion of going to a pharmacy and getting some over the counter migraine medicine instead. But none of that stuff has ever worked for you and even if you are distressed enough to try, you know you are in no condition to leave the house.

At the very least, the fierce ache in your head has not gotten worse. It isn’t better either though. It still feels like someone is stabbing you right between your eyes and god it hurts.

It’s nothing short of excruciating but there is nothing you can do except to keep your eyes closed, remind yourself to keep breathing through the pain and hope for the best.

Then you remember.

You have another bottle of Eletriptan. The one you left at Lea’s place.

Against your will, salty tears slip down your cheeks. Fucking hell.

It’s not as if you can get to it. You’re not able to go over and beg. Even if you are willing to go to that length, your pride would never allow it.

Lea had told you to get out. So you did. The end.

Besides, your ex is probably away for international break or an away game of sorts. The chances are high that she isn’t even in Munich right now.

That’s what you tell yourself as another agonising hour crawls by.

It’s been three hours since you first got back and you don’t know if you can take much more. A particularly harsh throb hits and that makes your decision for you.

With a weak sob, you cave and reach for your phone.

The brightness level is on the lowest setting but the sudden glare still has you scrunching your face in discomfort.

Finding Lea’s contact is as much as you hate it, easy. For some unknown reason, you hadn’t yet been able to bring yourself to delete it.

Tapping on it before you can second guess yourself, you put the call on speaker.

It rings and rings. To the point where you think she won’t answer.

Right when you are ready to admit defeat, a voice comes through, ‘Hello?’

‘Lea?’ You whisper.

‘No sorry, this is Obi. Lea’s not here right now. Can I take a message?’

You hesitate. You remember Obi, Lea’s brunette best friend. She’d been nice to you back when you were dating but telling her that you are practically pleading with Lea for your much needed medicine seems far too personal.

A few seconds of awkward silence pass and then there’s some muffled noise on the other end.

‘Hi it’s Lea. Sorry I took a bit.’

You don’t actually need her to introduce herself. The sound of her voice is etched in your memory, as clear as day.

Pausing again, you wonder if you should really do this. Lea could be stubborn and closed off sometimes but she had never been mean. As bad as things had ended between you both, there is surely no way that the striker’s changed so much that she would be cruel enough to withhold your medication.

That is, if she hadn’t simply thrown it away.

You’re taking too long to decide because the blonde tries again, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

‘It’s me.’ You softly answer.

‘Oh.’

She didn’t sound angry. Or annoyed. You’d take that.

‘I-I’m not interrupting anything am I?’

Your ex exhales quietly, ‘We’re kinda in the middle of a gym session.’

‘Sorry I wouldn’t be calling but I-I really need your help. It’s sort of an emergency.’

You wait for her to reply but nothing comes through.

Then rather steadily she asks, ‘What’s the emergency?’

Swallowing the last of your pride you say, ‘Um…Could you please run back to your place and get something for me?’

‘You want me to leave training the day before a big game to go back to my apartment and get something for you?’ Lea slowly states.

Wincing, you forget she can’t see you and nod. It sounds far worse when she puts it like that. Resignedly, you accept your fate of burying yourself back under your blankets and trying your hardest to sleep this migraine off.

‘You’re right. It’s stupid. I’m sorry for calling, I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll just-’

Lea cuts you off, ‘What is it?’

‘What?’

‘What do you need me to get?

You blink in surprise, ‘My Eletriptan. The migraine medication I take. I left a bottle of it at yours and um, never got it back. I don’t have another one presently and I need it.’

The forward lets out a breath and it is enough to have you wondering what the hell you are doing. Asking your ex that you had a far from amicable break up with, for a favour?

Quickly backtracking once more, you rush out, ‘It’s alright. You don’t have to. I’ll figure something out.’

‘No. It’s okay. You need it. I’m assuming you’re at home?’

‘Yeah.’ You breathe, hardly daring to believe your ears.

‘I’ll be there in half an hour. Lie down and close your eyes in the meantime.’

‘Okay.’ You manage.

It’s all you can get out.

Like Lea had requested, you stay laying down and let your eyes slip close.

They fly open again at the realisation that the blue eyed woman is actually coming over. Your apartment is in dire need of a good tidy up, the stress of the past few weeks, no doubt a factor into today’s pounding headache have left you behind in your cleaning.

Lea will definitely see the state of your place, a sharp contrast to her own which had always been neatly organised in the past. You think about getting up and trying to get rid of some of the mess but even the mere act of sitting up makes your head spin.

So you lie back down and keep your attention on breathing through the pain. The Bayern Munich player is just dropping off your bottle of pills. It’s not like she is going to stick around so why should you care?

Except that you do. You have always cared when it comes to Lea Schüller. Such is your weakness for her.

But any sort of movement has your body protesting so you have no choice but to stay very still, not moving from your spot as you drift in your own head. One deep breath in…and one deep breath out.

Till a soft, ‘Hey.’

You automatically try to sit up, a sharp whimper tumbling from your lips as the resulting pain shoots through your head.

Lea’s hand grabs onto your elbow, steadying you and she murmurs, ‘Take it easy. Just stay where you are alright?’

Forcing your eyes open, you take her in as best you can.

The same brilliant blue eyes, lean athlete’s build and shoulder length blonde hair. Still absolutely gorgeous.

You blink up at her and she asks, ‘How long have you been like this?’

It’s hard to think but you make an effort to do so.

‘Since two this afternoon?’

Lea’s eyes widen and she curses under her breath in her native language.

‘You’ve been like this for practically four hours?’

You make a poor attempt at shrugging, ‘Did you...?’

The striker snaps back into focus, ‘Course.’

She reaches into her jacket pocket and there in her hand, is a very precious bottle of prescription medication.

‘Two right?’ She asks even though she is already shaking the correct dosage out onto her palm.

You simply nod, struck speechless by the fact that she remembers.

The blonde makes sure you are sitting up and then carefully holds out your pills, along with the half drunk glass of water from your nightstand.

Staying upright just long enough to accept the medicine and swallow it with a mouthful of water, you soon lay back down amongst your pillows.

‘Thank you Lea.’ You hoarsely whisper.

‘You’re welcome.’ She says, with an expression you can’t quite place.

The pain in your head pulses but you know that is not the reason why you can’t read her because if you are being honest, she’s always been somewhat of a mystery to you.

Breathing in once, twice and then thrice, you realise that contrary to your earlier expectations, the German woman is not turning to leave right away.

‘I’m really sorry to have bothered you. I hope your game goes well tomorrow.’ You offer eventually.

Lea just keeps looking at you with that same indiscernible gaze.

After a long minute, she replies, ‘Thanks and it’s fine. We were doing my least favourite core workouts anyway.’

The striker glances down at her phone, obviously taking note of the time before she adds, ‘I should be getting back though. Obi can only cover for me for so long.’

‘Right. Sorry again to have pulled you away.’

Still, your ex doesn’t make any move to leave.

Instead, she twists the ring on her index finger around a few times and then says, ‘I’ll come back after the session to check on you. It shouldn’t take more than two hours.’

Your mouth drops open in shock.

‘You don’t need…It’s okay. Once the meds kick in, I’ll be alright. You know that.’

After all, this is not your first migraine that Lea’s experienced. When you were still together, she would put your head in her lap and run her fingers through your hair. It was soothing and calming and the tiny featherlight kisses she used to press to your forehead never failed to make you feel better.

But that was the past and well…you can hardly ask her to do that now.

‘No I do know. It’s just that…you look like shit.’

Lea’s words are blunt and she folds her arms across her chest, blue eyes seeming rather challenging as she continues, ‘You’re going to need actual food coming off this migraine and I’d bet you don’t have anything of the sort lying around here.’

You frown, thinking of the instant noodles that make up your pantry.

It’s the only answer your former girlfriend needs because she repeats more or less of what she’d verbalised earlier, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

‘I’ll be back in less than two hours. In the meantime, try to sleep.’

Then she’s gone. Disappearing just as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Too exhausted to try and figure her and what the fuck has just happened out, you bury your head under a pillow to block it all out.

You know the drill now. To get through a bad migraine, you need to stay very very still. Any movement would do you no good.

Count to a hundred, breathing in and out all the while. Reach five hundred, reset your counting and keep taking in deep breaths.

It takes another hour but slowly, the Eletriptan begins to work. Little by little, the headache recedes till you’re able to slip into a fitful sleep at last.

******

When you wake, your room is much darker than it was earlier. Not even the tiniest hint of sunlight peeks through your blinds.

After a few minutes, you decide that the pounding in your head has subsided enough movement to become feasible once more.

Sitting up warily, you catch sight of the time displayed on your alarm clock.

Abruptly, you remember that Lea has said she was coming back.

Wide awake now, you stop only to throw on a hoodie before opening your bedroom door. Someone is definitely here, you can see that your kitchen light is on.

Before you even get halfway down the hall, you smell something amazing…and familiar.

At the doorway to your kitchen, you pause just to look at Lea for a long moment.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if your migraine had been so bad that you are coming up with new symptoms like hallucinations.

Then you dismiss the thought because food has never smelt so good. Not even in your wildest dreams.

She’s standing with her back to you, stirring a pot of what must be stew, made from her mother’s recipe.

She used to make that for you when you’d had a long day. The ensuing rush of nostalgia has you bracing a hand against the wooden frame of the door.

Your former girlfriend hasn’t physically changed much in the five months you have been apart, bar the new tattoo on her arm. Dressed in Bayern’s signature red training outfit and with her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, she’s still all lean muscle, as tall and terribly attractive as she’s always been.

Now that your migraine has dulled, you are better able to appreciate exactly how stunning she is.

You watch her biceps flex as she begins to cut up some greens.

It was those well built arms that you had first fallen in love with. Not because of how fine a figure it gave her but because of how safe you had felt when she’d held you in them.

That’s all irrelevant now, swept to the side due to a more pressing issue. The one that is Lea Schüller standing in your kitchen.

Opening and closing your mouth, you manage to stutter out, ‘W-What are you doing?’

To her credit, the blonde doesn’t flinch.

Her voice is soft but sure when she answers without turning around, ‘Making dinner.’

‘I can see that…but why?’

‘Because you always feel like crap when you don’t have proper food coming off one of your migraines. The one you were having looked especially bad too.’

Two thoughts occur simultaneously. One, is Lea taking care of you? Two, what does this mean?

Detaching yourself from the kitchen doorway, you try to play off the way your heart rate is speeding up. Your head is spinning again, this time because of confusion instead of the headache.

‘You could have just dropped off takeout.’

Now, Lea deigns to look at you, stopping her cooking. Her eyes stay on you as she searches for something you don’t know.

She’s seemingly satisfied after a moment.

‘But I didn't, so here I am.’ She says evenly.

You don’t know how to answer that so you close the remaining distance to your little breakfast counter and take a seat there.

The German woman resumes her cooking and you find yourself questioning her ability to look so composed. How is she looking so at ease here, cooking stew in your kitchen, looking for all the world like the past five months hadn’t happened? Like you two had never broken up?

Neither of you speak again till dinner is ready.

You fetch bowls and spoons from your cupboard, Lea serves both portions.

Setting your bowl in front of you, the Bayern player sits down across from you for the first time in- well, five months.

Then she looks up, blue eyes that are as clear as crystals, meeting yours.

‘Lea…what are you really doing here?’ You barely audibly murmur.

The striker sighs, pushing her bowl away from her and leaning back into her seat.

‘The truth?’

After a long drawn out silence in which she runs her thumb along the handle of her spoon, a restless gesture of hers and you resist the urge to reach across the tabletop to soothe it, Lea admits, ‘I missed you.’

You let her words sink in, trying to work out how you feel about them. Lea had missed you. That means something doesn’t it? Do you want that to mean something?

The answer to that, is so obvious that you can’t lie to yourself. Of course you want it to mean something. You’ve missed Lea like crazy. Every single day since the split.

Your former girlfriend sets her spoon down, gaze downcast as she mumbles, ‘I should leave.’

‘No!’ You start to shake your head, then gasp at the pain that flares up when you do.

Massaging the sides of your temple, you say, ‘Please don’t go. Lea, I-I missed you too.’

A quiet puff of air leaves the blonde, ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d…moved on.’

‘From you?’ Your laugh comes out a touch bitter.

‘I didn’t. I couldn’t.’

Then a thought strikes you and you glance at the German woman furtively, ‘Did you move on?’

Lea blinks as if she had not expected you to ask.

‘I’m here aren’t I?’

Part of you wants to say, ‘Well…for five, nearly six months, you weren’t.’

The Bayern Munich player must sense it because she softens, ‘No. There hasn’t been anyone since. You’re…you. I don’t think there is any getting over you.’

You didn’t know how much you’d been afraid of a different answer till Lea said that. Actually, afraid doesn’t quite cover it, terrified would be a better description.

Relief courses through you so powerfully that you feel lightheaded with the intensity of it.

With how heavy the air is now, you force yourself to pick up your spoon and start on the stew. The last thing you need is to do something stupid like tell Lea you’re still head over heels in love with her.

The blonde takes the cue that you’re done talking for now and the only sound in the room is the clinking of spoons against the bowls.

As expected, the stew is delicious. It had always been your favourite even though Lea never made a meal that you didn’t like.

Like she knows you are thinking about her, the German woman glances up from her bowl, catching your eye and then smiling.

It’s a soft, gentle smile. Reminiscent of old times. Lea making you both dinner, Lea taking care of you after one of your migraines, Lea just being…there. Just constantly there, by your side and looking at you like she never wants to be anywhere else.

You wonder if this is going somewhere. Is this an olive branch or just closure?

Before you know it, your spoon is scraping the bottom of your bowl. The warmth and saltiness of the stew have done wonders and you feel much better.

Lea can see it too because she says, ‘There’s more in the pot if you’d like.’

With a small noise of thanks, you fill up your bowl with a second helping.

Sitting back down, you stir the stew around for a moment and watch the steam rise.

Tentatively, you ask, ‘How’s the football going?’

‘It’s good. The team is doing good. How’s university?’

‘Same. I’m just starting to look for job openings for after my graduation.’

Lea fiddles with her ring, ‘Are you still thinking about teaching?’

‘That’s lovely. It’ll suit you.’

‘I’m pretty sure I want to teach kindergarten.’ You elaborate.

The blonde nods, ‘That suits you too.’

You two fall silent again.

Biting your lip, you try to come up with something to say. It’s strange, almost sad how awkward things feel now. Once upon a time, you had been so comfortable with each other. You’d been open with Lea in ways you never had been with anyone else. It was mutual.

Have things changed so much? Is it possible for a way back?

‘Lea?’

‘Yes?’

‘I just…’ You stop messing around with your food, forcing yourself to look at her properly.

‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the things I said. The last time we saw each other, I said a lot of cruel and awful things that I shouldn’t have. I did not mean them and I’m really sorry.’

Lea puts her spoon down, ‘I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one who said things she didn’t mean.’

Her words are genuine, you can see it in the bright blue of her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you blurt out, ‘I still love you Lea. I wish we’d never broken up.’

Surprise colours Lea’s pretty features.

‘I wish we’d never broken up either. There’s not been a day where I stopped loving you.’

‘Oh.’ You breathe.

The forward goes on, ‘Letting things end after our argument was a mistake. A huge mistake, mostly on my part. I wanted to call. I should have called.’

‘I’m not blameless…I wanted to call too but you were so angry. I-I thought you didn’t want me to call. I thought that you’d never want to hear from me again.’

Lea rests her elbows on the table, leaning closer to you. Your heart begins to beat more quickly, you’re certain you aren’t misreading the flicker of hope in her expression.

Swallowing hard, the German woman murmurs, ‘You called today.’

‘I did. You dropped everything to come over. Made me dinner too.’

Blushing lightly, Lea murmurs, ‘I was sort of trying to make a grand gesture.’

You smile, ‘It worked.’

Lea begins to grin, ‘It did?’

Almost like she can’t help herself she asks, ‘Do you think…Can we give us another try?’

A hundred things rush through your mind. Happiness and relief blooms in your chest.

Eagerly, you say, ‘I’d like that.’

Lea’s smile begins to take on a giddy edge and she reaches an open hand out across the table.

You take it without a split second’s hesitation.

Lea closes her fingers around yours, gaze alight with affection and pure contentment. It is a look you’d never thought you’d see again and it fills you with a sunshine like warmth.

‘Finish eating my love.’ She finally says, gently letting go of your hand.

The term of endearment causes a tingle of joy to spread through you. Enough so that you don’t stop smiling for the rest of the meal.

When you’re both done, Lea washes and you dry. She flicks some soapy water at you, her giggles filling the space.

You’d missed it. You’d missed her. You tell her so and she pulls you into her arms.

Her chin rests on your shoulder and she whispers, ‘I missed you every single second of every fucking day.’

You breathe in her smell, taking comfort in it and the safety of her arms once again.

‘Let’s never do that again.’

‘Deal.’ Lea promises.

Then she seals it with a kiss and oh my…you’d forgotten what it was like to be in heaven.

Lea’s lips are incredibly soft, the kiss slow and sweet. It’s everything and more, better than you’d remembered.

When you both part, there’s a single tear making its way down your cheek.

In a tender gesture, Lea wipes it off with the pad of her thumb.

A small relieved laugh escapes her, ‘I think we’re going to be okay.’

You pull her even closer, mouth quirking upwards against your lover’s lips because you know now that you’re never going to let her go again. This is going to work, you’d do your damndest to make sure of it.

‘I think we’re going to be more than okay.’

[tqlepatia]

GRAYSON! SHERIFF × ENFORCER! READER.

notes: im baack! Just a little idea that was on my my mind the few last days

summary: It begins with you frustrated over braid takedown caused by helmet pressure, but Grayson lovingly steps in to help.

You're grumbling in the mirror, tugging at the edge of a braid as your helmet sits discarded on the counter like it betrayed you.

"I look like a balloon," you mutter, scowling at your puffed roots. Grayson leans in the doorway with a crooked smile, arms crossed. "You look like my wife," she says, walking over. "Big head or not, babe."

She comes up behind you, rests her chin on your shoulder, and watches your hands fumble with a stubborn braid. "Let me," she murmurs, taking over without waiting for your pride to speak.

Her fingers are slower than yours but gentler, easing through the strands. "Not your fault, dear. That damn helmet's got no mercy."

You sigh and huff every few seconds, muttering about tight corners, long shifts, and braid frizz. Grayson just keeps working her way down the back of your head, section by section.

By the time she finishes undoing the last braid, you're leaned back against her chest, exhaling like you've just clocked out for the week.

Grayson presses a kiss to your temple and strokes your scalp with her knuckles. "Alright, babe, done this step"

She parts your hair into neat sections while you sit between her legs on the couch, a towel over your shoulders. "These coils deserve their own rank," she says, running oil through your scalp. You hum, tired but grateful.

As she detangles, you flinch once-more from habit than pain and she immediately pauses. Her thumb smooths along the top of your head.

"shiit, im sorry dear" she murmurs, You nod, and she resumes, slow and tender like she's handling gold.

She puts the conditioner in like she's learned the steps by heart, smoothing each section down with patience that still surprises you. You lean into her thighs and close your eyes.

While the deep conditioner sets, she wraps your hair in a warm towel and brings you tea-your favorite mug, too. She sits on the edge of the tub, watching you sip. "The prettiest woman in the world." she says, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone.

When she rinses the conditioner out, she cups your forehead with one hand and runs the water down carefully with the other, keeping it from your eyes. Her brows furrow in concentration.

"Should've been a damn hairdresser," she mutters, earning a soft laugh from you.

She doesn't just apply your leave-in-she emulsifies it first like you told her, rubbing it between her hands before pressing it into each coil.

"Like this, right babe?" she asks. You nod, quiet and relaxed. She kisses your damp curls before moving on. Grayson has learned not to rake or rough up your hair -she scrunches, pulses product in gently, exactly how you like.

Diffuser in hand, she squints at the buttons like she's defusing a bomb. "Low heat, low speed," she repeats under her breath. You grin.

You sit still while she moves section by section, diffusing each curl with care. Her free hand strokes your shoulder occasionally, grounding you in silence. "You are the love of my life" she says suddenly. It's simple, quiet. Your chest softens.

She turns off the diffuser and examines your hair like an art piece. "Defined," she murmurs, fluffing gently at the roots. "Voluminous," she adds, voice lower.

You smile, raising an eyebrow. "And married," she finishes, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Once your hair is fully dried and fluffed, she helps you clean up-carefully wiping the counter, packing your creams back in their little drawer.

Then you tug her shirt like a signal, "Babe," you mumble, already smiling, "let's watch some vlogs on the tv."

Grayson sighs dramatically, but she's already queuing up your favorite channel. "Alright, dear. But only if I get to hold the snacks."

"Can we watch the travel couple again?" you ask, eyes hopeful. Grayson grins, already reaching for the remote. "You read my mind, babe."

You curl up together, her arm around you and your head resting on her shoulder.

She knows your favorite vlogs by now-turns on the one where they walk through some market you've both bookmarked for "someday."

You hum contentedly as her fingers trace soft circles on your arm.

The screen glows softly in the dark room as you eat the last of the snacks she brought.

Your hair is fluffy, your skin warm, and your body calm for once. She kisses your temple.

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @katarandaa, @starrycherie, @moonshimegf , @watermelonshine, @zombieeepup, @laviannasfanfics, @windytulips, @genderfluidlesbain999 . @graciedollie ( honour mention)

[marysoncrost]

𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

Apollo(Blood Of Zeus)/Reader

NSWF!

First part!

Unexpectedly and unpleasantly, she found herself the owner of a body she didn't desire. Entering into harsh situations with even harsher outcomes, she ends up in a place where she's found by a man.

He was in search of another nymph with whom he desired to indulge, as his current life, while passionate and lively, brought him no pleasure at all. Therefore, stumbling upon a small and strange creature in the body of a young woman caught his attention, appealing to his tastes a bit too strongly.

Pressing her palm against the wet pomegranate peel, she moved her hand to clean it of dirt. Concentrating all her attention on cleaning the pomegranates in the lake, she tried to ignore the reflection of the young woman before her. Although she could say that the woman in front of her was similar in appearance, she didn't really think so, and looking at someone else's face that you found yourself in was simply unpleasant.

She didn't know how it happened; all the sleepless nights spent in contemplation didn't help, causing apathy for her lost life. What scared her most was that the old memories didn't become clearer; on the contrary, everything in her memory seemed more and more blurry.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she set the pomegranate into the shallow water, into a basket she had woven herself, to pick up a new fruit. Starting to carefully wash it, she repeated her actions once again. For a moment, she was stopped by the sound of splashing water, realizing that she was no longer alone in the lake. Maybe this would have alarmed her before, but now she just ignored it. Despite the hot sun rays strongly heating her back, the gaze of the one behind her was so intense that it burned. The cool lake water didn't help her cool down, but pride didn't allow her to lift her head and look back.

—Phos.— pronounced a gentle male voice. It might have evoked some emotions if not for the fact that she did not understand a single word. This was his nickname for her, given from the first days they met. Although she didn't know the meaning of these words, she just accepted them as given, since she didn't know the name of the woman whose body her mind inhabited. She didn't intend to reveal her name; maybe it was for the best - he didn't need to know the name of the one who would soon leave.

The movement of the other in the water became louder as he approached her, and the small waves he created while walking lightly hit her back. Approaching her, it seemed she didn't care - not a single muscle twitched when he stood at his full height behind her, casting his shadow over her body. Finishing with the second pomegranate, she intentionally acted slower to observe the behavior of the reflection of the big man behind her, ready to throw the fruit in his face if he dared to touch her. She didn't know exactly how much time she had spent here - maybe more than a few days, a couple of weeks, or even months - but it was enough to study the inhuman man she had to come to terms with bitterly.

—So lately, you've been showing a bit of resistance towards me and accepting more of my gifts. I'm not lying, this pleases me.— the voice calmly pronounced, squatting behind next to her, but maintaining a small distance between them so as not to force her to get up and leave. Her face wore a neutral expression, especially when he spoke words in a language she wasn't destined to understand. It seemed foolish to her that he was trying to talk to her, knowing that for her it was just a usual combination of sounds.

Calmly sitting in the water, one cleans the fruits while the other attentively watches as she rinses the dirt off with her hands and then returns the fruit to the basket. Feeling a breath toward her face, reflexively she turned her head towards where the man had approached a little closer to her. His eyes carefully watched her facial expression, as if studying every detail, wrinkle, and scar. It was one of the things she noticed he liked to do, causing her discomfort as she always responded to his gaze by looking into the eyes with a golden iris. Perhaps she would have been flattered by such attention from a visually appealing man if the body belonged to her, but now everything showed that he liked the appearance of someone she wasn't.

—Apollo.— she pronounced the name of the god with a heavy breath, trying to fend him off and let him know not to come too close. Watching as the large figure of Apollo didn't move, seeing how he placed his palm on his chin to hold his head in place while his knee pressed into the water. The light ends of his hair became wet as they fell into the water, and the white fabric wrapped around his hips was already transparent, not hiding the darkened skin beneath that was deliberately covered. The first time she had witnessed this, feelings of awkwardness and shame lingered with her for a few days, but only recently had she been trying to show her indifference. Especially when her light-colored clothes were also in less-than-perfect condition due to the water.

Turning her head towards her reflection, she grabbed a new fruit, but her ears attentively listened as a pleasant smirk escaped his lips.

—So paradoxical, it makes you until now the interested human pursuit that I have..— she won't lie to herself - it sounds very beautiful from his lips, but his nature spoils the whole picture. He justifies all the stories she studied in her teenage years, instead of lessons at school, but knowing his ''loving" side strains her. Before she ended up here, she briefly became fascinated with Greek mythology a few years ago, when she was very young. She studied the stories of the Greek gods to conclude that they are quite vicious with dirty deeds. This is just one of the reasons why she is so unhappy that he is too often nearby for her taste, but she is forced to endure it.

As soon as she finished washing the fruits, she reached for the basket to grab it, but the big hand was faster. Raising an eyebrow, she momentarily lifted her head to see the self-satisfied smile of the god, she just stood up and walked towards the shore, ignoring the cheerful sounds of the god. Feeling the sand under her feet, she stood up and looked around, feeling a big body bump into her, but knowing that he was doing it intentionally. Even though a slight irritation, it didn't make her stop admiring the amazing nature around her. The trees and plants make this place magical.

The only thing that bothers her is the absence of wildlife. There isn't a single soul, birds don't sing, animals don't run, insects don't eat plants, and fish don't swim in the lake. All this makes her wonder how she managed to get here if ordinary creatures can't. A big palm rested on her shoulder, and a male voice became slightly concerned, but not enough to say that he was worried about her. She moved away from him, shaking her shoulder to sit on the ground and lean her back against the tree.

After looking up at the sky, she expected the basket to fall at her feet, and she was not wrong. Bringing her knees closer to herself, she leaned over to pick up an orange from the basket. Taking the fruit in both hands, she drove two large fingers inside to tear the peel. Juice streamed down her palms, leaving a sticky trail, but it didn't stop her from continuing to read, paying no attention to it. Tossing the peeled skin onto the grass, she separated one segment and reached out, expecting someone to quickly take it. However, after a few seconds, she looked up and silently asked what had happened, seeing a blank expression on her face. Her body tensed as she realized her clothes were sticking to her body because of water, and she sitting on the dirty ground, which only exacerbated her position is from the realization that she will then need to wash her clothes again after this.

—Well, so be it.— she muttered quietly, even if he didn't understand a word. Although it sounded a bit unusual due to the strong accent she had never had before. Slowly lowering her hand to her face, but felt a segment of orange burst from her hand, to which she surrendered, continuing to tear it apart. Hearing the sound of a strike against a tree, she noticed a large golden bow that was behind Apollo's back. Quickly returning to the orange, she put one segment in her mouth, crushing it with her teeth and feeling the sweet-sour juice spreading on her tongue. Trying to enjoy the taste, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree until memories of the first day of her stay here began to haunt her again. Frowning with a displeased, she still didn't open her eyes, immersing herself in painful memories.

Everything happened too quickly, so much so that she still couldn't fully comprehend what she had just done. In an instant, it was as if she woke up from a massive headache, opening her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar place, with a heavy body lying above her. Understanding the man's motives immediately, she began to resist, but he proved stronger.

A surprise was evident on his face, quickly replaced by a sinister smile as his rough hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer to him. The rough skin on his hands was calloused, scratching her delicate skin through the thin fabric, and an unpleasant feeling twisted in her stomach. The man muttered something, but she didn't understand a word, which made her ponder about another possible language. His dialect and speech style were completely strange and new, and the only thing confirming his bad intentions was his actions and tone.

She tried to push his hands away, but it elicited nothing but grumbling. She attempted to scream but couldn't, so she twisted her head to see anything that could help in the situation. Next to her head, she saw a rock with fresh bloodstains and immediately, using all her strength, reached for it. The man pushed the fabric aside to free himself and pressed against her abdomen.

In one moment, her eyes caught a nauseating sight, and then, with force, she struck the man's head with the rock. When he released her, she immediately kicked his body away with her feet and, rising to her knees, struck him again with the rock, this time with both hands, before he could recover. The man's head fell onto her lower leg, and she quickly grabbed it with thin fingers, pushing the weight away from her. As she did so, she quickly inspected the man's position that caused her harm and saw an open crack in the skull, through which something began to seep along with crimson fluid.

She couldn't hold it back; stomach acid erupted from her mouth and nose, burning her throat and nostrils, splashing onto the man's head and her knees. Her eyes caught how the nausea mixed with the man's blood, seeping into the crack in his skull, triggering a fresh wave of vomiting. She had to exert all her strength to distract herself and move away from the body lying in front of her to stand up, though it was difficult for her. So she reached for support, stretching her arms.

Her fingers grabbed onto the bark of a tree she managed to find, slowly rising to her feet. Surveying her surroundings more fully now, she noticed the long figures of trees nearby and realized she was next to a forest, as there was an open expanse before her where distant lights of houses flickered. Squinting in the darkness, she realized that the houses looked unconventional and most likely not part of a small village. With only the moon and stars as her source of illumination, she couldn't see much detail, so she lowered her head and inspected her body.

Realizing that the cold night air cut through, as she was practically naked except for dirty fabric because of the dirt from the ground and blood on top, which was so thin that it was see-through.

Feeling the hot liquid scorching her delicate cheek, she let out an unfamiliar whimper and collapsed into hysteria. She didn't recognize her voice, which left her puzzled as liquid snot began to trickle from her nostrils, running down her lips to her chin. Burying her face into the tree, pressing her forehead against the hard and uneven bark so tightly that she feared indentations would appear. At this moment, she didn't care; she tried to recall how she could have ended up here, but nothing came to mind. It seemed her memories were absent, only a small part of someone and something from her life remained, but it couldn't explain how she ended up here with a stranger and in a strange setting.

However, distant sounds halted her despair, forcing her to turn her head towards the village. A small figure screamed aggressively, holding something emitting fire in its hands, but she couldn't say exactly what it was, as panic began to overwhelm her. Especially when more of the same figures appeared beside it, their screams sounding not friendly, making her realize her predicament. As the lights began to move towards her direction, she quickly tore herself away from the tree, casting one last glance at the man she had killed with a stone before sprinting straight into the depths of the forest.

With swift steps, without looking back, she ran as fast as she could, without stopping for a second. Her breath became heavy due to her blocked nose, and now, due to the running, she began to breathe more intensively through her mouth, causing the cold air she inhaled to feel like knives in her lungs.

Fear and adrenaline overcame any pain that was there; her vision was blurred from the excessive moisture in her eyes. Hot tears burned her delicate cheek skin, mixing with snot as they landed on her swollen lips, leaving a salty taste on her tongue. Stepping quickly barefoot on dry, sharp grass, she stepped on small stones and twigs, each time causing more pain to run further. Despite the unpleasant stickiness and moisture on her face, she couldn't wipe the blood flowing from her forehead, not when her hands were covered in someone else's blood.

Her ears caught distant rough voices, men's voices, which made her body tremble. The only goal now was to run wherever her eyes could see to save herself, even when her muscles painfully pricked and her knees refused to move straight. She grabbed onto a tree, forcing herself forward until she reached the cliff. Her eyes spotted a river ahead, which didn't seem too deep to offer even a little safety, but the sounds of approaching footsteps strained her body every second. Realizing how close her fate was, she was torn between the unknown and swift death.

Deciding not to wait for the best in the future, the people in the forest were chasing her not out of good intentions. Although she didn't understand the words shouted by the people, she was sure there was aggression in them, especially when she possibly killed one of the residents. This person could have been respectful, possibly with a family, and in their eyes, she could have been seen as a killer who replaced and killed. After all, when she used a stone to strike, it was already covered in blood, and the intense pain in her head and blood on her scalp were likely evidence that before this strange situation, she had fought with a rapist.

Perhaps that's why no one reacted to her screams, especially since the screams of that man elicited a quick response. Fearing the terrible fate that might await her if she stayed, she moved towards the edge with trembling knees. But her body seemed not to listen to her, ignoring her, but when she turned her head towards the source of the cracking branches, she saw the approach of lights. There was an expression of pure fear on her face, her eyes wide open and her lips tightly pressed together. An unpleasant churning sensation arose in her stomach, and she grabbed it, pressing her hands against it and staining the fabric with blood even more.

She quickly returned to the edge of the cliff, where the wind was making the waves mercilessly crash, and then turned back to the approaching crowd of people through the forest. Closing her eyes and pressing her eyelids tightly together, she took a small step back towards the cliff; on the next step, she felt the absence of ground, which made her muscles tense.

The sound of a snap made her quickly open her eyes and look down, and in a second, she felt a sharp pain in her ankle. A long, thin wooden arrow under her feet almost pierced her leg, cutting through skin and muscle, instantly drawing blood. The pain reflexively made her step back, causing her to fall from the cliff, not realizing until she felt the air rushing past her body. A loud cry of desperation erupted from her throat as she instinctively tried to grasp onto something with her hands, but it was all in vain, especially when her back hit the water swiftly.

She immediately closed her mouth, feeling the water entering her ears and nostrils. With her hands reaching for the light, moving them to avoid drowning, the water painfully stung her eyes. She thought things couldn't get any worse, but fate today continued to unpleasantly surprise her, plunging her into madness. She wanted to live, so ignoring the pain from the wounds on her scalp and ankle, she tried to swim, even when she felt there was nothing left to breathe.

She managed to lift her head out of the freshwater, already feeling the waves pushing her harder, but her ability to see was hindered by the water constantly hitting her face, and it was difficult to hear because of the water slamming her ears. Now she was in the hands of nature, hoping for mercy for the pain she had endured. But the sharp blow to her already painful wound showed that no one was going to show mercy, and the great fatigue didn't help her cope with the situation.

Despite her weakness, she weakly continued to fight the water, the waves hindering her vision and breathing. Her hand grabbed onto a large branch behind her, which further intensified her headache, but realizing that in this situation she had no one to trust except the lifeless object. Extending her arms forward and pressing them to her chest, she helplessly hit her cheek against the rough and prickly surface of the branch, but due to fatigue and significant blood loss, she was more concerned about how tiredness overwhelmed her, and her eyes began to betrayingly close.

Trying to cough and spit out the water, she felt her strength leaving her, and she wanted to cling to the branch. Quiet groans accompanied the closing of her eyelids, and her mind began to shut down, and the only thing she hoped for was that she would wake up later.

A gentle hand lay on her cheek, stroking the sensitive skin with its thumb. But the touch was so light and careful that it seemed unreal. Through closed eyelids, she saw a bright light but couldn't open her eyes to see who was touching her. The gentle voice was so quiet, it sounded like a whisper trying to soothe her, yet there was a hint of guilt in it.

—Get up, they're waiting for you…— She frowned, as the strange but gentle voice felt familiar, yet even in her foggy memories, she couldn't recall this person. Reaching out to grab the wrist of the one holding her cheeks to ask a few questions, she found nothing when her hand reached the face. The touch remained ghostly on her skin. Hearing a light shuffle, she felt irritation, even opening her lips to complain, but nothing came out. Placing her hands on her chest, she decided to surrender, simply allowing everything to unfold.

—I know this may be… unpleasant for you,— the voice said with each word sounding increasingly sorrowful, yet it made her realize that the words were understood. Whatever was said made her recall events leading up to this moment. Unaware of herself, her face easily yielded to the gentle touches.

—I would love to stay with you for just a second longer, but someone already demands your attention…— Words spoken caused her to clench her teeth, her thin fingers gripping the sheets. This greatly alarmed her, even though she didn't fully grasp the meaning. However, the sadness in the voice caused pain in her rapidly beating heart. There was something important in that voice, making her worry, but also feel embarrassed about not being able to see what was before her, likely responsible for the terrible situation.

—I'm very sorry, but I have to ask something of you…— A sour expression appeared on her face, feeling her lips press together, eliciting a slight chuckle from her interlocutor. But there was nothing joyful in the light laughter, and the following words only confirmed it.

—Please, make it so we never meet again.—

This is my first fanfiction in two years, as well as my first fanfiction in this format and with this word count. Despite my efforts, I can't vouch for the quality, as I'm sure I've made a few mistakes unnoticed by myself.

Also, I'll mention that I planned for Apollo to speak in Ancient Greek, as the main character shouldn't understand him. However, I realized it would be cumbersome and boring for you.

[holyparadisenightmare]

It had only been a few days since your partner left for their business trip, but you were already going stir crazy. You were spending the whole day tempering your ravenous, insatiable libido. Every inch of you boiled. Toys refused to satisfy.

Climbing into the shower, it was hard not to be turned on just looking at yourself. Your erect nipples, idle playthings for your horny mind. Minutes in and all that work cleaning yourself would be undone. So you'd rinse and repeat.

In your room you found your partner's favourite set of lingerie: a matching set of black, lacey panties and a bra. It had only been a few days since you last wore them, but you could already feel yourself spill out more than usual. What were once large, but perky tits were now heavy hanging breasts that sat snug, snugger than usual, in that delicate fabric.

Nights turned to days as you roamed your house alone. But it wasn't long before your concerns were vindicated. Your breasts had gotten larger. In fact, they continued to grow. Veins pushed their way to the surface as the skin around your tits stretched thinner.

But it wasn't the only thing growing.

You honestly thought it was just bloat. Anxious that a few days of unaccompanied eating and wanking had you gaining weight, your belly surged forward from where you were used to. But after two weeks and the bloat refusing to pass, you knew more was going on.

Throwing on a sports bra, you tried to hide your growing tits and belly. A grey, oversized tracksuit followed over and with a pair of sunglasses the look was complete as you venture out into the world to find some clarity.

You arrived at a pharmacy. The woman at the counter greeted you as you walked in. You smiled politely but bit your lip as you saw her. She was short, a little shorter than you, chunky with a black bob. Thick in all the right ways.

Terrified, you tried to hide your arrousal and your belly.

You smiled back and asked "Can i get a pregnancy test?" your words fell away as your mumble through the last of your sentence.

"I'm sorry, i didn't quite catch that." She said with a smile that said 'i heard you but I want to make you say it out loud.'

Your face was bright red. The woman behind the counter carelessly looking you over like a piece of meat. "A pregnancy test. I need one." You conceed, pointing past her to the display behind the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry miss." She snarked, reaching back to grab one, "I didn't think someone so far along would needs that."

Your face and pussy burnt. "H-how dare you!" You half moan at her, looking around to see if anyone had heard. You were both alone.

But before you could break into a full tyrade, you looked down at yourself for the first time since you stepped into the store. You had grown since the drive here. And you were huge. The sweat shirt did nothing to hide your size, the front pulled taught by the size of your growing belly.

You cried, "Oh my god!" Before running... well, waddling to the bathroom. You tripped and stumbled as you adjusted to your new centre of gravity. You locked the door behind you and peeled back your slowly shrinking sweat shirt.

You looked full term. 9 months pregnant. Your belly button had popped. Your ass had widened, and your belly grew so naturally from your plump form you wondered how you had ever looked without it.

As you raised your shirt to reveal yourself your hand brushed against your breasts. Its swollen flesh threatened to spill out and over your tight sports bra. You carefully pulled the bra up and over, careful not to put too much pressure on your very sore breasts. Regardless, each nipple slowly trickled beads of milk down your body.

Your pussy craved satisfaction. It ate at you, filling your mind with fog. You were one part petrified, but 9 parts severely turned on. And what little scared you onlu turnes you on more. What if someone caught you?

With a hand you slid up and squeezes one of your engorged breasts. Milk splattered across the mirror. You moaned as you watched your reflection play with herself.

But a knock at the door brought you crashing back to earth. "Ma'am?" The clerk called from behind the door.

"Y-yeah?" Your voice hinted at the pleasure you're so desperate to return to.

"I hate to bother you. But that stall is for paying customers only. And, like I said. I dont think you need this test."

"I can't come out right now." You said back.

"Do you need help?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

You hesitsted for a moment.

"Can you get some oil, some napkins and a clean shirt? I'll pay for them!"

You could hear her voice catch at the strangle request. "O-Okay?"

Eventually she returned. You unlocked the door a crack and let her pass the items through. But in the corner of your eye, in the reflection of the window, you see her face looking back. She saw you, tits, belly and all. Her face turned bright red as she slams the backroom door shut.

Flustered your deslerately scramble to clean yourself up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You hurridly cry.

Her voice turned into a long and uncertain "uuuhhhhh" as she tried to find the words to describe how she's feeling. "The ummm. The bathroom is kinda gross. Did yo-did you want to use the staff room?" She finally utters. "Its just me here. Perfectly safe."

You sigh. Tired, hungry and heavy, and in desperste need of being milked, you agree. Slipping the white shirt she gave you on, you couldn't deny it left little to the imagination.

Quickly you open the door and slip awkwardly through the pharmacy. Your belly and tits swinging as you do. The wet stains around your nipples getting larger, revealing your dark areolas underneath. After what felt like an eternity of exposure you cross the threshold and slip into the backroom of the store. The clerk quickly closing in behind.

She pulls up a large office chair and gestures you to sit down. You happil oblige, resting your monsterous belly on your lap and your leaking breasts on your belly. The sigh of relief came involentarily as you thank her.

Her smile turned from carring to ceniving as she locks the door behind her. "Now we're alone, I need you to take that top off."

"E-excuse m-me?"

The pharmacist drops down to her knees and begins kissing your enormous belly. "Big girl, you're going nowhere like this. I heard the noises you made. And i know you think i'm cute. Come on." She says, lifting your struggling shirt and sweezing oil into her hands. "Be a good girl for me."

You couldn't help but yelp at her touch, but something about her stern stare made you melt. Between your partner being gone and your sudden pregnancy, you were keen for something certain. Your body relaxed as she went.

She lifted your shirt off completely and exposed your collosal breasts. Rounded, swolen with milk, yet so large they flopped to either side of your mamoth belly. Pinned beneath it, stuck in this chair, the pharmacist had her way with you.

She dragged a tongue up your belly, around your breasts, lapping up stray milk. She sent shivered down your spine. Thrulls of pleasure followed too as she latched onto your swolen nipple. She sucked. Your nipples, raw and wanting, felt a wash of instant relief as you felt your warm milk release from its prison.

Your stray hand reached low, past your belly, in search of your pussy. You were dripping wet. You dove deep into yourself to lube up your finger and began rubbing your clit. You moaned as the gorgeous woman sucked away at your breasts, still rubbing lotion on your belly.

You quickly fell into the pit of pleasure. Your pace was steady and you begged her to keep going. With your other hand you took hold of your spare and swollen tit and squeezed. A yelp jumped from your lips. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your sprayed milk across the back room.

It wasn't long before the pleasure built to a breaking point. You tried to hunch forward but your belly got in the way. You let go of your tit and gripped the desk beside you as hard as you could as you reach climax.

For the first time in weeks you finally felt satisfied. Panting and sweating you look over at your new friend with a greatful smile. She returns the feeling.

But as you stand to leave your legs give out. Not just regular jelly legs, you look down and realise you've only gotten larger. Your belly stretches out to your knees, and your breasts fall down by your side. You can see them swelling with fresh milk. Your thighs have grown and your fat ass is stuck in the chair.

You look up helplessly at the pharmacist as she kneels down between your legs and vanished behind your belly.

[kumkaniudaku]

Finals

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 7.8k

MASTERLIST

Asia felt like home. 

When he was 21 and standing in a line of his sister's bridesmaids listening to her tie the knot in front of God, family, and friends, he heard his new brother-in-law say the phrase in his vows. Melody feels like home. At the time, Kelvin thought it was made up mushy bullshit you say to fluff up dramatic speeches. His jaded heart was fresh off another half-assed attempt at a relationship and felt like love, let alone marriage, was all a sham. It didn't exist. No one was meant to find one person and devote a portion of their lives to staying together. Especially not him. 

Each time love came knocking, he'd open his heart for quick formalities and empty gestures but never let the emotion stick around too long. He wasn't looking for a long-term house guest or anything concrete to keep him stuck in one place for too long. Temporary arrangements as he floated from city to city looking for elusive satisfaction kept him detached enough. Never get too comfortable. Adapt to keep the peace. Play the game. Rinse. Move. Repeat. 

Then, love visited on a rainy Friday night at a grungy bar bearing housewarming gifts. Two dazzling brown eyes brightened up the place. A pretty smile added some warmth to his cold nights alone. A shared love for 90s sitcoms put color on once-blank emotional walls. An off-kilter sense of humor added permanent laughter to a heart that had only known the sound in spurts. Asia turned his house into a home. Finally, he understood what his brother-in-law meant on that warm summer afternoon. 

Part of Kelvin wanted to call Damian and thank him for giving him language to understand his feelings. Most of him, the part that would miss Asia's back rise and fall in bed beside him as city lights streamed through his bedroom window, just wanted to enjoy the time left in their unlikely fairytale. 

They made a promise to ease out of their short-lived relationship at dinner on Valentine's Day. After an awkward first course colored by silence and timid glances, Kelvin broached the topic with a joke about the server's pompous faux-Italian accent. 

"Little by little," He offered as a solution to the disorienting whiplash of a swift, clean break when the very nature of their time together was fast and furious. "We got four weeks to make a move. No need to rush." 

No rush yielded no forward progress in two weeks. Asia's fluffy turquoise towels still mixed with his black set on laundry day. Her favorite mug hadn't left its home near all the others in the cupboard. She still hadn't emptied her drawer in the bathroom or at the top of his dresser. And, at night, when the world crept to a stop, Asia still crawled into bed next to Kelvin to rest. 

So much for creating separation. 

With fourteen days left to get it right, Kelvin watched Asia mix and mingle in a crowd of his favorite current and former coworkers, trying and failing to find an easy way to restart a necessary process. 

News of Kelvin's departure brought out a small start-up payroll worth of people to wish him well in his next chapter. Asia had tricked him into showing up, lying about Ty and the gang wanting to catch up, only to walk him into a surprise party full of familiar faces. He did his due diligence to shake every hand and smile for every picture until the thrill of seeing everyone wore off and sent him into a corner to observe.

Applause in the private back room of a downtown pizzeria pulled his attention away from Asia nursing a cocktail across the way to focus on Savannah commanding the room with her glass in the air. 

"Where's Kel," she shouted, craning her neck until she spotted him alone. "Kel! Come over here! It's time for a toast!"

All eyes fell on him and his awkward shuffle to the front of the room. Asia straightened from her slouched seated position, watching for any signs of discomfort. Three weeks ago, she would've joined him. Second nature would've pulled her away from the plush velvet stool at the bar to stand by his side while a room full of people waited for him to deliver some witty banter and heartfelt remarks. Now, though, she forced herself to avoid Savannah's eye contact silently begging her to come take her rightful place. 

Kelvin chuckled at the swell of voices chanting, 'Speech! Speech! Speech!' before finally giving in to the noise. "Uh, shit," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "If this is, like, a primer for my funeral, I'm not doin' that bad, I guess." Pockets of low laughter rippled throughout the crowd, settling into silence as he continued. "This last couple weeks have been tough, I'm not gonna lie. Out of all the places I've been and people I've met, you guys and this city have made the biggest impression on me. So, thanks for that."  

Stiff whiskey left a bite on Asia's tongue as she threw back the last of her drink and raised her hand for another. In fourteen days, she vowed to turn over a new leaf and leave her old friend alcohol behind. Tonight, she needed all she could safely get.

"I'm trying to…I don't know…come to terms with the end. It's tough. I love this place, you know? I love a lot of y'all." As a chorus of 'awws' broke out, Kelvin looked over at Asia, swearing he could see a thin veil of tears coating her eyes under the neon sign above her head. She offered a half smile before looking down at her knees. "Anyway, this is probably the coolest a lot of your lives will get, and for that, I'm sure you're grateful. If you're ever in Chicago, come have a beer with me. Your treat because more pay means more taxes. Drink, y'all!" 

Asia let out a genuine laugh as she sipped her second glass of amber liquid along with the group, more focused on keeping tears at bay than the familiar voice calling her name. 

Savannah cupped her hands around her mouth to shout across the room again. "Asia, c'mon! Speech!" 

The request and 30 people eyeing her with varying levels of curiosity caught her off guard. Asia looked to Ty, Chris, and Sid for an out but found none outside of Ty instructing her to lift her head and walk. 

Shaking hands found a home on her cold glass, mixing sweat with condensation as she slowly approached Kelvin's side. He tried to offer sympathy in the form of a closed-mouth smile once she was close enough to see him. Muscle memory or plain 'ol fear compelled Asia to reach for his hand, and without thinking, Kelvin threaded his fingers into the gaps between hers and then squeezed. I'm with you. The non-verbal reassurance nearly made her weep in front of strangers before she could speak. 

"Raise your hand if you've been victimized by Savannah Reese." Every joke had some truth to it, evidenced by the hands Asia watched shoot up from the crowd. Her laughter invited others to join in on Savannah's light humiliation. "I'm glad I'm not alone," Asia laughed. 

Savannah waved everyone off. "Whatever. You people need discipline. Say thank you!" 

"Thanks, Sav. We all love you in like a sick, loving your mean older sister way," Asia joked. "First, I guess I'll say thanks to all of you for coming. Most of you don't know who I am, but that's okay. I'm not the important one here. It's Kelvin. Or Kel. I heard some of you even called him KJ at some point. A lot of variation in there." 

"I hated KJ, by the way. I'm leaving, so I can say that now. Still love you, though." 

Asia laughed at Kelvin's interjection along with the group. She looked over at him, letting her small fade into a more wistful version of itself. "I've had the pleasure of knowing Kelvin as a lot of things over this last year or so. But, I think my favorite version of him is friend. He was the first person to say hi to me when I started. He's opened me up to new things I never thought I'd get to experience and challenged me in ways I would've never thought to ask for. So, thank you." 

Ty clasped his hands at his chest, leaning into Sidney's embrace while the group watched Asia and Kelvin exchange looks of adoration. Kelvin mouthed you're welcome back at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead without regard for who was watching. He was running out of opportunities to feel her skin against his lips and would take whatever bottom of the barrel oppportunities still existed. 

"I'm sure we all have a ton to thank Kel for. Whether it was pulling an award-winning idea out of his ass in the 11th hour or flirting with a client to buy us all some time, we owe this guy a lot. So, if you don't mind, get those glasses in the air and join me in a little toast," Asia instructed. She waited for the group to follow suit, then continued. "Good luck out there in the world, Kel. You're more than ready and deserving of what's coming to you. We all love you so much. Cheers." 

Asia couldn't bring herself to stick around for compliments on her speech or the hug Kelvin tried to prolong. She needed to hustle into the lady's room and prepare for the other side of her mouth-watering from an unsavory mix of grief and Bulleit Rye. Her heels clicked across shiny tile into the emptiest room in the building, unknowingly drawing a crowd of one trailing behind. 

Savannah slipped into the bathroom behind Asia before quietly sealing out the rest of the world with the lock's quiet click. "You okay?" 

"No," Asia answered, no longer interested in keeping up appearances. "I will be. Just…not right now." 

A sympathetic look passed between the two of them, turning words into nothing more than frivolous accessories to fill the silence. Savannah scooched past Asia to lift her body onto the countertop and patted the empty space next to her. Too tired to object, Asia did the same. They sat together in silence for several moments until Savannah cracked the seal.

"Who got cold feet first, you or him?" She asked without looking over at Asia.

"I did," Asia mumbled. "Less cold feet, I just… slipped into some old habits he shouldn't have to see me through. Kelvin had become my sun, and I was starting to orbit out of control. It might be hard to tell, but I've never done all this before," she explained as she aimlessly gestured around them. "I don't know. I should've taken a second to stop and think about who I am and what I wanted from a relationship long before this happened, but I just kept pushing it away until the universe made me confront myself. It's not his fault, though. Kelvin was perfect. I'll put it all on me."

Savannah nodded. "Sometimes we fuck up. It doesn't have to be the end of the world." 

"Not all the time. This time for sure, though. Pretty sure I fucked this up to the point of no return. No more lives. I lose. Thanks for playing." Asia laughed, but the humor in the whole ordeal was still elusive. 

"Can't you restart a game from the beginning after you learn something new, though?" Nonsensical circular reasoning drew a side eye from Asia, making Savannah double over with laughter. "I'm only sayin'! You know how many Candy Crush levels I've had to take a break from until I passed? Sometimes you don't always get shit right on the first try. You'll figure this out and move on to a new level. Then you'll figure that one out too. Even if it takes you a little extra time." 

Asia nodded along, seeing some of Savannah's logic as she mulled over the words. "Sure," she finally answered. A question she'd been pondering for a while paused all thought. "Can I ask why you care so much? In the kindest way possible?" 

"I don't know," Savannah answered with a shrug. I think I missed my chance at love trying to chase perfection, and I've been tasked with saving others from a similar fate to appease the gods," she laughed to herself. "Plus, I see the way he looks at you. No one should miss that over a timing issue. The universe isn't that cruel. At least, I don't think so." 

"Yeah," Asia half-heartedly agreed. "Me neither. I think." 

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe the universe had other plans far beyond Asia's feeble comprehension. Maybe she'd fall asleep in Kelvin's bed, smelling the musk of his cologne, with his back touching hers as dreams took over her daily thoughts and woke her up to a new lease on life. 

The sun rose to nothing of the sort. No amount of prayer or late-night notes app journaling could change her mind. If she continued to follow old patterns, any happiness she sought to obtain would crash and burn into nothing. 

She knew it, and as a fitful sleep stirred Kelvin awake, he knew it, too. If not by her forlorn expression when he looked over to find her quietly sifting through black and turquoise towels, then by the two empty drawers once housing her things. 

Kelvin opened and closed the first bathroom drawer twice, knowing the truth but still having difficulty processing it. 

Asia stepped into the room behind him and softly cleared her throat. "Thought maybe it was time to start moving things." Kelvin turned to look at her, finally taking stock of her tired red eyes hidden behind the blue light glasses he'd gifted. "I'm not running away. I promise. But -" 

"Yeah, no. I…I get it. It's okay. You need a box?" He started to rifle through cabinets under the sink, trying to make himself useful without listening to Asia's objections. 

"Kel…Kelvin." Neither variation of his name received so much as a glance in her direction. She signed. "Baby…" That one did the trick. Kelvin stilled before standing up to acknowledge her voice. "It's okay. I found one already. It's all packed." 

He nodded. "Oh. Um…cool. I guess that's it then." 

His last words in her direction echoed in Asia's head once she returned to her apartment for the first time in weeks. The space felt cold and foreign, devoid of all the spark that made returning to her own space after a long day worth it. 

Asia trudged to her bedroom to drop off her belongings, only to find herself standing in the center of the room, feeling empty. Her bed hadn't seen her since she'd trusted Kelvin to help her shed fictional purity without judgment or ridicule. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she could still see the way he looked at her and feel his fingertips lightly tracing her hips while he coaxed her body to new heights. 

Climbing into bed, still clothed in her favorite of Kelvin's old t-shirts, Asia curled herself around a pillow on his unofficial side of the bed and cried. She cried until Saturday afternoon turned into Saturday night. Then she cried some more into half-eaten lo mein while a reality TV dating show played in the background. She cried when Sabrina called to check in on a 911 in their message thread, holding her friend hostage to witness a complete meltdown before swearing she didn't need a visit. She just needed time. 

Crying became Asia's default setting for the weekend. Then, cries turned into a light misting in a bathroom stall by Tuesday when seeing Kelvin's empty desk reminded her that he was, in fact, not coming to walk to lunch with her. On Wednesday, she only felt sadness from a calendar invite about their one-month anniversary. The thing she found absolutely ridiculous quickly became a reminder of what she'd given up. By Thursday, she'd learned to compartmentalize and push forward despite constant conversation with Kelvin arranging a final opportunity to see him off to those greener pastures they'd discussed weeks ago. 

Friday brought the storm. Just when Asia thought she'd returned to homeostasis, a bottle of red wine unlocked a new well of tears she didn't know she'd been holding. 

Sabrina sat beside her on the couch, acting as a support beam to hold Asia's crumpling body upright while she sobbed into her friend's shoulder. As much as she wanted to support her friend through her first breakup, Sabrina couldn't let Asia pass without a little tough love. 

While Asia poured her heart out without interruption, Sabrina waited for an opportunity to provide much-needed clarity.  

"I miss him already," Asia cried into Sabrina's shoulder. "I know it's crazy because I made the decision, but I don't know. I just wish he was here right now. What if I fucked up? Do you think I fucked up? Tell me if I fucked up." No answer came, grabbing Asia's attention long enough to lift her head and look in Sabrina's direction. "Are you ignoring me?"

Sabrina chuckled. "I'm just confused by you, girl, that's all. First, you're telling me you have to leave him because you need to find yourself, and now you're wondering if that was the right decision. I love you, but we have to settle somewhere, friend." 

"I'm grieving right now!" Asia's exasperation pulled an infectious belly laugh from Sabrina that quickly spread to a full-on cackle once she got a glimpse of Asia's face contorted in a mix of confusion and frustration. "What's so funny, 'Brina? Please, tell me so I can laugh too." 

If not for the clear and present anger underscoring Asia's line of questioning, Sabrina might've laughed for the entire night. She fought to reign in her chuckling before answering. "Can we be for real tonight, Asia? Like really, so for real?" Asia folded her arms and craned her neck to dramatically showcase rising annoyance. Sabrina waved her off, undeterred by childish antics. "A, why are you really breaking things off? Answer honestly." 

"Because I could see myself falling into old habits. You saw me when I fell hard last time. His whole life took over mine," Asia answered, practically jumping off the couch to make her point. 

Sabrina nodded along. "And I get that! Shit, I applaud the pattern recognition. Good on you, sister! But, if it's that, why are you so worried you made the wrong decision?" She watched Asia's eyes dart off to some other place in the room, knowing her point had been made. "Is this only about your growth as a woman, or can you look me in my face right now and admit you're at least a little afraid of what that man was giving you?" 

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." 

"Yes, you do," Sabrina answered after kissing her teeth. "Be real with me, Asia. You were afraid of the possibility of really devoting yourself, saw the old habits arising, and used the last part as a way to run away from the first. Now, you're afraid this might've been your only shot. Tell me I'm wrong!" 

Denial gave way to guilt. "You're not wrong," Asia finally grumbled. 

"I know I'm not, but thank you for the confirmation." Scooting closer, Sabrina pulled Asia into a side hug and squeezed softly. "Fear kept me doin' the same stupid shit over and over. Don't let it dictate your future like it did mine for so long, girl. Do your thing. Go out in the world and learn who Asia is if that's what you really need to do for yourself. But don't use that as an excuse to get out of going through something a little difficult. Either do the hard thing now and take the chance with no regrets and no blame, or leave that man alone and let him go find someone willing to put in the work. But don't keep him in that back and forth. That's not fair after all he's been to you." 

Defiance told Asia to buck Sabrina's advice and continue as planned. She still had time to call Kelvin, push through her discomforts, and deal with a Chicago winter if he felt inclined to take her back. But defiance had never gotten her hard head anywhere but stuck between a rock and a hard place with a soft ass. Facts had to overrule feelings, no matter the emotions tugging her heartstrings raw. 

Asia huffed in resolute defeat, knowing her decision to look within came with a heavy price before light presented itself at the end of the tunnel. Though the thought of him falling in love with someone else hurt like hell, the weight of what could happen if she ignored unmet needs felt like hell on Earth. "I miss fun Sabrina. Get out of therapy. Now!" Asia joked. "This fuckin' sucks, by the way. I know I'll be better for it in the long run, but I hate it right now." 

"Hate it all you want, baby girl. Such is life," Sabrina sang, dragging the last word as she stood from the couch. "Matter of fact, let's talk about how much we hate it over sushi. Eat those feelings before we get in the gym tomorrow morning."

Asia scrunched her face as she tracked Sabrina across the room. "Who said we were going to the gym?"

"Bitch, we are rediscovering ourselves together! Starting with the stairmaster and ending at the squat rack. Whether Lover Boy is in the picture or not, we must keep these asses tight. I have 31st birthday plans, and you've been getting cracked like a glow stick for so long that you're missing sessions. If we gone break up to get it right, do it for real!" 

Trudging toward her apartment's front door, Asia stopped at the entryway mirror to slide on her shoes and get a look at her ass for the first time in weeks. She winced at lost gains and poked at softening thighs. Confirmation if she'd ever seen it.

She sighed and pulled her crossbody from the hook before unlocking the door. "I'm eating my weight in spicy tuna tonight and we're back on top of things in the morning. Swear." 

Plans for weight room therapy were a far cry from the endless tasks on Kelvin's to-do list. He'd spent the better part of a week pushing Asia as far back in his mind as reasonably possible, constantly battling the desire to call or text for fear he'd change his mind at the last moment. Chicago was a good thing. It was a stepping stone. And if she wasn't willing to undertake the challenge with him, then so be it. He'd get over this breakup like the last one. No sweat off his brow. 

In a crowded barbershop packed with a dozen grown men shouting their way through another greatest rapper alive debate, Kelvin used his time to scroll up and down a mostly empty text thread and reread past messages full of sappy sentiments he thought would last longer than a few weeks. 

Brandon took liberties from his position behind his most frequent client, peaking over Kelvin's shoulder to get a look at what had his boy so occupied. "I should charge you more for using your last haircut to do this lovesick shit you been doin' for the last 10 minutes. C'mon, man. Tighten up. You moving to Chicago and getting white folks money. Pipe up, man!" 

"Yeah, I guess," Kelvin answered before locking his phone screen and sliding the phone back beneath the barber's cape draping his torso.

"You feel ready," Brandon questioned. "You fly out in a couple days, right?"

Kelvin hummed his confirmation. "Saturday afternoon. The movers come to get my stuff in the morning, and then I'm in the air. Shit kinda feels fake, I'm not gon' lie. This wasn't how I expected things to go."

"What you expected?" 

"To still be in a relationship for one," Kelvin answered, huffing out a laugh at his own misfortune. "I thought Asia was it, man. If you asked me to tell you what went wrong right now, I couldn't. There I was thinking shit was finally different, and it all blew up in my face." 

Brandon shook his head, still examining his work over his glasses. "She say why?" 

"Something about needing to go find herself. Which I get, I guess. But, fuck, we couldn't go through it together? I felt like I took the conversation in stride when it first came up, but the more I think about the shit, the more I'm fuckin' pissed about it." Anger radiated off Kelvin's body, turning his neck so hot Brandon could hold his hands at the nape for warmth to shield him from the draft as the shop's door opened and closed. Kelvin's hands emerged from behind the robe to help him work through his point. "She said she was making my needs more important than hers, but I never asked her to do that. I never once tried to convince her to do anything she didn't wanna do. Why is she punishing me for some shit she did?" 

"Maybe it don't have anything to do with you," Brandon commented without much fanfare. 

Kelvin scoffed, not taking much stock in his friend's rebuttal. "She was scared. I was scared, too, but I was willing to figure it out. The distance, the falling in love, all of that. We were supposed to figure it out." 

"Give that girl some space, man." 

"Damn, nigga. Are we not cool or what? Take my side!" Kelvin caught Brandon throwing his hands up in surrender from the corner of his eye and frowned. Of all the people, he expected total agreeance from his good friend and former roommate.

Chuckling, Brandon tilted Kelvin's head sideways for a better view. "You know how you get man. Don't act like that," he rebutted. "You like to dive right into shit just as quick as you like to jump out of it. And that's cool, but not everybody is like that. Sometimes it's too much."  

"I'm not gonna take offense to that and ask you to elaborate. Keep in mind, your tip is on the line." Kelvin's caution came with a cheeky grin as Brandon kissed his teeth. 

"I'm just sayin', man. Think about how she comin' into the situation. From what you told me, she was new to a lot of this. When you new, you don't know what you don't know. Maybe this don't have anything to do with you. She might really have to go figure shit out on her own. If you love her, you gotta let her live, bro." Sage advice from Brandon was like witnessing the Nothern Lights or Halley's Comet with your own two eyes. Kelvin tried to listen objectively as his barber continued. "Don't feel like you gotta wait for her. Live your life by all means. But maybe think about doin' some discovery of your own. I'm sure you got some shit you need to work through." 

Information overload turned Kelvin's self-centered ramblings into a barely audible whisper in the back of his mind, giving Brandon's provocation center stage. Self-discovery was a foreign concept. Much of his adult life revolved around running. Running from state to state, searching for a new meaning and a fresh start, running from past versions of himself who didn't quite make the cut, and running from women when casual became too serious and expectations felt like burdens. When he backed away from a few souls looking for connection, he frequently cited bullshit lines about needing to find himself without remorse. 

Now, on the other side of the tearful conversation and harsh realities, years of bad behavior had caught up to deal him a lesson he hadn't expected to learn. At least Asia was honest. That much Kelvin could tell. He couldn't boast the same. 

"Got you stuck, huh. Go ahead up that tip, my boy." Brandon's taunting didn't go unrecognized, earning a small smile from Kelvin. 

He closed his eyes to avoid hair debris and smirked. "I'm not tipping you. I ain't even ask for your advice. You never said shit worth hearing." 

"Yeah, well, hear this if you don't hear nothing else: I'm proud of you, man. At the end of the day, you my brother and I want you to be happy. Whether it's in Chicago with ol' girl or some other way, know you got somebody in your corner." 

Kelvin's teasing smirk slowly morphed into a genuine smile. "Damn, bro, that was nice. Thank you, man." 

"Did I get the tip back?" 

"Fuck no," Kelvin laughed, the sound growing louder once her heard Brandon kiss his teeth. "Keep talkin' though, and see where I'm at when you pass that mirror around." 

Brandon prematurely doused the back of Kelvin's neck in alcohol to revel in watching his shoulders draw up to his ears in pain. "I'm always gone have my get back. Plus, I started including the tip in your price. I know how you down South niggas get down." 

Kelvin continued contemplating what he'd heard as the conversation bobbed and weaved into topics of far less importance. His fingers moved without his mind's input to type out a message he wanted to delete but couldn't find the heart to follow through. A few simple words graced a blue text bubble, waiting for a response. 

Can I get your help packing up a few things tomorrow night? It won't take long and I kinda wanna talk if that's cool. 

He'd prepared himself for radio silence or a simple rejection, but the phone's vibration tingled his hand within minutes. 

Pretty Girl 💖💚 Sure. Time?

They settled on 7 pm. Kelvin swore he read somewhere that finishing tasks early in the evening provided a sense of accomplishment to launch you into the weekend. Or maybe he'd confused that information with his made-up theory around day drinking on Fridays to avoid paying for drinks when he hit the bar in the evenings. Either way, he hoped they'd complete their tasks and talk in enough time to mosey down to his favorite spot and spend time saying goodbye to the regulars. 

A set of knuckles rapped against the door just after 7:15 pm, pulling Kelvin away from organizing items into keep and throw-away piles to usher his guest of honor inside. He expected more fanfare when they came face to face for some reason. Tears, maybe? Anger? A smack in the face for blatantly requesting her labor as a thinly veiled attempt at one last interaction? Any and every reaction was in play. Instead, they fell into chipper banter and light joking while working side by side to return a once lively apartment back to showroom prestige. 

"You know Linda in accounting misses you, right?" Asia informed, her attention focused on taping a cardboard box full of shelf trinkets. "I saw her standing at the coffee bar trying to figure out the hot water dispenser for her team. She looked so sad when I asked if she needed help and said you used to help her with that." 

Kelvin poked out his bottom lip. "Aw, my girl. Did she get her tea?" 

"Yeah. Apparently, I'm the new you. She's a very particular lady." Kelvin laughed at Asia's misfortune, knowing all too well how Linda navigated the world when requesting simple favors. 

"If you keep it up, though, she'll have a Christmas present for you. I haven't paid full price for a donut in like 8 months because of her." 

Asia noted the potential benefit with a head nod before pressing a final piece of tape across the decor box's cardboard flaps. All done. She didn't expect the twinge of sadness tightening her chest as she slowly let her eyes sweep across a near-empty room teeming with memories. Seeing it stacked high with labeled boxes momentarily turned her into a young Will Smith taking a final look at the Banks mansion. 

Kelvin watched Asia stand with her hands firmly planted on her hips, taking in the dips and curves of her body under dim track lighting for the last time before joining her side to take stock of his apartment. 

They stood in silence for a few moments until Asia spoke. "Thanks for letting me help. This probably sounds crazy, but it feels like I lived here, too, sometimes. I didn't pay rent or anything, but still." 

"Yeah, but you restocked the orange juice that one time. Same thing." Kelvin's smile grew in time with Asia's when she looked over to laugh at his joke. "It's cool. I appreciate you helping me out. You didn't have to." 

She shrugged. "You would've done the same for me." 

Awkward silence heightened the uneasy static between them as they stared at nothing in particular for an inordinate amount of time. Kelvin pushed his hands in his pockets, then pulled them out to adjust his earring before fidgeting with his nails. Anything to keep his hands and mind busy. But he couldn't stop stealing glances at his first real love. She'd be gone soon. He needed to savor what was left of their time together. 

Force of habit or sheer insanity compelled him to pull Asia into a hug, and, to his surprise, she melted into his embrace with no pushback. They rocked side to side, enjoying how their bodies fit like puzzle pieces destined to create a bigger, more beautiful picture. 

Kelvin crossed his wrists at the small of her back to squeeze tight as he lifted Asia onto her tiptoes. "Thank you for stopping by," he mumbled into the crook of her neck. "Be safe for me, okay? You know you can always call." 

"I know. You too." Asia closed her eyes to inhale Kelvin's scent, hoping the smell would remain seared into her brain for all eternity. 

A slow release and her heels returning to the ground signaled the end of their embrace and life as they knew it. Timid glances as they adjusted their clothes were packed with words they might say one day.

Asia kept her gaze low as she crossed into the kitchen to collect her purse and keys. If her mind wasn't clouded with the nagging sense that things weren't quite complete, she would've dashed out into the night without looking back. 

But her mouth started to move before she could corral her question. "You hungry?" 

"Uh." Kelvin wrestled with his rational mind and his rumbling belly before siding with the latter. "Actually, yeah. I was gonna order out, but if you had something in mind, I'm down." 

Traffic lights and streets empty as real movers and shakers tucked themselves away to prepare for long nights in and out of packed clubs brought them to where it all began. A fitting farewell. 

Calm before a storm of 20 and 30-somethings took the bar, searching for answers at the bottom of a glass, gave Kelvin and Asia access to their favorite booth at the back of the room. Appetizers of every sort covered the small to pair with a pitcher of bottom shelf margarita. Both of them knew it wasn't worth the money it cost, or the headache was sure to follow. The price of a worthwhile goodbye, they thought. 

Salted rims created loose shoulders and looser lips between two people who were too caught up in the moment to part ways so soon. Any trepidation vanished after their first glass. Their second warmed up the senses, shedding more inhibition than they had planned. The results of the third remained to be seen. 

For Kelvin, it meant an impromptu confession hour. After popping a fry into his mouth, he leaned forward and flashed a boyish grin at Asia from across the table. "I wasn't gonna ever tell you this, but fuck it. Before I ran into you over there," he started, pointing over his shoulder at the bar. "I saw you. I'm not gonna say I had an elaborate plan or anything. I just noticed you talking to your girl and knew I had to move fast because it looked like you were leaving." 

"Wooooow! So it wasn't a real meet cute? I thought that night was kismet," Asia joked. 

"Nah, it was. We ended up in the same place at the same time. I just hurried it along. I won't apologize for that because if I didn't, I wouldn't have gotten to know you." They stared at each other, once again finding silence in place of chatter that once came easy. In any other circumstance, Kelvin would've moved on and left well enough alone, paid the bill, and dipped out to save face. He still had one more question, though. One more chance at closure. 

Asia caught him fidgeting with his hands and pointed out his nervous habit. "What? What's wrong?" 

"Do you regret any of this? The messing around, the relationship…any of it?" He shifted his attention to the couple playing darts behind them to keep from losing his nerve. "I just hope I didn't push you into something you didn't want. So, give me the chance to apologize if –" 

Asia cut him off, not allowing him to slide too deep into an apology he didn't need to provide. "I don't regret anything, Kel. Not a single second. Please know that. Can you look at me?" Kelvin nodded before returning his undivided attention to her face. She sighed. "I'm sorry for how I handled things. I shouldn't have blamed you for problems I've had my entire life, and I damn sure shouldn't have waited as long as I did. It was fucked up. I'm so sorry. Whether you forgive me or not, I owe you that much, and I want you to know I'm fixing them." 

Kelvin answered with a half smile. "It was fucked up, but thank you. I tried to be mad at you for three days, but it didn't work, anyway. You're good." More thick and miles long silence greeted them on the other side of resolution. Loud chatter from a group of college students entering the building cut through their wordless standoff while Kelvin mulled over what to say next. He sipped from his drink for liquid courage, then shrugged. "See where I'm at when you're done. I'll be around. My number won't change." 

"I'm not asking you to wait for me." 

"I didn't say I would," He clarified. "If I've moved on, I'll tell you. I'm just letting you know the door isn't closed. When you feel like you're ready, see where I am. Just in case. Don’t call me to fuck around though, Asia. I’m serious."

Asia quickly nodded her agreement. "Yeah, yeah! Of course." A timid smile graced her face under Kelvin's unwavering stare. "Thank you." 

"Mhmm." Kelvin bit back his smile as he took stock of their spread and an almost empty pitcher of evil lime concoction. "Come on and finish this bullshit with me. I'm not about to be hungover by myself. Bottoms up, girl." 

After two burning chests and a bill-splitting argument, Kelvin and Asia found themselves approaching a fork in the road again. He wrapped her in a tight embrace around her shoulders to kiss the top of her head against the driver's side of her small sedan, turning them into two people looking more like young lovers than adults navigating a loss. They'd said their goodbyes but couldn't stomach pulling away. Not yet.

Asia held tight to his waist. "Where you sleepin' tonight?" The question came out muffled against Kelvin's hoodie, waiting for an answer that almost didn't come. 

"Air mattress," he answered. "I'll probably crash in the living room. Why?" 

"You need a good rest before the morning. Stay with me tonight if you want. No pressure." 

Kelvin's body tensed before he pulled back to get a better look at her face. He hoped for some indication she was too tipsy to know the temptation she'd introduced. Instead, he saw eyes pooling with latent desire like they did every time they inched toward a new level in their physical relationship. Saying no like he knew he should've felt like too much to ask of a man still hopelessly attracted to the woman holding him close in an early evening chill. Forbidden fruit always tasted the sweetest. 

Pushing a long braid behind her shoulder, Kelvin threw caution to the wind. "Okay." 

A little sleepover couldn't hurt. Not a sleepover complete with a singular joint rolled for New Year's Eve then discarded for a worthy future moment with a couple of humans suddenly allergic to containing their laughter. Or their touching. Or soft kisses on smooth skin becoming more and more exposed as the minutes ticked by. 

"Tell me when to stop," Asia whispered with her knees already planted next to Kelvin's hips, supporting her weight while she rolled her clothed center across his lap.

She shivered as his fingertips slid up her spine to feel for the latch on her bra. "No," he answered before deftly unhooking the garment keeping him from his prize. "I don't want to stop. You tell me or enjoy what we both want. It's up to you." 

Objection never came. Words no longer formed full sentences. They chose to use their voices as indicators of boundless pleasure, moaning and breathing into each other's mouths as two bodies joined to make one. Kelvin couldn't tell where he ended and Asia began. He didn't care. He only needed to know if she was as close to her peak as he was. And, if so, was she interested in fucking him until she couldn't anymore. 

Asia answered every question with her body. Would she miss him? Kelvin knew the answer was yes by the way she let saliva coat her mouth and chin while he repeatedly kissed the back of her throat with his tip. Was it all real? Absolutely. He could tell as she breathed his name through long, loving strokes with her forehead pressed against his. 

Kelvin let his body tell her things through sex he couldn't bring himself to say aloud. Having her writhing against his face, panting and keening for a break, helped him communicate just how much she meant to him. When he stared up at her with stars in his eyes through frenetic, upward pushes into her exhausted body, it was to tell her how beautiful she was at all times. Hair wild and untamed or perfectly prim and proper – it didn't matter. Statues should be made in her honor.

Fucking was the only language they could speak. Even when their bodies had given up by first light despite the mind still being willing. 

Cozying up to her backside on top of crumpled sheets, Kelvin held Asia's leg up to chase their high from the side. He nuzzled his nose against her shoulder and tightened the grip on her body. "You kept me up all night, girl," he purred against her shoulder. "I'm gon' need whatever you got left." 

A desperate mix of sounds came from Asia's throat in a strained groan as her belly weakly coiled for the absolute last orgasm she could muster. Her fingernails clawed at his forearm for an anchor to keep her body from levitating off the bed. 

"Don't forget me, baby." Kelvin didn't know if he was out for sick revenge or saying things he really meant. All he could decipher was the need for Asia to end the night depleted. "Don't forget me." 

By morning, when eager muscles settled into soreness and a few short hours of sleep shocked their systems into submission, the outside world reminded them that the previous night was the only fairytale in existence and hailing a Lyft at 6 AM was just the tip of their problems. 

Groggy and satiated, Kelvin and Asia trudged to the front door for what they knew was the absolute end of the road. They quietly basked in each other's presence. Faint smiles from steamy flashbacks kept them in good spirits, considering their reality. 

Kelvin gathered his belongings in silence, checking twice for the important stuff while Asia watched and battled with what to say next. A solemn goodbye? Well wishes? Something hopeful even though she didn't feel all that convinced he'd want to speak to her when the post-orgasm fog had cleared? In two agonizing minutes, she couldn't come up with a single word she hadn't already said.

She settled on nothing at all once Kelvin pulled her into a hug wrapped in feelings too intense to describe. He breathed her in, letting sweet vanilla tantalize his senses as he pressed her closer to his body.

"I love you." 

Simple and plain. No fuss. No request for an extravagant response. Just three words he needed to say for himself. Whether she felt the same was immaterial. He couldn't leave without being honest. 

Asia acknowledged what she already knew with a contented hum before pulling away to get a last look at his face. "See you later?" 

He wouldn't lie. Being hopeful for a reunion wasn't the same as believing one would materialize. So, Kelvin smiled. Instead of leaving her with a potentially false sense of security, he left Asia with a placid smile and a tap on the tip of her nose before repeating what he'd told her hours ago. 

"Be safe, Asia. Call me if you need me." 

Truthfully, Asia didn't know if she'd be calling. Even as she watched his chariot whisk him away until the car became but a tiny speck in traffic, the path forward was abstract and muddy. She didn't feel sad. The time for that had long passed. But happiness wasn't there either. A hint of peace peeked through a more tangled web of emotions. Longing, perhaps? She longed for all the lessons learned in matters of the heart and body. Lessons she'd lock away in some deep, special place in her heart. Determination rose up next. If nothing else, Kelvin had held a mirror up to Asia's face and forced her to examine parts of herself she'd swept under the rub for far too long. She'd thank him for that down the road. 

Above all else, though, as she slid dirty sheets from a crooked mattress and inhaled the lasting scent of him wafting throughout the room, Asia couldn't escape the hope coursing through her veins. She'd stepped out on a limb, taken her kisses and bruises in equal measure, and come out on the other side with new information for the future. One loss couldn't erase months of progress. 

And, with the door still cracked open for a time in the distant future, she finally felt like she'd arrived. At what, she couldn't tell. She'd have to find a new professor to learn that.

SPRING SEMESTER

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @thevelvetwhispers @wowitsafemale @kindofaintrovert @sexysativa605 @jvzmine19 @turn-thy-paige @lapateeserie @simplyzeeka @supremechae @palmstreesallday @blackmoonchilee @ovohanna24 @prettypynklemonade @gwenda-fav @itsash-okay @sparklytemi @blackchickinthedesert @miyuhpapayuh

[s0lidar1ty]

The Beginning

pair: toxic!rafe cameron x fem!eader cw: Toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, angst, mentions of grief/loss, slight profanity.

Rafe had never been taken care of before. After his mother's death, he always fought for Ward’s attention. He tried being a good kid, showing up to school, doing his work, and cleaning up around the house, but the only thing Ward cared about was when something went wrong. That's when he finally paid attention. So, Rafe does the only thing he can and starts acting out. 

He stayed out later than he was supposed so, damn near flunked out of school but somehow managed to graduate, stopped taking care of things. He didn’t want to, but it got his dad's attention.

Deep down, Rafe is just a little boy in need of love. Of nurturing and comfort.

That’s where you came in.

You had been a family friend of the Camerons from when you and they were small. You practically lived with them. You came over every day and stayed till night, rinse and repeat. Eventually, you moved in. Your mother thought it best since she couldn’t afford to house you and deal with the expenses of a funeral. Ward was fine with it, he loved you like one of his own. 

After their mother's death, Rafe and Sarah closed themselves off from friends, Everyone gave up on them for a while, everyone but you. You knew what they were going through. You hated that you could relate, but that wouldn’t bring your father back, would it?

You insisted on being near them and helping them when they needed it but refused to ask. You were always there. Even as you three grew up and Sarah began to heal. Sarah started to do good. She helped around Figure 8, cared for the little animals and rodents the best she knew how. She found her happiness in nature. She was fine with that; she wasn’t angry or sad anymore. She was just. She was okay.

Rafe, on the other hand, went down the exact opposite path. He became selfish. He got mean, saying hurtful things to everybody, even his sister. You didn’t recognize the person you were seeing. What happened to the sweet boy in 5th grade who stood up to bullies? When did he become one himself? 

Sarah stayed out more and more just to avoid Rafe and his outbursts. But now, with her gone, all his anger is directed at you.

You’re in the kitchen prepping dinner. You and Rafe, despite being estranged, had a lot in common. Steak bites with mash potatoes being one of them. The last time you recall him eating it was a couple of weeks before his mother's passing. 

Was this too much?

I mean, it’s his childhood favorite food—what if you made it wrong or he didn’t like it because it wasn’t like his mom's? 

You push down your overwhelming thoughts and continue, cleaning the steaks and cutting them into cubes. You move to the stove, turning it on and buttering the skillet. You hear the front door open and assume it’s Sarah coming to get more clothes before heading out again.

“Hey, Sare!” You call from the kitchen. You don’t get a response, which you find odd but shrug off, going back to the steak to season it.

“Why’re you still here?” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you jump. You turn around, chucking off the scare.

“I wanted to make dinner-”

“So you’re a nanny now?” He interrupts.

You make a confused face. “How does cooking make me a nanny?”

“Because you’re acting like we need you to cook for us. You’re always here, always pestering somebody—why can’t you be more like Sarah and leave once in a while?” he says harshly. “I mean, fuck,” he chuckles, “We don’t even want you here anymore.”

Your smile drops. “Right,” you say simply. You turn to the stove once again, your back facing him as your eyes fill with frustrating tears.

Rafe stares at you for a minute. Usually, talking down on people made him feel better, so why was his heart hurting the way it was?

He walks away.

[gothwineaunts]

What's the art process like for nevermore? Do you have a whole team of people working on it?

It's only my girlfriend Kate Flynn and me (Kit Trace). We don't have any assistants outside of when we commission a soundtrack from our composer. (Her @ is Ele_Soundtracks on pretty much all socials.) We share an apartment and work back-to-back in our office every day. We usually start the process by going for a walk in the woods together to nail down storybeats, then I'll write the outline and flesh it out into a proper script. Then Flynn converts it to storyboards, we usually go back and forth on several drafts during this stage to make sure pacing works and the whole episode flows and reads clearly. Once we're happy with it, Flynn starts in on inks. As she finishes parts of the ep (we usually have 10-12 parts), I'll flat them behind her and organize the layers so she's free to start the renders as soon as she finishes inks. While she finishes the renders, I get started on plotting out the next episode, rinse and repeat!! We work every day of the week, and pull pretty late nights sometimes but we have a lot of fun. We've been doing this for over a decade together now, and it was always our dream to do it full-time. (Plus like, not to get mushy but it's pretty nifty to get to do something creative like this with your soulmate, pff. Makes the long hours fly by pretty quickly.)

[nectardaddy]

BITTER . . . kyotani “mad dog” kentaro + f! reader

                     𖥔    CHAPTER FOUR : BLOODY NOSES    𖥔

warnings : 17+ to read, language, addiction, toxic friendships/situationships, mentions/allusions to sex, nosebleeds, blood + violence, crime, manipulation, death threats

a/n : last little part is in kyotani's pov, take your bets on what happened to yaku (hint: he's not dead)

She hasn’t heard from Morisuke in three days.

He’s missed three days worth of anger management classes, and three days worth of texts. She’s not terribly worried though, he does this from time to time. Drops off the face of the earth, just to show up again weeks later like nothing ever happened. Like a piece of shit, he’ll text her back in the middle of the night to come over. And she always does. There’s a part of her that’s worried about him when she agrees, just wants to see if he’s alright; the other part thinks Yaku is as good as it gets.

She’s known him since high school, and grew fairly close once they both got into drugs. He hid it far better than she did, because she’d do keys in the parking lot of a supermarket if she wanted to. While he preferred to do lines, pop pills, and drink until he blacks out in the sanctity of his apartment all by himself.

But his tendencies make her feel sick. He gets high, he does something stupid, goes off grid, then he calls her to fuck whenever he pops back up. They’re toxic, oil mixed with water, they scream at each other and fight - then get high like they didn’t just beat the hell out of each other. Rinse and repeat.

An awful cycle she couldn’t get away from, she frankly didn't want to. Because Yaku was the only person who ever stayed. He’s the only friend she has left because she drove everyone else away.

At the height of her addiction, she’d steal money from past friends right under their noses. Would beg them to help her, just to ruin it and relapse a week later. And borrowed from those she loved, only to never give it back and get a door slammed in her face.

She still has their contacts in her phone, always makes sure to transfer them when she inevitably breaks it. They all have her blocked, but she hopes that one day they'll come back around. Because she's finally clean and getting her life together, but feels lonely without a soul next to her.

But Morisuke never left, and she doesn’t want to let him go like every friend did to her. She keeps him around, doesn't block his number, because deep down she knows he's a good person - a good friend.

He has his moments where she'll see it again: he was her call at the police station and picked her up without question, he beat the shit out of her ex that cheated on her. And there's times when she can see the Morisuke from high school when she lays next to him after sex, and they talk until they fall asleep giggling and reminiscing over the past.

He's got good in him. He's just too fucked up majority of the time to see it like she does.

           Sent at 10:34: hope you’re ok, come over when you can so we can talk

She slips the phone back in her pocket with a silent sigh and sinks back down in her seat. She’s next to the guard dog again, but not by choice. He sat next to her when he got in without a word, and every so often she'll glance over at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes only proving her point further. And he's littered with bruises, a black eye that's still pretty fresh - black and blue - while the others are a disgusting yellow and green.

She catches herself wondering what he does to have bruises all the time, but stops herself because she shouldn't care that much. The past three days have been lonely, a mundane cycle of leaving class then going to work only to do it all over again. She believes the guard dog only intrigues her because she has nothing else to think about, and she grits her teeth whenever she does.

But he's interesting all the same, and she hates it.

He always keeps his hood up, indoors and out. She's seen him take it off once within the five days she's known him, and noticed he has blonde hair with two dark brown lines that cut through the sides. She finds it funny he dyes his hair, and choked back a laugh the first time she saw it. Imagining a hard ass perching himself in front of a mirror with hair dye made her giggle whenever she thought about it.

He's got bruises he's terrible at hiding. At first, she thought it was just the black eye. But she smoked with him yesterday and they litter his arms too, saw them when he rolled up his sleeves. They muddled with the black ink of his tattoos, but every splotch of skin that wasn't blasted was covered with blue and green marks. His knuckles are always busted, every time he flicks his lighter she sees them. And she's come to the conclusion that he fights - a lot.

He's got an aura that tells her to get away. Like something bad might happen if she gets too close, afraid if she speaks to him too much whatever bad vibes he has would rub off on her too. He's sinister, scary, and he's got a look in his eye that gives her the creeps. Like he could kill her if she locked eyes with him too long; but there's a small voice in her head that wouldn't mind it.

She shakes her head, seemingly tossing the thoughts out of her mind before looking up at the therapist that drones on. She's said the same shit over and over again the past five days, just rephrases it so it sounds new. Some of it she likes, the few parts she actually listens to.

Stay away from what triggers you until you're ready to handle it.

She's checked that box, as far as she's concerned. Any hint of drugs being somewhere, she steers clear and doesn't touch it with a ten foot pole. Too bad her other trigger is sitting right next to her.

Anger is a normal emotion, it's healthy. Learn to show it in ways that are non-violent.

It's good to know she isn't crazy whenever she puts her fist through a wall over a small inconvenience - just neurotic. But then the therapist says something stupid like taking deep breaths and she checks out again. If only she had taken a deep breath when she wanted to claw the vocal cords out of the man next to her, maybe then she wouldn't hate him so much.

She rolls her eyes at herself and groans at the thought. But if she's not thinking about Mad Dog she's thinking about drugs, and she can't decide the lesser of two evils.

“Why do you do that shit, Weezer?” His whisper is sharp, and she turns to look at him with a scowl. She hates the name he's pinned on her, she even went as far as to not wear the damn hoodie anymore; now she wears an old Nekoma one. It didn't stop him though, as far as he was concerned the name was there to stay.

Her eyes meet his and for a moment she falters - he actually gave her the decency of looking her in the eye when he spoke. “What're you talking about?” She's confused when she asks, but it still holds the same bite as usual. But she finds herself swallowing hard and turning her gaze when his eyes narrow.

The look in his eyes scares her, like he knows something she doesn't. Like he can see into her mind and pick out everything wretched and wrong with her. She hates that he can see right through her, so she keeps her eyes down the rest of the conversation.

“That,” he sounds annoyed again and he's gesturing to her leg. She's tapping her foot and she didn't even realize - she wasn’t even counting this time. “It's annoying as hell.”

“Then don't sit next to me, asshole,” she scoffs. “Problem solved.”

He rolls his eyes, but she's none the wiser. “Doesn't answer my question.”

“I don't owe you an answer.”

They don't speak for the rest of the class, and the next 30 minutes they sat in uncomfortable silence.

The therapist lets them leave ten minutes earlier than they usually do, and she thanks the stars she has time to smoke before she has to run home. Her gas station shift starts about an hour after the class and she always finds herself in a full sprint to get home because she wastes time. She resents herself for selling her car, but she lives with the consequences regardless.

It’s windy today, it goes through her hair and she takes a deep breath once she steps outside. It’ll be getting warmer soon and she thanks whatever higher power that it is; her apartment is shitty, and the heat has broken more times than she can count on her hands. The only thing she dreads is having to open every window when it gets too hot.

The wind whips against her cheeks and the cold bites at her nose, but she doesn't mind. She's glad she can take a full inhale without the crushing weight of fiending. It's like she sees the world a little more clearly again, it's still just as shitty, but it's been years since she's noticed small details like leaves blowing.

But life always finds a way to bite her in the ass.

Her stomach drops when she sniffles, and sniffles again, and again. Until she wipes at her nose and only sees red. “God dammit-” She gets nose bleeds often, and the cold only makes it worse, snorting lines of coke for god knows long what will do that to a person. She doesn't have a tissue, frankly she doesn't carry anything of value other than cigarettes. So she uses her sleeve, leans back, and pinches at the bridge of her nose.

“You shouldn't tilt your head back, y'know?” It's the guard dog - again.

“God,” she groans. “Don't you have better things to do than annoy me?” She hates how nasally her voice sounds, but keeps the pressure on her nose regardless.

“Not really, no.” She sees him shrug, and she only rolls her eyes. He's unfazed by the blood that drips from her nose onto her sleeve, by now it's left a stain on the cuff of her sweatshirt. He looks at it a moment before breathing out and reaching for the cigarettes in his pockets. “Didn't know you went to Nekoma.”

She can feel her blood pressure rising from the interaction, and wants nothing more than the man to just leave her alone. “Didn't know you couldn't read the fucking room,” she snaps. It goes ignored.

“Makes a whole lot more sense why you hang around Yaku.”

The name makes her falter and she tilts her head over just enough to look at him. What a conversation to be had over a bloody nose. “How do you know Morisuke?”

“Given name basis too, damn, I didn't know that jackass even had friends.”

There's a split second where she sees red, and she takes her sleeve from her nose. But she only stands there looking at him, he straightens up and she swallows hard. “How the fuck do you know him?”

He doesn't remember the last time he's been this amped up. With blood roaring in his ears, and fists bloodied and spliced. He couldn't place when he'd been in a fight this good. One that made his eyes go wild, his heart race, and plaster on a wicked grin.

Yaku was a good fighter. Too bad he's a rat who needs to shut his mouth.

Kyotani watches him stagger back after he punches him again, he's lost count on how many hits he's landed, until he falls. He falls hard on his side, blood spilling from cracked lips and staining his teeth. He's never seen Morisuke so pitiful, so full of hate, so loathsome.

He takes a step forward and chuckles, a juxtaposition to the situation the two men found themselves in, until it breaks into a laugh.

He kicks Yaku in the ribs as he laughs.

Over and over and over, until the other blonde coughs up blood on his shoes. That's when he stops. And he holds what little restraint he has with an ironclad grip when he crouches down. Even still, Yaku glares at him through swollen eyes - if looks could kill, Kyotani would be dead.

“I fucking hate you.” Spat with venom and followed by a heave. If Mad Dog had a shred of empathy, he would feel bad. But he doesn't, and he chuckles in response.

“You should be thanking me, short stack.”

“Oh, fuck off-” But he's cut off when Kyotani grabs him by the hair. The other yelps, like a scared dog, and grunts in pain when his face is shoved into the concrete floor.

“This is your warning, Yaku, shut your fucking mouth.” His words are like ice, and spoken all too calmy. He's done this before, practiced so much it became second nature. He's grown numb to the pain he inflicts on others. “Run your mouth again, I'll fucking kill you.”

Yaku's coughing doesn't stop, and neither does the blood that starts to seep onto his fingers. But there's only one thing that Kyotani doesn't know about him - he's fried his brain to the point he doesn't even care of the repercussions of his actions. So when he starts to laugh, Mad Dog grits his teeth. “See if I give a shit.” 

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[comfy-whumpee]

Shared

It’s the first word Ty’s said all day.

“Ss...Stop.”

Jim freezes in place, hands around the curtains, back to the bed where Ty sits propped half-upright on his pillows, splinted fingers resting on his lap.

“No light right now?” he asks, his voice steady and light. “That’s okay.” He turns, hands dropping down. He fixes his eyes on the glass of water by the bed, still mostly full. “Let me freshen up your water.”

He avoids Ty’s gaze as he grabs the glass and exits the room. He manages to hold it together long enough to get to the kitchen, where he sets it down in favour of bracing both hands on the counter, head dropping between them.

He’s made four loaves of bread this week. People are starting to notice. Ty’s probably known for days and hasn’t had the energy to speak.

Pulling his head up, he tips it back towards the ceiling and sucks in a deep breath. The candle’s been burning at both ends for so long he’s not sure there’s a drop of wax left in it.

Every day is a relentless cycle of taking care of Ty, doing a shift at work, taking care of Ty some more, squeezing in a shower, and crashing into bed for four to six hours, rinse, and repeat.

Plus, the ‘bed’ is actually the sofa.

Bibi comes most days, while Jim works, but she’s not able to come every day, and she’s not always good company. She’s miserable in her own way, with one grandchild returned but another lost.

Jim’s parents came down two weeks ago, but they didn’t know what to do with Ty so still and quiet. They hinted that they wanted Jim to have a break but they didn’t have any solutions to offer for Ty’s care in the meantime.

AJ, in his usual way, said, “What about his family?” That hadn’t been a fun conversation.

Everyone else that would have come were miles away in Leeds or further. It was just Jim and Ty.

Hands dropping, Jim takes another breath and focuses his gaze back on the glass of water.

He dumps the contents in the sink and refills it. The ruse was transparent and he knows what is waiting for him when we goes back.

But then, he brought it on himself. He can’t leave Ty without water.

He moves on that instinct, picking up the glass and returning with soft steps to the bedroom, hoping against foolish hope that Ty has fallen asleep.

Thoughtful, concerned brown eyes hit him as soon as he walks through the door. Jim meets the stare for a moment, then places the water down and sits in the chair by the bed.

Ty doesn’t immediately speak. He just looks.

Jim sighs, rubbing his face. He knew that expression. “Yeah,” he admits. “I know. I’ve just taken so many sick days and personal leave.”

There isn’t even a need for Ty to respond to that one.

“I know they can do without me, and it’s not my job to make sure when I have stuff going on.

I know they want me to take care of myself. But they also want me to do my job, and we need the money.”

That one takes a few seconds. But he knows.

“I don’t like being in debt to people. Even my parents. And I like my job. It’s a nice...break. From you.”

He glances over, but there is no guilt or apology in Ty’s expression. The honesty is always welcomed. The truth is always accepted.

“You’d say I should have time for myself without using work as an excuse,” Jim supplies.

“Work isn’t exactly restful. And I do get time, when Bibi comes over. It’s - not a lot, I know. Not enough. But I could take a day, and then what? It’s back to normal. Back to how we are now, and it just happens again later, doesn’t it?”

If someone could read minds just by looking, it would be Ty. Jim sighs again.

“And you’d say to that… It’s still worth doing. Even if it only helps for a while. It’s better than nothing. That’s what I used to tell myself while you weren’t here, and I felt bad for doing nice things when I knew you were suffering. Still worth doing. Even if I was just gonna get home and feel exhausted and useless again.”

He glances up, then away. “And yeah, I know. I’m not useless.”

Ty shifts slightly, drawing his gaze back. A bandaged hand opens on top of the duvet, and Jim gently places his inside it, palm to palm. Ty squeezes.

The hairline cracks in Jim’s composure shatter, all at once, from that light pressure, and he leans forwards to drop his head onto the mattress with a soft thump. He feels his shoulders shake. “I’m sorry.”

Ty’s hand slips out of his and tears rush to his eyes at the sensation.

Then, light fingers drop weight onto his hair. One loc is moved gently from his shoulder. Ty’s hand runs over the back of his head, light but tender.

Hot tears run out of Jim’s closed eyes at a feeling he hasn’t experienced for years. An old, nostalgic feeling of safety awakens, and he feels himself relaxing, submitting to the care. It is so rare and special, still, to feel Ty initiate contact, and for him to offer contact for Jim’s sake

has been a poisoned chalice ever since that time he’d been delirious with fever and in his confusion, had shown Jim a hidden side of his post-slavery self.

But this is being comforted, actively, deliberately, and everyone tried to comfort Jim all the time about his husband and his situation and how hard he’s working and the loss he suffered, but none of it is anything close to a gentle stroke of his hair from the man he loves with his whole life.

Jim is exhausted and miserable, and Ty is too. Nothing is better, but. It is shared.

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (11) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n sometimes people aren't the nicest (and people can be severely delusional)

masterlist | last part | part 11 | next part

TWITTER

june @linafesting · 42m you look like taylor swift

↳ june @linafesting · 41m not quite mother and daughter, more like aunt and niece ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 32m lina is hayley williams and lana del rey's lovechild and i've been say this for years ↳ lukas 🔛🔝 @lukiepookie28 · 13m oh no... that's not...

INSTAGRAM

emptybottles_official Bangkok, Thailand

liked by chrisyamada and 298,426 others

emptybottles_official All suited up 😎 tagged: lukaszhang, eb_jonno and cameliazzz

chrisyamada who managed to wrangle kas into a suit 🤣

cami.png as much as i love cami content, no lina or aid was a... choice ↳ mrslukaszhang @cami.png right like ur not sending the frontwoman??? what's going on??? (omg kas 😳)

emptybottlesbar Looking sharp!

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

↳ 🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 2h what are y'all up to? ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 2h we went out to dinner tgt! authentic thai food and the night markets bc only grandpa aidan knows how to speak thai <3 ↳ Aidan Park @EB_Aidan · 2h Alex gave us recommendations 😊 ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h deluding myself into thinking this is a producer-songwriter meeting

opal @pxastrixxx · 1h enough time has passed, i think we need to talk about how weird l*na is, a 🧵 ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 1h and ik ur all gonna try defend her by saying its a stage persona yada yada but it's still weird the way she interacts with guys ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 1h starting off with kas and lina, they keep insisting that they're just childhood best friends or smth but the massive shipping fandom they have just proves that ppl aren't blind and they're flirty ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 57m idk how u comfortably flirt with ur so-called 'friend' in front of thousands of ppl each night and even in front of ur boyfriend??? and she's always the one instigating it (e.g. the glove thing) it's weird, does kas have a gf bc i feel sorry for her ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 56m the whole thing with tommy howard is also childish, like its been 3 years and she's still so petty, it's giving: not over him, the whole comment on not dating athletes and then dating oscar just seems like she's trying to rile tommy up ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 54m and that's not even covering the trouble she causes her management team, i swear, the past month i've known of her existence has been her causing drama, going viral, her pr team burying it and rinse, repeat, cycle ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 49m whatever is going on between her and chris yamada is also WEIRD and it's always been weird bc she's mentioned having a celebrity crush on him and then they become friends? and then suddenly they stopped interacting in 2021? ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 43m u think that maybe he's realised smth but then he comes back to perform with them in seoul and they hang out again which is just weird weird weird bc their 'friendship' back then was also shipped ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 40m and i know i'm onto smth bc not all her male friends get shipped with her. her other male bandmates are seen as just friends bc she treats them like friends, the way she acts around kas and chris is just flirty and ppl latched onto that ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 39m and ppl are so brainwashed they think her bluntness and lack of filter is 'authentic' and funny but she's being a self-entitled bitch and her fans keep inflating her ego ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 36m and i haven't even mentioned her actions right after her final break-up with tommy like, going out to parties every week? seen with a different boy every time? making it a very public affair that then needs to be scrubbed from the internet by ur pr team? it says everything u need to know about her imo ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 32m on top of all this, we all know oscar doesn't like the media and would want to keep his relationship private and l*na's blatant disrespect and showboating feels like she's just with him for the virality, it just looks performative ↳ opal @pxastrixxx · 30m i literally just want oscar to go back to his quiet life of just racing and stay away from that kinda lifestyle

kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h is it just me... or did that lina post and reply not quite sound like her? ↳ june @linafesting · 1h was literally just thinking the same thing, that is not my girl ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h i thought i was being paranoid but like, when was the last time she posted??? do you think management banned her from socials?

INSTAGRAM

emptybottlesbar

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emptybottlesbar Oh, hey there Jonny 👋 tagged: eb_jonno

moonbeamlina release the pic he took of admin ↳ emptybottlesbar @moonbeamlina Admin is really shy 🙈

linasgirl4 no snarky lina comment OH THEY'VE TAKEN HER ACCOUNT OFF HER 😭

REDDIT

r/EmptyBottles · Posted by u/buisms84 8 hours ago lina radio silence

does anyone else find it so weird how little promo lina is getting? like she's by far the most popular member esp since she's the FRONTWOMAN and she's been completely radio silent on socials since last weekend?

and not to discount any of the other band members ofc but everyone is noticing, like this is so not like the EB pr method?

so does anyone have any clue what's happening lol

dreamofbees · 8 hr. ago didn't she tweet a pic of her and aidan like last night? buisms84 OP · 8 hr. ago i think everyone and their dog knew that wasn't her

niaphilia283 · 7 hr. ago there's a twitter hate train rn it's causing a bit of a commotion and i think they (management) took her socials off her to prevent escalation buisms84 OP · 7 hr. ago wait, what twitter hate train? niaphilia283 · 5 hr. ago one of her boyfriend's deranged fans (user pxastrixxx) had a long ass thread basically calling lina a slut and saying she's just using him for clout but they priv'ed their acc now (i took screenshots if u wanna see)

TWITTER

EB Updates @emptybottles_news · 1h 4 years ago... Lina and Kas did a zoom interview/catch-up during the COVID-19 lockdown

↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 51m oomfie this was NOT A GOOD TIME TO POST THIS 😭 ↳ kaslina on my mind ☁️ @kaslinatruther · 22m they're in love ur honor

MESSAGES

from the phone of oscar piastri

TWITTER

↳ emme @flowersforcami · 6h hey bestie... how you doing...? ↳ president linami @ linaminami · 6h NOT WELL 😭

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h what happened to that one oscar user who had that fuck-long thread bitching about lina? ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h i mean like i was also pretty against about her to begin with but i think anyone with eyes could figure that was a bit... right??? ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 1h ppl aren't that smart and my girl is a pretty convincing actress

kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h why was bangkok kinda robbed like 👀 ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h it's one thing to put ur frontwoman on a social ban but to stop her from giving it all on stage is an insult. i firmly believe that it's criminal that the band management told lina to 'tone it down' on stage bc of the online noise which straight up isn't fair for the thai fans ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 58m and she looked so miserable btw like it's the only thing you can notice in the tour videos, she's pissed off and she's trying so hard not to let it bleed into her performance

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 31m hot take: people have always been weird about lina's dating life and it's gone far beyond anything reasonable ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 27m nobody take this the wrong way! i love her and oscar together, they seem really happy and enjoy spending time together, from what i can see they both put in effort to see each other (which is esp difficult with their jobs) but we need to leave them ALONE. she likes privacy and oscar is a very textbook introvert. those bitches do NOT want you prying into their lives, trust me on this

pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h the lack of individual content from both lina and oscar is convincing me those two are shacked up somewhere, trust 🙏 (i'm delusional) ↳ pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h YES IK LINA IS IN BANGKOK AND OSCAR IS IN MIAMI, THIS WAS A JOKE

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