#finally getting some answers this chapter

[salem-s]

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

[romanofftherealest]

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔬𝔩𝔡

Chapter 2: Wrong Move | 5.2k

Summary: Once you were given a chance by the Ice Queen, you must not fuck it up because once you made a wrong move, you'll get killed—figuratively and literally.

Pairing: Mob boss Natasha Romanoff x Mob boss Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 bickering, sexual tension, smut, switch reader & Natasha, fingering & strap-on (r), death threat, frustrated murder lol

Author's Note: 👋

⧗

"Ice Queen."

"Black Widow."

Insufferable–it had been insufferable between you two since your meeting with Dr. Bruce. Since he'd made his little comment.

"Please don't fuck in my office."

Natasha had taken the comment in stride, though she was unable to shake off the feeling of embarrassment entirely. But she couldn't afford to be flustered—she had an image to uphold.

You, on the other hand, maintained composed throughout the rest of that meeting, keeping your expression impassive and unreadable. Your gaze never averted from the path ahead, and you avoided even a single glance in her direction—the walk out of the office and the wait for your respective escorts.

The Black Widow hadn't seen you since then until today.

"You have always been ruining my time."

"I had an emergency."

You huff, "Again?"

"I'm sorry." Now, that was shocking coming from her, you didn't realize someone in your line of work is actually capable of apologizing. "How's business?" she now inquired, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. She sat across from you, hoping that her attempt at nonchalance was convincing.

"Steady." You answer shortly.

Natasha resisted the urge to tug at her tie as she leaned forward to sign some of the papers you presented her.

"How's Red Room?" you now asked, in return of respect.

This was all feeling a little too familiar—de javu. The redhead gulped, glancing up. It proved to be a mistake, she realized as you tucked your hair behind your ear that exposed a hint of your cleavage, the soft fabric of your dress gently pressed against the edge of the desk. Your movements were deliberate as you signed the document. You two had a business to sign together after Bruce had set you up, but if you actually weren't in that room together that time, and he did not make that comment of his, there is no business to sign right now. And you wouldn't take the blame being in the room with her, she was the one stealing your time of appointment.

Natasha finally gave her tie just a little tug. "Quiet."

As she took the paper from you, you couldn't help but notice her usual rolled-up sleeves, revealing the ink-adorned sleeves on her arms. But something was different today—the tie. Normally, her top was slightly unbuttoned, highlighting the intricate designs that crept up towards her shoulder. Today, however, the top few buttons remained firmly done up, leaving you wondering how extensive her tattoos were, and how much of it was simply golden skin.

Despite your attempt to be subtle, your eyes remained fixed on her. Natasha could feel your gaze, a heavy weight on her skin. But she made no comment about it, instead choosing to remain silent. Perhaps she was trying to be a gentlewoman, although knowing that being a gentlewoman hadn't worked out so well for her the last time around.

Natasha has the kind of sculpted physique that came from countless hours of training, complemented by the intricate ink that adorned her flesh. And her face? It is capable of morphing from a radiant smile to a deadly glare in a mere second.

While you possessed your own distinct image, a counterpoint to her rough edges. With your carefully crafted lace, the shimmering satin clothing that hugged your form, and the cold, stoic demeanor you projected, you cut a striking figure of elegance.

Then there was the ever-present knife strapped to your thigh.

Natasha's gaze followed your every move as you adjusted your shawl, her eyes tracing its soft trail as it covered your delicate skin. She found herself missing the bare sight of your skin, the way the white fabric clung to your form. She tugged her tie again.

"What are you wearing that for?"

"What?" you rolled her eyes. You weren't one for unnecessary words, let alone small talk. But you just wanted to know, so you had asked. "I have never seen you wear a tie in all the years you've been in town."

"I've worn ties before."

"Not unless it's to conduct business." You scoffed at her quick retort.

"This is business."

"I am not a mark." You narrowed your eyes at her like a cat watching its prey. "There is no need for formality."

She huffed through her nose, and you looked just as affronted as she felt. She gripped the knot, "I'll take it off then, Ice."

"I didn't say you had to take it off."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"All I did was ask." You huffed and stood from your chair, uncrossing your legs and resettling your shawl again.

Natasha finished her last signature in a rush, tugging her tie looser and looser. What was with her? "There."

"Pleasure doing business," you offered the typical and polite placation at the end of any business dealing in your line of work.

You walked over to her, your lace around your shoulders, caressing its way down your arms and then just brushing your hips on its way down. It was like an embrace around you, teasing and beckoning all at once. Your dress had a slit to allow the room to cross your legs when sitting. It revealed a slim, pale calf and killer stiletto heel.

Natasha managed to drag her eyes back up the leg and to her offered hand somehow. She grasped it in her, always making sure to be soft with it. She knew that you wouldn't like knowing she was trying to be careful with you, but…she couldn't help it. Your hand was so small—so light—whenever she got to hold it in you.

Not that she looked forward to it or anything.

"Pleasure."

You averted your gaze as Natasha raised your hand, her lips gently planting a kiss to your fourth knuckle. You knew she was intentionally skipping over your rings, choosing to kiss your bare skin. You made sure at your best efforts to conceal the shiver that occasionally ran down your spine whenever she did this, not wanting her to know how it affects you.

"Pleasure indeed."

Fuck. You were aware of your own allure and sexiness, it's something that was impossible to ignore. You know that you are driving her crazy—you just had to.

Natasha tugged at her suit jacket and her tie, attempting to distract herself from the effect of the woman in front of her. The same woman who can kill her with just a slip of a knife, she had to remind herself.

"Well," Natasha managed to snap herself out of her trance-like state, clearing her throat. She was unable to resist the urge to continue tugging at her tie, untying it completely and letting it hang loose around her neck. She looked at you, her gaze lingering for a moment before she spoke again. "Until next time, I guess."

"Leave the tie at home."

"Okay," she snorted in response, still keeping the tie barely on and popped open the stiflingly tight collar. She turned to you with a confused frustrated glare, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" you growled right back at her.

She let out a smirk, that familiar smirk that always seemed to get under your skin, like when she called you, Printsessa. "Flustered?"

"Why would I be?" Cold as ice.

"It was your fault, you know, Banner's little comment."

"My fault?!" Oh, there it was–the Ice Queen's temper. All the frostiness is gone and is now replaced with a fuel raging fire. "You were the one trying to kiss me!"

"Okay, fine," she shrugged, and you froze back up again. That easy? She would concede that easily? You didn't expect that from the Black Widow at all. For all her reputation, the one and only bounty hunter conceded herself to the Ice Queen. You were expecting her to argue that it was you trying to kiss her, but she didn't really care who was trying to kiss whom. It was you who'd gotten pretty close all on your own as you'd stormed over to her, she just moved a little closer that time—not even an inch. "So?"

"So?" your jaw tightens as you shake your head, trying to keep your composure in front of her. You were caught off guard by her sudden surrender, let alone for it to be about that.

You couldn't stop replaying that incident in your mind, over and over again—each time so that you'd be able to defend your innocence to the end, adamant that you didn't initiate the kiss. You didn't lean in, you didn't reach out to pull her closer, you didn't allow her intoxicating scent to cloud your judgment and all your reservations and up until you get home.

And you definitely didn't think about fucking her in someone else's office, you didn't. Not at all.

Natasha let out a soft moan when you firmly gripped what was left of her tie and pulled her in closer. She had been yearning for this moment, her mind consumed by the thought of her lips meeting yours. She even started keeping tulips on her desk at her office, their sweet scent reminding her of you. No one dared to ask her about the change, and she would have been too embarrassed to confess that they were there simply to bring back memories of the Ice Queen's fragrance.

You couldn't help but gasp as Natasha moved swiftly, her tongue lightly tracing your lip in a silent request for more. In that moment, your defenses crumbled and you granted it, perhaps a bit too early, eagerly and willingly. But there was no room for overthinking or analysis now, because it was already happening. She was a damn good kisser, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of the moment.

You tossed her tie aside, your fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt as if you were on a mission. Natasha refused to be outdone—didn't want to be found lacking. Her hands moved with grace and gentleness as she eased the delicate lace fabric away from your skin. She wound it around her hand, only to release it, replacing its tender touch on your skin.

As her hands glided over your frame, tracing a path from your shoulders to your arms and finally coming to rest on your waist, you found yourself involuntarily gasping her name.

"N-Natasha…" without any visible effort, she effortlessly hoisted you into the air. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her neck, seeking support. Despite the considerable size of your hands, they couldn't find a firm grip on her muscular shoulders. She has incredible strength, like a wall of muscle against which you feel both secured and at her mercy.

A moan of pleasure escaped Natasha's lips as your tongue tangled with hers. She spun you around with effortless strength and lowered you onto the edge of your desk, her focus now on your exposed neck.

Your breathing grew heavy as Natasha continued her ministries, successfully banishing any coherent thoughts from your mind. Her mouth relentlessly explored the sensitive skin of your neck, while her hands began to delicately loosen the straps of your dress, letting the fabric slide down your shoulders. At the same time, her fingertips traced a teasing path down your spine, gradually heading south.

Natasha's voice was a low, possessive growl as she pressed her lips to the flat plane of your stomach, her hands hurriedly tugging and rearranging the shimmering fabric of your dress, exposing your thigh holster in the process. Her touch was firm but gentle as her fingertips skimmed over your inner thigh, tracing an intimate path that sent shivers down your spine—and you cannot hide that shiver this time. She lifts her gaze to meet you, her eyes filled with admiration and something deeper.

"Do you have any idea...how beautiful you are?"

Despite the rush of sensations coursing through you, you resisted the urge to let out a gasp as Natasha released your holster, letting it fall to the floor. Unexpectedly, her fingertips were incredibly soft and tender when she gently massaged the area where the holster's clip had left marks on your skin, soothing the redness. The contrast between her touch and the ruthless image of the Black Widow intrigued you. It awakened an unexpected fondness within you, something you couldn't help but find charming about her that is entirely against your will.

"No."

"No?" Natasha chuckled softly, not condescendingly. Her head dipping lower to press a gentle kiss against the sensitive skin of your knee. She knelt down at your feet, her gaze locked on yours, her eyebrow arched in an amused manner. "Shall I show you then? My Queen?"

Your face flushed with a combination of desire and irritation, and you avoided her gaze, pressing your heel against her shoulder in a subtle attempt to maintain some control. You refused to give in to her attempts to fluster you, but God she did, and you think she already knows that.

"Ah, ah," Natasha issued a reprimanding retort, catching your heel between her fingers before you could even touch it. She delicately and teasingly unfastened the strap, using her teeth to extract it from its securing position. Glancing back up at you, "let me work, your Highness."

Pleasure coursed through you as Natasha's tongue followed an intimate path up your ankle, lavishing kisses on the back of your calf. She left a lingering lick on your knee before continuing and you felt yourself becoming increasingly disoriented, the papers beneath your fingers crumpling due to your trembling grip.

She gripped your hips firmly, helping to ease you as she pressed soft kisses to the mark where your holster had been placed. Her fingers trailed up along the seam of your dress slit, running them along the sheer edge between your legs, her touch light yet deliberate.

As you bit your lip again, trying desperately to hold back a whimper, Natasha's fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties. She rubbed slow circles over your clit through the thin material, feeling how wet you were already. You tried pushing her by the shoulders again when she soothed her fingers up and down where you needed the most, but at the same time you were more ready to wrap your legs around her and lock her in place until you were good and finished.

"More."

What the Queen wants, the Queen gets.

She was the commoner, worshipping at the altar of your body, her Queen. Each moan and whimper from your lips was like a royal decree, commanding her to continue serving your pleasure.

Without hesitation, Natasha pushed your panties to the side and her tongue quickly delved between your folds, pressing flat and firm against your clit just as she had promised. Your hips lifted off the desk involuntarily as she held you steady with one strong arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for her mouth's access.

"Fuck!" your screams turned into incoherent pleas as she pushed you right to the edge of pleasure. Natasha doubled her efforts, adding two fingers to the mix while her tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. She curled those fingers just right, hitting that magical spot inside you over and over.

She closely observed your responses, attuned to every subtle movement and reaction your body betrayed. Her grip on your thighs was firm but tender, so that it would keep them from crushing her head completely. Not that she really minds you wanting and needing to crush her head because that is some way to die and she would thank you, the Queen, after it with what remains in her dying breath.

"Natasha…" your whimpers and pleas grow louder and more desperate. She loved the sound of her name on your lips, loved how your voice cracked and broke as she pushed you higher and higher. "Please, oh-yes!"

And finally, you reached the high of your throne. And Natasha held your trembling legs with a gentleness and possessiveness, feeling like the most fortunate commoner in the kingdom. The Queen had given her the chance to taste her sweet nectar, and Natasha was drinking it up greedily, savoring each drop as you shook and moaned on the desk.

Natasha moved slowly, savoring the taste of your pleasure still on her lips as she carefully put your legs down. "You good?"

Oh, you were so much more than good, that word is a freaking understatement. But she could never ever know that, ever! You nodded, not trusting your high self to speak just yet. It was bad enough that you were going to have that glow after not having a release like that in God knows how long and Natasha could ever know that one either.

Natasha, from what you've heard, is ruthless in business and deadly in combat. But she is a good lover, that was for sure…and you didn't hear that one…

You experienced it first hand.

Natasha carried you effortlessly to the plush couch in your office, ignoring your half-hearted resistance to being held close. She sat down first, then pulled you onto her lap so your head rested naturally against her chest. Her fingers carded through your hair absently as she let you catch your breath.

Her breath hitched slightly as she felt your fingers deftly working at her shirt buttons. She had to admit, your sleight of hand was as impressive as it was seductive as she even realized you'd started until her shirt was half-unbuttoned and slipping from her trousers.

"Ready for more?"

"I don't leave debts unpaid."

"I don't—!" Natasha gasped as you suddenly sank your teeth into her earlobe, biting down with a playful intensity that made her arch against you. The immediate soothing lick and gentle kisses down her neck had her melting into your touch, realizing you were mirroring her earlier actions. Fuck.

"Sh," you breathed against her skin, letting her sweet time get nice and riled up. If she has turned you into an absolute mess, then you are going to melt her into a puddle of desire. Completely wrecked in your hands.

"Y-you." Natasha's voice came out as a guttural moan, her hips rising instinctively to meet your touch. She was utterly at your mercy now, every fiber of her being focused on the exquisite sensations you were creating.

The Black Widow, the deadly assassin, was now reduced to a whimpering mess beneath you.

"Let me," you whispered against her skin, your lips brushing against her collarbone as you traced the intricate patterns of her tattoos. Your hands unbuckled her binder revealing more colors of tattoos on her breasts, you pinched and swirled your tongue on her nipples before you moved down and down and down…until you felt an unexpected bulge.

"The Black Widow indeed," you purred into her ear, your voice low and sultry, as you watched the flush of red spread from the base of her neck up to her cheeks. It was a heady sight, knowing you had reduced the formidable Black Widow to this state of arousal. Her eyes fluttered closed as you unbuttoned and slipped your hands inside her pants, finding the strap-on she had been wearing. "Do you want this?"

"Yes," she choked. Her hands immediately returned to your hips, gripping them tightly as she guided you closer. The heat between your legs was unbearable now, the tip of strap-on pressing insistently against your core.

You leaned in, kissing along her jawline until your lips found hers again. Your eyes locked onto hers as you played teasingly with the tip of her strap-on, rubbing it with your entrance just enough to make her shudder.

"Do you want me?" you asked with your hooded lustful eyes.

"Yes." Her whisper came out breathless, needy—a sound far removed from the ruthless mob boss she usually played. Her hands moved with purpose, pulling you close as she arched up to meet you. The strap-on pressed firmly against you now, and she could barely control herself.

"Y/N."

Natasha gasped your name, the sound escaped her lips in a beautiful, almost reverent tone. But you yearned to hear her stripped of words, reduced to nothing but breathless moans. You wanted to see her utterly undone, rendered incapable of forming a single syllable, let alone your name. So you began to move in her lap, your hands roaming over her back and your lips finding their way over her cheeks and down to her neck, Natasha's body responded beneath you. You could feel the firm muscles of her pecs tensing and flexing with each of your movements, the contact between you growing increasingly delicious.

"Fuck, you," she panted, enjoying herself entirely as you moved on bounced of her.

"Tell me how much you wanted me."

"So bad," Natasha panted in response, her lips eager to find the little spot between your jaw and neck again. "Fuck, so bad. Y/N, please…so bad."

You gasped, your nails digging into her shoulders. "Tell me you want me now."

"More than anything," she growled, her hands snaked over your back for the purpose of supporting you but then, she finally—finally! found the hidden zip of the dress and she immediately pulled it down. "I want you, I need you."

Your eyes flew open as Natasha swiftly dragged the zipper of your dress down, tearing the fabric literally and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You pulled away from her lips, a low growl escaping your own as you watched the remnants of your dress being discarded without a hint of remorse.

"You—!"

Natasha withdrew, you gasped, caught between the conflicting emotions. She swiftly lifted you off her lap, effortlessly flipping your position so you now lay across her on the expansive sofa. "I'll buy you a new one."

"That's not the point!" you barked at her. You weren't angry about your dress being torn apart and discarded. You were frustrated about the way she'd stopped fucking you just to manhandle you, flipping you over just to change position. And you were deeply irritated with the way she had sat up and away from you just to stare. "What?!"

Natasha ignored you, running a hand through her hair as she took a few breaths, both of you in your naked glory under your office light. She ignored you, taking a moment to run a hand through her tousled hair as she caught her breath. The soft glow of the office light casts shadows across your naked bodies.

Fuck, she is beautiful. You watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, the light accented the shadows and angles of her muscles, and all of the human curves in between.

"Do you always stop in the middle of fucking just to catch your breath."

She looked down at you like a wife who was nagging her about something. So she kissed you like she was trying to prove a point—that she could still dominate you even when you were being mouthy. Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling and pushing it around as she liked, just like how you pulled her by the tie.

"No, but I do want to savor every minute of making love to you."

God, this woman thought she was so cute–she thought she was so charming. So you kept kissing her, so she wouldn't see the look on your face as you felt each flutter of the butterflies.

She tore her lips away from yours, enjoying the pout that formed on your mouth as you tried to follow hers. She left one last kiss on your lips before trailing kisses over your cheeks to your ear.

"Are you ready for me, koroleva?" (Queen)

You pinched her thick arms, wondering if it actually hurt her but whatever, you had been ready before she interrupted the two of you just to use some sappy line on you and change positions.

"Right away," she chuckled, her breath on your neck as she pushed the strap-on into you again, "your Majesty."

"Natasha!" you let out a deep, guttural moan as she started moving again, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. Your hands gripped her shoulders tightly before dragging down to the thick muscles over her sides, fingers digging in as she thrusted against you.

She buried her face in your neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin as she continued to move against you. She nuzzled closer until she could kiss you again, "Shit, baby, you gotta come soon."

Oh, you were much closer than she thought you were. Your whimper was almost silent, but she heard it. She just made love to you now like how she called it, but she knows that sound. Her thumb found your clit without warning, pressing hard circles that matched her thrusts. She captured your bottom lip between her teeth.

"Natasha, I-I'm so close…" you were completely lost in sensation, your back arched, legs trembling around her waist. Your hands clawed at her back, leaving red marks. You were making those high-pitched whines that always drove her wild. She knew you were right there, so she did something she knew would push you over. She knew you were a hair trigger right now—no filter, no control.

And just like that, you shattered. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, legs shaking violently as you came undone in her arms. She felt your inner walls clamping down on her fingers, pulsing with your release.

You clenched your eyes shut, allowing a few moments for clarity to slowly return. Eventually, your office ceiling came into clear focus, and you became acutely aware of the weight of Natasha's body pressing against yours, your limbs wrapped around her body like intimate vines. A part of you wanted to just walk away.

Cold as ice.

You couldn't even if you really wanted to, your mind was still hazy, and your body was utterly spent. Your knees trembled, their stability compromised, and you knew you wouldn't be able to move for a few precious minutes.

Natasha's head gently turned, her mouth finding its way to the sensitive skin of your neck. With soft, tender kisses, she made her way up until her lips found yours once more.

"Hey."

"Hey." You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your body slowly came down from its high. Natasha didn't give you much time to recover though—her kisses were insistent and hungry, like she couldn't get enough of you. Your hands found their way back into her hair without hesitation.

"So?" her voice was soft but with a hint of playful tease. She kept one arm wrapped securely around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Her other hand slowly started smoothing down your mess of hair, deliberately avoiding your bruised lip.

You peeled your eyes open, doing your best to glare at her for interrupting your tranquility. You raised a brow at her bright grin, practically giggling with glee. "So what?"

She was even more undeterred by your prickliness, though. She traced your cheekbone with her thumb, gently smoothing away a smudge of make-up. "Do you know, now? How beautiful are you?"

She thought she was so fucking charming–damn this woman, and that heart of her. You allowed her one more kiss, soft and slower. You were beginning to think she liked kissing you or something.

"After one round?"

"One and a half," Natasha corrected you urgently, her pout deepened into something almost childlike—adorable even though she'd just wrecked every inch of your body. "And I thought they were pretty good."

Oh, they were amazing. Maybe the most amazing you'd ever had in your life. But she could never ever know that, ever.

All of a sudden, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your expression when your gaze went down on the discarded strap-on on the couch. Does she wear that all the time? Were you the first one she used that on? Because if you fucking weren't you better get yourself tested, that's for fucking sure. So now you had to ask to make sure if you had to get an appointment, and definitely not because you wanted to know if she had been with someone else.

"Do you wear that all the time?"

She chuckled softly, her smirk growing wider and now you're beginning to hate that look and what she's about to say.

"Yeah, so whenever I see a woman I'd like to fuck—"

"Get out." You won't let her finish or else you will finish her.

Her face fell completely flat, the cocky smirk disappearing as she registered your actual anger when you tore away yourself from her. "Hey, hey—" she stood as well, missing the warmth of your body together, "Wait, koroleva, I was joking."

Oh and you weren't.

"Get. Out."

She looked like a scolded child—all that confidence and swagger gone. As soon as you started walking towards her again, she scrambled to gather her jeans, binder, and top. She fumbled with the buttons of her jeans, while you stood there naked as you walked her towards your office door. She was terrified—not of the naked woman in front of her, but of your sudden coldness and the fact, that you can kill her with your bare hands.

"Detka, please wait, wait—hey, hey…" but you didn't listen, she was clearly trying to calm you down, but you are so calm in case she missed that because you haven't thrown her the knife you had been toying in your hand. You continue to walk her out while she stumbles backward, staring at you and the sharp thing you're playing. "Koroleva, I was joking!" she pleaded once again.

"Call me stupid nicknames and this knife will go straight to you, Black Widow."

Oh, Natasha didn't like that at all. Back with the titles again? After everything that had happened just a couple of minutes ago? Clearly, Natasha is now aware of the wrong actions she did and in the next few seconds, she's about to make one again…

"But, detka—"

You threw the knife straight at her and if Natasha wasn't able to grip the doorknob and get out fast, that knife would've gone straight to her left eye. She didn't even realize she is now outside breathing hard, the buttons of her top not in the proper places—while your guards, with their big guns, looked at her soul like they're ready to kill her as well. Luckily, Kate and Yelena was fast to get to Natasha to mediate the situation, kind of.

She turned to the door and knocked desperately while fixing her top buttons, "Y/N, please!" All the shame, all the title was long forgotten now as she beg for you.

"The hell happened?" Yelena, her sister asked while Kate eyes the guards carefully, not provokingly.

And you surprisingly opened the door.

All eyes were on you, but your guards immediately turned their backs as if they already knew what to do, as if they had already seen you like this before.

"Oh fuck." Kate drops her mouth at the sight of you, still naked.

"Goryachiy ad." (Hot hell) Yelena mutters before she turns around. When she sees that Kate was still gawking, she immediately hissed at her practically drooling for you. "Belova!" the tall girl groaned at the sight of you for the last time before she painfully turns around.

While Natasha really fought herself to grab your whole body so she could hide you from all the eyes that are solely on you. Or maybe tear the eyes away from the skull of those people who had already seen you like this. She just couldn't stand the thought of people seeing you this way, maybe some did—already did, but they would never make you feel what she made you feel just moments ago. She wants to hide you from the world and keep you in a place where she and only her can see.

"Y/N..." she fought her very best not to call you russian petnames, "I-I was..." she trailed off when her eyes went to your hands, holding the harness of her strap-on. She also fought her very damn hard best for her gaze not to go further down—she almost did, but the sound of you retrieving the knife from the doorway made her flinch and return her gaze on you.

Your eyes were killer and sharp, and so is your knife. You didn't tear your angry orbs away from her while you cut her strap-on harness with your knife in front of her, you threw the remaining ruined pieces on her feet before shutting the door close.

Nothing Burns Like The Cold: Masterlist

[tarotwithcherwi]

July Channeled Message From Higher Self & Spirit Guides | pick-a-card 🌿🦋

Hello loves, welcome to your channeled message from your Higher Self and Spirit Guides—a gentle pick-a-card reading for the month of July

I’m wishing each of you a wonderful month ahead.

May these messages bring clarity, comfort, and connection exactly when you need it. 🤍

With care,

—cherwi

**Note: close your eyes, take a deep breath, & focus on the pile or two that you feel most drawn to. remember don’t over think & just use your intuition.

Pile I. > Pile II. > Pile III.

Pile I.

// pontia protodice & clear quartz //

Song(s): Say Yes To Heaven — Lana del Rey & Rather Be — Clean Bandit (ft. Jess Glynne)

⟡ Cards Pulled: Page of Pentacles, Six of Cups, Ten of Swords, Wheel of Fortune (rx), Nine of Wands (rx), Nine of Pentacles

✦ Themes this Month: cleansing, emotional healing & releasing, inner work, soft discipline, unfinished cycles, glow up

With clear quartz as your crystal messenger this month, you’re being guided to clear the noise and clear any clutter mentally or physically. This stone is about clarity and purification; it helps amplify truth and your own healing energy, and this July it's helping you see the past clearly for what is not what it felt like. It brings light into shadows and allows you to gain wisdom from clarity.  Hold onto clear quartz this month when you are ready to let go of something emotionally heavy, use it to journal your thoughts and emotions throughout the month, or use it to cleanse your space.

There is a glow up happening for my pile I’s. This is the month where you show up for yourself intentionally. Whether it’s waking up earlier, eating more balanced, working out more consistently or even clearing your space, you’re making room for the new. 

Whatever you are working towards, you are becoming more magnetic and confident. You might not feel like you are doing much, but your guides are saying this is transformation. Networking events, hangouts, job interviews, and other opportunities will flow to you easily. This is month where you are meant to be out and about.

You might feel there’s a return to the past— people, memories, or pieces of your inner child asking for your attention. Some of these moments will be pleasant, some will not. The Ten of Swords & Wheel of Fortune (rx) tells me this month you will recognize a cycle that you will have to choose to release, even if it means not getting the closure you thought you needed.

The lessons this month are to rebuild your self worth, nurture your inner child, and release any lingering past baggage without needing every answer. Closure might not have been straightforward, but the cycle has ended to start a new chapter.

ᯓ✦  Channeled Quotes/Messages(s):

you’re not going backward stop trying to rewrite the past  consistently is louder than doubt you don't have to carry the weight that isn’t yours  feel your feelings & release them  trust divine timing is your best ally you are never alone in your journey  don't underestimate small shifts; they add up keep going, don't look back

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: 111, 11:22, birds flying in pairs, “go with the flow”, clocks glitching, sudden mood swings out of nowhere, electronic glitches, 12:21, divine timing delays that are blessings, squirrels, 10:10, 999, 12:34, seeing butterflies with white or pale wings, baby photos, rewatching old shows, mirrors, broken glass or glass reflections, people from your past reaching out

“I grow even in stillness. I heal without needing the final word.”

Pile II.

// morpho & amethyst //

Song(s): Paradise — Coldplay & Titanium — David Guetta (ft. Sia)

⟡ Cards Pulled: The Moon, The Lovers, Knight of Wands (rx), King of Swords (rx), Ten of Cups

✦ Themes this Month: fog before clarity, surrender, divine alignment, shadow work, lack of movement

This month Amethyst is your crystal messenger, it carries the energy to help with intuition, emotional protection, and connect you to spirit—it whispers to your higher self through gut feelings, dreams, and signs when you least expect them. This stone helps walk you through the veil of fog and uncertainty. Sleep with amethyst near your bed or meditate with it when you're unsure. This will help you tune in instead of overthinking or spiraling. July is asking you to move intentionally and listen.

Uncertainty, delayed action, choices, and fog are in the soup for my pile II’s. Don’t be surprised if you feel sleepy, dreamy, indecisive, or closed off this month. A lack of motivation and inspiration could be holding you energetically hostage.

However, your spirit guides and higher self are guiding you to dig inward to make decisions that isn’t logical but felt. The Moon & Lovers shows a crossroad between dream and reality, choices and alignment. It’s a liminal space, where you are told to make an aligned choice. This is choice that is meant to serve you not others.

Ten of Cups shows that fulfillment and harmony are within reach this month. But, only when you stop trying to force your path to look like others and start building structure from within. You are being asked: What do you want? How are you going to make it happen? This isn’t a race, rather a realignment test. You’re told to drop the comparison olympics. Your journey is uniquely yours. Your spirit guides are protecting and guiding you even in moments of doubt.

ᯓ✦  Channeled Quotes/Message(s):

remember the universe is always working in your favor you were not supposed to stay the same you are spiritually protected  the art of surrendering is trusting the process the grass is greener wherever you are  seasons of rest are sacred as seasons of bloom stillness isn’t delay, its a doorway the answers will come you are worthy of love and happiness you won't miss what’s meant for you even if you hesitate 

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: “trust the process”, couples appearing around you, moon phases, stars, black cats, crane fly, “stagnation is movement”, 888, 11:22, 222, 717, 11:11, 828, hearing songs that feel like they’re “answering your question”, rings/circular objects, hazy/foggy weather, purple/pink flowers, soft floral scents, dreams about crossroads/trains/elevators, birds circling or staring at you

“Even in confusion, I trust the path is unfolding for me.”

Pile III.

// swallowtail & tigers eye //

Song(s): Headlock — Imogen Heap & Bulletproof — La Roux 

⟡ Cards Pulled: Ace of Wheels (rx), The High Priestess, Queen of Cups (rx), Three of Wands (rx), The Lovers (rx)

✦ Themes this Month: courage, self-trust, emotional blockage, progress, instability, rebuilding foundations, leaping into the unknown

With tiger's eye as your companion this month you’re being handed the strength to act even when scared or when the path looks unclear. This stone is fierce with clarity, risk taking, and courage. This stone will help you spot opportunities where you saw obstacles and help you move through fog.  Carry tiger's eye when you need courage to speak up, make a decision, or whenever you travel. It will be your spiritual “pep talk” reminding you courage isn’t without fear, but it's the decision to do it with fear.

Stepping into the fire is pile III’s theme this month. Emotional messiness, mixed signals, and a sense of chaos around finances, purpose, and close relations is all in a mixed bag. But, your guides are letting you know this is about preparation & initiation. You are being asked: How far are you willing to go? Can you leap before the safety net appears?

You are being called to act from intuition rather certainty. Because certainty is not guaranteed. You are meant to move even when fear and failure strike. The High Priestess is your own inner knowing peeking behind the veil. You know what you need to do, you're just afraid of it not working out and people’s opinions. (spoiler alert: it never mattered)

The Ace of Wheels (rx) and Lovers (rx) is about rebuilding your path and those you associate with. You might struggle with communicating your needs to others or even yourself. You might have arguments with those who don’t see your dreams. But, your guides want you to know, you do not need a solid foundation to begin. Start messy. Start with shaky hands. Start before anyone claps. And, just when you feel things aren’t moving—unexpected communication, wild dreams, surprising shifts will change stagnation to direction.

ᯓ✦ Channeled Quotes/Message(s);

free yourself from your past self, you deserve to vibrate higher ask for more, the universe always provides  it all works out you will know its right when it gives you energy fear is not a stop sign, it's proof you’re close to something real it’s okay if you don’t feel ready, perfection doesn’t = courage you radiate confidence, strength, and self respect take a leap regardless on whether you can see the whole staircase or not mastery takes failure you are not behind, you are becoming in your own time

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: vivid dreams, dark red & gold colors, clouds, “balance”, bees, red cars, 222, 444, feathers, familiar scents, lavender scent, candles, “believe in your own power”, chills, sudden cramps/goosebumps, 333, 555, 144, tigers, hawks, dropped calls/miscommunication glitches, flickering lights, smelling something burnt or smoky, gold jewelry, ladders

“I act even when afraid. I trust the next step will reveal itself as I take it.”

🔮 All readings and content © @tarotwithcherwi

Please don’t repost or copy without credit. Thank you!! 🙏

**pictures used belong to their rightful owners**

[mentalbreakdownsarenormal]

"The carefree shamelessness of a kid." That... entirely recontextualizes her relationship with Lancer in chapter 1, doesn't it.

(Long rant about the two under the cut)

I mean, consider what chapter 1 must have been like for her. The human freak she hates has just caught her eating school property, and if they report it it'd be the last straw that gets her expelled. Considering what she said to them in The_Newist_Girl post, they will probably do so immediately and remorselessly. It is only because of their mother and her kindness towards her that she doesn't cause a major incident on the spot. She begrudgingly agrees to just get some more chalk and head back to class.

(She also drops the line "If you haven't gotten it by now... Your choices don't matter" which uh. Speaking of internalization.)

Of course, it isn't that simple. The closet is both impossibly dark and impossibly big. And when the two of them go to leave, the door is slammed in her face and locked. The floor collapses under her and she falls through. The drop is impossibly far.

She wakes up in a new world that does not make sense. The first person (barring the freak) she sees starts shooting at the two of them. She finds an entire abandoned town, complete with a castle. And, perhaps the strangest thing of all, she meets a hooded figure who tells her about a prophecy. One she is a part of.

One that calls her a hero.

She doesn't believe it. When asked to accept her destiny as one of the Delta Warriors, she refuses. The hooded guy is knocked away by a kid on a bike. And he's the first person to finally give her a clear answer when she asks a question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm... The Bad Guy!"

This is the first and only thing she has understood in the last few hours. He's a bad guy. He's getting in her way. Someone's getting beat up. After the fight, two facts make themselves clear. One, she needs to go east. Two, people are gonna try and stop her.

So she goes, alone, and makes herself a menace of the enemies. Beats them up, steals their stuff, and other sorts of things you would do in a normal RPG. That's what the enemies are for, after all. Why would she be nice to someone trying to kill her. Eventually, she's blocked by a door she can't open alone until the other nerds show up. She needs to follow them, but like hell she's actually gonna help them or change her behavior at all. There's no point. Kris and Ralsei are good and she's bad. They fell right into their roles, being all nice and stuff, but she's not like them. She can't think of anything good to say about someone trying to kill them like they can. She isn't delicate. She isn't skilled at anything. But she can smash things. And so smash things she shall. Just like she always has, and just like she always will. Don't know why anyone's expecting anything else.

She won't, she can't grow as a person like they can, not now not ever.

Susie's arc where she grows as a person begins after two rooms. It's the scene where Lancer mistakes Susie trying to intimidate him as advice on how to be scary and thanks her for it. His praise surprises her and having someone who appreciates her motivates her to become better. That's the basic reading anyway. But in hindsight...

Lancer is a child. A young child. Why? Lancer's age, for the most part, is irrelevant to his character. If you wanted him to parallel Susie, why not write him to be the same age as everyone else? How does the relationship between the two of them benefit from Susie needing to babysit the kid half the time they hang out?

She's his mentor. The one she never had herself. Lancer is bad at being scary. His evil laugh sounds like a baby Santa Claus. He has no idea what he's doing, he's just trying to be "scary and badass" like his dad. And it just so happens being scary is one of the few things Susie knows how to be "good" at. And with that in mind, Susie's words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

Susie interrupts with a single word. "Stop." What Susie says next, about wannabe tough guys and bitten faces isn't her trying to scare him. It's her trying to crush him. The same way she was when she tried to play. You need to stop because you're bad, now here's someone who can do it better. But unlike back then, the person who told the kid to stop was the better person. The kid got the chance to see it be done properly and was told what exactly needed improvement.

And the next time they meet, Lancer acts far more intimidating. He's still not good, to be sure, but he did improve. He then immediately asks for feedback to try to improve more. He doesn't even have guys, he just wanted to practice.

And this shatters Susie's world view. This kid, this young, carefree kid who's just playing around improves. The kid who's the only person around she could understand or relate to, the kid who introduced himself as "the bad guy" *improved*. Whatever was wrong with this kid that made him a bad guy, that made him an outcast, didn't end up mattering. The support around him did.

In the very same scene Lancer shows improvement, he realizes your team doesn't have a name. To fix this, he asks everyone to drop a name in his bucket to be randomly selected. Kris doesn't and they "look like they don't care." But Susie does add a name. She might not put a lot of effort into it, but she plays along. Susie, who walked through puzzles, who disobeyed commands, who left the party behind, who repeatedly complains about you being slow, who refused help stop the very world from ending, put a name in the bucket.

And in every following scene the two are together, she encourages everything he does.

She expected to be able to play it because she was. She wasn't trying to be good: she liked the piano and she wanted to play it, so she did. Playing for the sake of playing with the carefree shamelessness of a kid.

But because someone thought she was "bad", they told her to stop. It's a role she's been assigned all her life. Without explanation, without justification, without fault, something as inherent to her as her voice, her claws, her skin.

So she internalized it. "Good" must be a role too, right? No one's ever cared enough to teach her about practice or training or perseverance. "Good" is something Susie would simply never get to be.

[luvseisagi]

—s. across the wrong universe.

chapter 14. canon event i: the loss.

(🕷️) smau + narrated ch.

content. cussing. yn is stressed rin is desperate and isagi is frustrated lets say

the only sound that echoes in your apartment when you finally arrive after a very long morning is the metallic clatter of your keys falling haphazardly onto the small table in the hall, and a long, weary sigh rising from the depths of your chest. you don't even bother picking up the jacket you just threw on the floor, the backpack you left on the side of the hallway —all you can think about right now is crashing on the couch, cuddling your cat, and closing your eyes while you pretend you don't have two more finals tomorrow.

but saespidey isn’t on her usual spot on the sofa, and the moment you call for her, there’s no answer. no familiar thump of little paws, no soft meow. suddenly the apartment feels too quiet.

you check under the table, by the window, in your room —calling her nonstop in case she’s hiding somewhere or she’s gotten stuck behind a piece of furniture or something —which is a very common thing for cats to do, apparently—, but you get nothing. 

there’s only one place left you haven’t searched in yet. you stand at rin’s door.

for some reason, you hesitate before stepping in. it’s as tidy and sterile as always —clean black sheets, grey painted walls. one single picture of rin and his brother in the desk, near the dozen of polaroids of you two, sticked to the headboard of his bed. there’s a long forgotten skateboard in the corner of the room, a football in the shelve, his clothes hanging neatly from the rack. 

there’s something weird in the air, though, weighing on your shoulders. you look at his desk chair, empty. rin probably hasn't sat in it in weeks — but he’s in his room again, you lied to chigiri everytime he asked. he’s stressed lately, always holed up there.

you’ve said it so many times you could almost believe it yourself. but now, standing in this empty space, painfully his and strangely unknown, it feels like you’re a ghost haunting it. or maybe it’s him. you’re not sure anymore.

you back out slowly —after confirming that the cat isn’t there—, thumb hovering over your phone, ready to text chigiri or kunigami —maybe she slipped downstairs?

the text is half written when a loud, clinky sound startles you.

tap tap tap.

your head snaps toward the sound, and your instinct kicks in. you grab the first thing your hand finds —rin’s abandoned skateboard— and edge toward the living room, your heart pounding.

you're so startled when you turn your head and see someone standing on the other side of your window that you accidentally drop your skateboard to the floor. the shock is such that you can't even scream.

it takes you a few seconds to realize it's isagi on the other side of the window.

“yn!!” he shouts, hand grabbing the metallic frame of your window, breathless. “i came up as i saw your apartment lights turn on, i was waiting—i was on break in the cafe and i saw your cat jump out the window a while ago and-”

“what-” your brain short-circuits. you don’t process the rest of the words that fall out his mouth “what? how the hell do you even know how my cat looks? and if you knew why didn’t you- i don’t know, why didn’t you tell chigiri as soon as it happened?!”

“chigiri’s shown me more photos of your cat than of anything else in his life,” he says, like that explained everything. “and he told me you’re neighbors, so obviously it’s your cat if i see it run out your window. also, today’s his day off. i don’t have his number, and no one answered downstairs, so... i waited for you.”

you blink. right. of course. nagi’s streaming today and they club is at his house. kunigami works mornings. rin is somewhere in the city, overworking as he’s been for the last whole week. 

it is just you here.

“come on,” he offers, already reaching for the railing. “i’ll help you look.”

“why are you helping me? and don’t you have work?”

he shrugs. “my shift ended a while ago, i told you i’ve been waiting for you. and i’m the one who saw where she’s gone, of course i’m going to help you. we might still catch her.”

you don’t think it twice, though, as suspicious as all the situation can seem. the panic for losing saespidey, the literal light of your life, is greater than anything else. 

so just like that, you're moving. the skateboard abandoned on the floor. your phone forgotten on the couch—because you didn’t even realize it when isagi shot a thin spiderweb to your hoodie’s pocket, quietly taking it from you and tossing it onto the cushions when you weren’t looking.

you don’t even think about it —you’re out the window, following isagi without a second thought. you forget about telling rin, telling chigiri, telling anyone you’re gone.

the only things in your mind are your cat, and isagi at your side.

rin is going to lose his mind.

he’s already circled half of new york twice, rooftop to rooftop, alley to alley. his hands are shaking under the suit after hours of searching for you, and not just from the adrenaline or the cold wind rushing past him as he moves too fast to think.

he left your phone home, in case you came back and saw all his messages while he was away. but the had been no response, no call back, not even a fucking “i’m okay” after almost ten whole hours.

he tries calling you again, just in case, and, to no one's surprise —no answer. 

he doesn’t even care if reo or nagi or chigiri reach him and hear him cursing under his breath anymore. he’s already ditched them half a dozen times today—they keep trying to trail him with a fucking camera on hand like he’s not about to rip the city apart. 

he’s been trying not to think about it, but he can’t get it out his mind —if the green spiderman has touched you, if he’s done anything to you- if he’s even looked at you-

he swears he’s going to kill him.

after trying to follow a meditation exercise on youtube while hidden in an alley and, of course, ending up even more anxious than before, he decides to swing back toward the apartment. it’s not even because he wants to rest —he just needs a cold shower. something to snap his brain back into focus, to cool the sick feeling coiling tight in his chest.

of course, he has every intention of heading back out the second he changes.

rin has just one foot out of the shower when he hears it —and he swears that simple, almost inaudible click of the front door has managed to completely silence the irregular heartbeat that had been aggressively kicking his chest the whole day.

he doesn’t think, doesn’t even dry off properly. he just yanks the towel tighter around his waist and bolts out of the bathroom —barefoot, hair dripping, heart now in his throat.

and there you are. your hair is messy, your eyes swollen, and there's a grey stripped hair fluff in your arms. you seem tired, but also relieved, as you walk in laughing beside someone he doesn’t know.

rin stops dead in the middle of the hallway.

you’re standing there, in the middle of the living room, giggling like you haven’t been missing for hours, like you didn’t almost give him a goddamn heart attack. and you’re next to some guy he doesn't know. he has black hair, a bright smile, and he's wearing a jacket too big for him over the café’s apron, like he’s trying too hard to look casual.

that’s isagi, he concludes. the new waiter who had guessed your usual order on your first meeting.

“gosh, rin,” you say, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s half naked, standing there like some deranged phantom. “you have no idea what kind of day i’ve had. i’ve been chasing saespidey all over the city. thank god isagi helped me-”

“how the fuck do you forget your phone at home, yn.”

his voice is sharp —it cuts through your sentence like a blade. isagi frowns instantly, his gaze flicking toward you protectively.

“i don’t know, i just forgot it, i’m sorry,” you say, hands up in a placating gesture. “i was freaking out about the cat, i didn’t even think…”

rin interrupts you again.

“i’ve been looking for you. all fucking day.” the look in his eyes is dark, deep teal like a void. however, his voice cracks, just barely, when he says “you can’t even imagine how much i-”

he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, echoing that same gesture isagi saw on the rooftop a few weeks ago. it’s a tic of exhaustion. or helplessness. or both. 

rin lifts his gaze to look at isagi.

“and who the fuck is this-”

“i told you about him,” you cut in, a little stern now. “he’s the new guy at chigiri’s café. don’t be rude.”

rin shuts up, but his eyes snap toward isagi like he’d burn a hole through him if he could. he takes a step closer, shoulders tense, jaw clenched —his height is intimidating already, but nothing like the lethal look in his eyes.

isagi holds his ground, holds his gaze. 

however, looking at him closely for the first time, spiderman suit off, the only thing he can think is this is him. this is rin. fuck.

in his universe, he would never believed you’d like someone like this, whose vibes are so different to his —but still, he feels intimidated by him.

he’s beautiful and terrifying and seems to suck the air out of the room just by existing—like a black panther watching from the shadows, or a marble sculpture standing tall inside a temple.

isagi doesn’t avoid his gaze, though, and rin doesn’t hit him. he doesn’t yell.

instead, he turns. then walks past him, toward you and the cat in your arms.

two seconds pass, it seems like the air freezes.

he reaches out first —soft, almost reverent— and pets the animal gently. you swear his hands are still trembling. 

and then, slowly, he lifts his hand again, toward you.

it hovers near your face. like he wants to touch you. like he can’t believe you’re here and needs proof you’re real —but he stops halfaway.

his palm settles awkwardly on your shoulder instead.

“don’t. never. never ever in your life scare me like that again,” he breathes out “god, i even texted the fucking reo.”

you smile, suddenly tender —you may be the only person in that room who's noticed, but there's a dull glimmer in the turquoise in rin's eyes. tiredness, and relief— “don’t worry. i won’t make you go through that again.”

you keep looking at him for a few moments, as if reminding him that you are there, that you haven't gone anywhere —and he understands. you can tell by the way he allows himself to blink again, to exhale a sigh. 

you turn to isagi.

“thank you so much for helping me,” you say, beaming at him. “if you let me, i’d like to invite you to dinner…”

rin clears his throat.

“…another day,” you finish. “somewhere else. as a thank-you.”

isagi’s breath catches. he wants to say yes so, so badly —it reminds him of how you, back in his world, had asked him out first. how nervous you were. how he said yes without even thinking.

but this isn’t his timeline, and you aren’t his at all.

“no, don’t worry,” he says, forcing a smile, voice light. “i’m fine just knowing you found your cat.”

and then he turns to leave, feeling rin’s sharp eyes heavy on his back the entire time.

chapter 13. ✦ masterlist. ✦ chapter 15.

author's note. sorry for the slow updates ive been busy lately :( also! be ready for the next chapter..

tags (closed) ౨ৎ @levihanmyotp @inojuuy @blu3-l0v3r @rohfulike @inosukehana @cruziival72 @kuromixheartzzz @koko-77 @kurona-theshark @yoichiin @elliehenry24 @kuronarnze @sugarcor3 @ranzess @lovingmayday @vinzcoke @soph1sticatedly @l0v3ly-st4rs @milkteeboba @ilovewonyo @mivqko @beepbopzlorp @thatmf-jay @angelhqlo1111 @jnkosstuff @ssngkk @c4ttheart @risagichi @neeeooon @emicatz @chokifandom @n0tbelle @veyyluvezcats @saekisserfr @scoosh4you @ihsoti @nana7nana777 @sillymil @tnt-kokoo @miss-aesthetic-13 .ᐟ

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

[buckytakethewheel]

it's been a long, long time [part 2]

Summary: Sergeant Bucky Barnes from the 107th gets injured a lot. And when he does, there's only one nurse he lets touch him. Previous part: Part 1 Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Female Nurse!Reader Warnings/tags: Bucky is rejected (kinda); pining (Bucky); reader is romantically inexperienced; no use of Y/N; unbeta'd Word count: 3.9k words Notes: so this chapter turned out a little shorter than i anticipated because I got a little uninspired by the end. But i think it turned out super sweet despite that 🥹 hope you guys like it!!

It’s a clear night in the middle of July. The sky is peppered with stars, the moon looks bright and full, illuminating the camp. If you were back home, this would be the kind of night when you would dress in your prettiest clothes, invite two friends to a fair, eat some cotton candy while you laughed loudly about the latest gossip and danced the night away. Instead, you are all the way across the ocean, away from the friends you grew up with, putting on some plush red lipstick on your lips while you prepare to attend the soldiers hangout. The weather is warm, and your skin is glistening with faint sweat, but you clean it off with a soft, white rag.

Your eyes are meting your reflection in the mirror, unwavering. Tonight, you're going dancing. It should feel like a normal night at home, but it could never, not in the middle of war. Your fingers fidget with the cap of the lipstick and for a second, you look at down at the tube, sad to see your favorite shade is mostly gone. No resupplies of makeup in camp. Maybe if you get some deserved R&R you’ll go shopping in London for a brand new lipstick. Something pretty, European, fancy.

A few other nurses are finishing getting ready around you. There's no real privacy at camp, not really - you all sleep together in a tent, while the soldiers sleep in another. The other nurses are your family and they see your body and your soul every day. Firm fingers smooth over the edges of your dress. Blue, falling slightly below the knee, hugging your waist and with slightly pointy shoulders. The cut is expertly made and it's very obvious, especially to other nurses, who are familiar with fashion, that you come from money.

You’re not trying to impress or flaunt. Wearing this made you feel pretty, and you liked to feel pretty. Maybe you even expected a certain Sergeant to pay you a compliment or two.

Finally, you walk out of your tent, standing straight and looking shy, your movements careful. A group of nurses is already making conversation with a few soldiers around the campfire, and they seem to be joyful, laughing, telling some stupid jokes that would make the rounds back home. You approach cautiously, not because you’re particularly interested in making conversation, but because it would look worse to stand in a corner all alone.

"Nurse Marta! So kind of you to join us lowly soldiers today! I never see you in our hangouts.", one of the soldiers says with a warm smile. He’s laughing but not mocking - just trying to make light conversation.

"We lost a lot of good men these weeks, soldier. I thought the ones alive deserved to be celebrated.", you answer. That seems to get his attention in a good way.

"Of course. We appreciate your presence, as always." The man smiles, and another one of the soldiers approach. You recognize him as Corporal Johnson, the man you almost treated in the infirmary yesterday, before Sergeant Barnes barged in asking for your hands only.

"We do, indeed. You and the nurses who work here do the Lord's work.", Corporal Johnson says, with a kind smile, and gives you a once-over. "You look great in that dress, by the way."

The compliment isn’t unexpected, but you blush anyway. Not because you particularly enjoy it, but because you’re not used to compliments. You didn’t date before the war. There was a guy, once - a boy, really, not a man - and you dated long enough for you to realize you never wanted anyone like him in your life ever again. After that, there was no one else. You didn’t look. Didn’t make yourself approachable.

"Thank you, Corporal.", you answer, still kind, despite the discomfort. Around you, there’s no sight of Bucky yet. You try to pretend that that doesn’t affect you. That it doesn’t slightly burn in your gut to not see him here, after he asked you to be here. Did he... forget? Did he decide to not come, instead?

Corporal Johnson’s voice cuts through the silence that had settled.

"It’s a beautiful night out. No clouds, so you can see every single star in the sky.", he comments, looking out towards the sky, watching the full moon. "Are you looking for someone, by chance, ma'am?"

You are. But there is absolutely no chance you are about to admit that you’re only here tonight because Sergeant Barnes invited you. You are barely able to admit it to yourself, let alone anyone else in camp.

“Are you not going to invite the nurses to dance?”, you ask, as if trying to swerve the conversation into another direction. The solder chuckles and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Don't worry, darlin'. When we're done a couple of shots we'll start to dance, and all the girls will be asked to the makeshift dance floor. You'll have fun."

There’s a quiet discomfort when Corporal Johnson places his hand on your shoulder. He’s not trying to be disrespectful, you know that, but you are so far from being interested in whatever he’s trying to get out of you that it’s laughable. You really don’t do well in these situations. The man smiles kindly, unaware of your discomfort, and continues.

"What kind of music do you like to dance to?" He asks, making conversation. "I'd love to dance with you when the time comes."

"Thank you, Corporal." You answer the man, but the smile is gone from your lips. You remain kind, but you're really not interested. "I'm sure you wouldn't like that, I have two left feet." A lie to try and get you out of this, but he doesn’t seem to believe it very much.

"Maybe you could give me an opportunity to find out, huh?" The man grins, and he rubs his hand on your shoulder again, this time the contact lasting a little longer. Then you hear it. Him. His voice, a little boyish, but not sweet like he usually talks to you. No, he sounds a little rougher, sharper, exactly as you would expect to hear him speak to other soldier.

“Johnson, I don’t think she wants to dance with you. Maybe find another nurse to pester?,” Sergeant Barnes says, approaching slowly from behind you. You don’t really look at him when he stands to your side, instead you pretend to look around you, anywhere but at him. Corporal Johnson looks like he’s about to say something else, but he takes one look at you and seems to finally understand you’re not interested - so he moves along quickly.

Bucky steps in front of you, replacing the spot where Johnson had stood just seconds ago, and he’s smiling, wide and pretty, giving you his best look as he holds his hands behind his back. Your name rolls of his lips slow and steady, and it almost doesn’t sound like he’s calling you - it just sounds like he’s saying it because it’s his favorite word. Your cheeks turn a soft pink shade, but it’s nighttime and probably not very noticeable.

“Sit with me.”, Bucky asks, pointing towards two chairs by the bonfire. He sits first, resting his arms on the sides of the chair, and you follow suit after a second. Still, you don’t really look at him. Just stare at the fire, blinking slowly. Like you’re suddenly unaware of how to make conversation outside the infirmary.

You bite your lip and hold it between your teeth for a minute, trying to pick a topic to start a conversation, choosing careful words that could be seen as nonchalant. Trying not to give him the wrong idea.

"It's a pretty night." You say. God. Somehow that was the stupidest thing you could have said, but nothing else would come out.

Bucky doesn't want to laugh, but a small chuckle escapes his lips. He looks at you and you're biting your lip, and he can tell that you're a little nervous. You don’t know that he is, too. He wants to say something dumb, cheesy, like it's even prettier now that you're here, but he doesn't, instead nodding at your words.

"That it is.", is all he ends up saying. And now Bucky Barnes is the one feeling like an idiot. Why won’t he say anything else when he was the one who asked you to come?

A phonograph strategically placed outside starts playing a soft song, something happy and sweet, nice enough to dance to. It’s a silent invitation for everyone to gather round and start having fun. A couple of soldiers already have their hands on nurses, pulling them to their feet as they start dancing together. Neither you or Bucky move.

"I like this song." You say, quietly. Are those words an invitation, too? You would never ask Bucky to dance. You’re a girl, after all, isn’t that his job? But you’re not against dropping a hint here and there.

Bucky’s heart thumps with anticipation, and he looks at you with almost an innocent, confused expression. The usual confidence in him is faltering just a little.

"Yeah?" He asks, his words almost a whisper.

"It's a good song to dance to." You reply.

Bucky's starting to get the hint, but he's scared he's misinterpreting things. You look so damn pretty next to the fire, and he wants to be close to you now, so very badly-

Bucky finally dares to speak, his voice soft and nervous. "Do you wanna dance?"

You don’t really ponder for an answer. You nod and mouth a soft yes, and the next instant Bucky is offering you his hand, getting up from his chair and giving you a small bow. The moment your hand rests on top of his, you think you can feel it. The spark. You’ve touched him before. A thousand times, every time he came to the infirmary to get himself patched up. But not like this - this is something else, it’s a little intimate, hands joined, feet walking side by side as he moves with you towards the center where everyone else is already dancing. One hand stays clasped to yours and the other rests on the small of your back, low enough to show you’re not just any girl but high enough to keep it respectful. Bucky knows the boundaries of a girl like you. Pretty, soft, intelligent, with money. Even if most of that doesn’t matter in a war.

“You look beautiful tonight.”, he finally says as he starts swinging with you to the sound of the song playing. You’re not surprised to find Bucky is actually a very decent dancer. You can imagined he’d make a show of taking girls dancing back home. “You always do. But even more tonight. Did you dress up like that just for me?”

There’s no denying it - it’s a little annoying how fast he goes from a soft gentleman, almost a little vulnerable, to a flirting tease. And by annoying, you mean you hate how much you like it that he shows both sides of him so easily to you when you barely know each other. When all you know about him is the exact placement of every scar and mark on his body because you’ve seen him undressed too many times to count.

“Don’t push it, Sergeant Barnes.”, you answer, trying to downplay his words, but it’s probably way too obvious at this point that you did dress up for him. Because he asked you to come, and you did, and now you’re here, in your pretty dress and red lipstick. His blue eyes catch yours for a moment, the soft night breeze not nearly cold enough to soothe the sudden warmth that spreads over your body when he looks at you like that.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.”, he huffs, and his voice does sound momentarily disappointed. There’s a reason why you mostly avoid calling him by his nickname, despite his insistence - because a nickname would mean proximity. Closeness. Calling him Bucky would let the door with a slight open crack where intimacy could seep through. Would invite him to come closer, press deeper.

“It’s your rank. I’m just being respectful.”, you murmur and you can swear you feel his hand tightening around yours, eyes flickering with something you don’t immediately identify.

“I think I’d like you to disrespect me a little.”, he answers and you almost choke on air, the way he says that so casually almost throwing you off balance as you sway in his arms. “You said it yourself yesterday - you’re not a soldier. You don’t answer to my rank. That means you don’t have to call me it, either.”

He’s right, and you know it. You stew on those words for a moment, looking to his side and ahead of you to avoid his gaze.

“Will you stop being a pain if I start calling you Bucky?”, you ask, unimpressed. Even though you’re not looking at him, you can see him smiling from the corner of your eye.

“No. I'll be even more unbearable, thinking you're finally giving me a crumble of attention.” At least he admits that. Then there's a moment of silence, and you feel Bucky's body stiffening even as he dances with you and keeps a steady rhythm. Like he's standing on words he can't afford to say, but wants to say them nonetheless. And he says them. “Can't stop thinking about you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

The words make you blush, even though there's an attempt at denying any affect they have on you. He's always been smooth with his flirting, precise, but this feels so intimate, even as you dance together in the middle of soldiers and nurses. Like the world has stopped spinning for a bit.

“I want to steal the most breathtaking kiss of your life so you can’t stop thinking about me either.”, he continues, like he's incapable of stopping now that he's let the floodgates open.

And you’re only a woman. As much as you can pretend to not be affected by him, by the words he says, the way he looks at you, you feel the intensity of that sentence in every molecule of your body. Your heart is hammering in your chest, beating so loudly maybe everyone in this camp could hear it if they were silent long enough.

“Bucky-”, you start, and already is face is lighting up, warming up to the way you say his name. He thinks it sounds good on your lips, the way you say it, a little scolding, but careful, with a certain warmth behind it. You don’t say his name like you say other soldiers’. He notices it before you do. “You’re sweet and I appreciate your compliments, but you shouldn’t be saying those things.”

Bucky swirls you around to the rhythm of the song before pulling you back into his embrace and somehow, you feel like you’re even closer than you were before, like he’s holding you tighter against his body. You can feel the hardness of his chest through his uniform and your eyes are momentarily locked on his when he lets go of your hand and instead hooks his fingers under your chin, gentle, making you look at him.

“You think I’m sweet?”, Bucky says, a clear teasing tone in his voice. “Do you not want me to say those things because they make you uncomfortable or because you like them?”

You blink at him, slow, a little dumbfounded, because he’s catching you off guard with that question. The answer should be easy. It makes you uncomfortable to have him always trying to flirt with you in the infirmary, and now here, in front of everyone else. You want him to stop. But the truth runs deeper in your veins, threatening to come to light every second now. The way you’ve memorized every detail of his face and sometimes you see it when you close your eyes at night.

“Don’t do that.”, you ask, and this time, you’re the one who sounds slightly vulnerable, like you’re touching an open wound. “Whatever you want from me, Bucky, I’m not looking for it in this camp.”

Bucky loses some of his confidence when those words reach him, but his expression remains mostly unfaltered. He can take hits to his ego, he just wishes he didn’t have to. Every night, he’s been dreaming of you, the only good thing in this God forsaken place. But he doesn’t dare admit that, not to you, or anyone else.

“I was hoping you’d change your mind for a handsome Sergeant.”, he says after a second too long, and it’s enough for you to notice that your words hit like a blow. His hand moves from your chin and back to intertwine with yours, dancing with you like this conversation didn’t mean anything, like you were just a soldier and a nurse dancing the night away until either of you got too bored or too tired.

For the next week, there’s a slight shift between you and Bucky.

He’s come in to the infirmary once every day to get his wound cleaned and checked by you. As usual, he doesn’t let other nurses touch him, only ever asks for you, but when you tend to him, he doesn’t say much. A quiet hello, a few soft words and then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of soldiers. And you feel stupid. Because you miss the bantering. The flirting. The way his eyes looked at you with soft promises and stolen glances when he thought you weren’t looking. He’s distant, now, like he’s trying to respect the space you seem to want.

You said you weren’t looking for anything. You weren’t. But you seemed to have found it, and now that it’s lost you feel a little empty.

Today, you’re taking a small break to eat a hardtack cracker outside the infirmary when you see him. Sitting by a tree, a bit removed from the tents in camp, fiddling with a sniper riffle, putting it apart and back together and seemingly cleaning its parts. You think about approaching, then you think about leaving him be, and your feet are glued to the floor for half a minute while you try to decide what would be the best course of action.

You decide on the first. Slow, you walk over to him, and he hears your footsteps before you speak, but doesn’t say a word.

“Mind if I sit?”, you ask, sweet. Bucky points at the empty place next to him with the sniper.

“Go ahead.”

You do. Sit next to him, back against the large tree that offers shade to both of you, legs raised and pressed to your chest as you rest your head on top of your knees. You give him a look as he continues cleaning his weapon, barely giving you any attention.

“Are you okay?”, you ask, after a minute of just watching him. He shrugs.

“The wound is almost healed, so yeah.”

“I didn’t mean the gunshot wound. I meant-” A pause. How do you tell him ‘I miss your flirting’ after you made it clear you didn’t want him to do that? You’ll look stupid, or worse, childish. Just a rich girl who doesn’t know how to deal with being rejected. “You’ve been a little off, is all.”

That seems to get his attention. He looks up from his weapon, and his eyes meet yours. Bucky looks tired, more tired than usual, but there’s a softness to his blue eyes still. And despite it all, he smiles at you. Not the usual flirting type, the teasing - just a smile. Sweet, kind.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”, he answers, but it sounds so fragile in his usual confident frame that it sounds like a lie.

“I worry about all my soldiers. It’s my job as a nurse.”, you say with a soft smile. But then something flickers in your eyes. “Especially my favorite patient.”

He actually chuckles at that. “Thought you couldn’t have favorites.”

“I can make an exception.”

His eyes are on yours, and you feel like you might drown in that blue for a moment, because he’s just staring, like he’s trying to find the answer to a question he hasn’t asked you yet. He blinks once, and his eyes seem to dart to your lips for just a moment before he’s looking back up to your eyes.

“You pushed me away when we danced.”, he says, matter-of-fact. You did. Not physically, no, because you both danced until there’s was no more music to dance to, but he’d tried to be clear about his intentions and all you had to say was you weren’t interested.

“Nothing’s changed.” And that’s a lie, because everything did. “I’m still not looking for anything here.”

“You know-”, Bucky starts like he’s about to discard whatever you’ve just said. “If you want me to go back to courting you, all you have to do is ask. I’ve stepped back because, contrary to what you might think about me, I actually care and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Those words make your heart stutter, and your mouth almost hangs open before you catch yourself and press your lips into a thin life. You feel your cheeks heating up, hands a little shaky as you hold a sad piece of cracker in one of them. You’re not even hungry anymore.

“Is that what you were doing? Courting me?” Bucky’s raising an eyebrow at you as soon as the question slips past your lips.

“Did it not look like I was courting you?”

“Can’t say I’ve had many men doing that. It’s a little hard for me to tell.”, you admit, a little too quickly. Maybe that’s a piece of information Bucky didn’t need, maybe you didn’t have to tell him right away that you’re pretty inexperienced when it comes to men and their antics, but he doesn’t seem taken aback.

“Well, darlin’.” The pet name slips past his lips easy, and it does something to you. Why do you want to hear him call you that again? “I don’t mind being the one to show you how a man really impresses a woman. Even in times of war.”

And that’s a goddamn promise coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth.

[naffeclipse]

O' Medusa

Chapter 9: Fever and Fur

Gorgon!Eclipse x Reader

LINK

The adverse effects of falling into freezing water take hold. The gorgon demands answers, and you confess as to the reason a monster was sent for you. A terrible sickness descends, and in the throes of your fever dreams, you are held by your protector.

Word Count: ~10,500 Warnings: Hypothermia, sickness, anxiety, and nightmares

A/N: Finally some conversation, huh? I think we've been waiting for this moment for a while. I'm so excited to share it and I can't wait for you to get into it. Nothing like some hurt/comfort to induce confessions!

There's nothing too crazy this chapter, just a lil sick fic chapter! Enjoy!

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Seduction

Prof! Minho x Student! Reader Synopsis: Minho's in town for Christmas break and he's got some questions that will need answers. Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Shocker! Fr be safe) oral (both rec.), fingering, pet names, soft Minho, romance. A/N: Christmas in June, my sweets! I apologize for the wait! But chapter 5 is here! I'll try to have chapter 6 out soon! Just bare with me! Ignore any mistakes, I'll proof read again later. Merry Christmas in June, y'all!! 😉 Xoxo💋

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Merry Christmas

The sunlight from the morning peers in through the curtains of your living room, waking you up. You feel a pair of hands around your waist, the memory of everything from the previous day flooding back. You smile to yourself as you feel Minho shift in his sleep. Your hand lightly goes on top of his; cradling it.

You gently turn in his arms, his face looking peaceful as you study it. You smile as you notice his brown hair in his face, his lips slightly agape and a small bit of drool on the pillow underneath him; the way his body subconsciously contorted to fit yours swells your heart.

You run your fingers through his hair gently, watching him stir and a small smile creeps onto his face. You breathe out a giggle before his eyes slowly open. You both smile at each other; it’s like you’re in your own little world.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

“I have some shopping I have to do today,” you mention as your eyes scan him.

“Can I come?”

“I’d love that,” you smile. The two of you get up and as you head off to your room you notice Minho grabbing his keys.

“I left my stuff at the hotel last night,” he mentions sheepishly.

“Thought I might kick you out?” you playfully ask.

“I wanted insurance, yeah.” He shrugs honestly. You smile and nod understandably.

“Well, you can get your stuff, because you’ll be here with me this week,” you smile as you walk up to him, cupping his cheek.

“If you want to be, that is,” you whisper and he grins.

“No where else I’d rather be.”

He pecks your lips before leaving to grab his things.

-

The two of you arrive at the mall, hand in hand, walking around. It's nice to be out in public, together, physically showing affection for once.

“It’s so busy,” he comments.

“Yeah, Christmas around here isn’t nearly the same as it in Korea,” you inform him.

“How so?”

“Eh, it’s more family oriented, everything practically shuts down. People spend time with family at home opening gifts, sharing meals together, it’s really nice.” You smile sentimentally as you walk into the next store, making the final purchases for your family.

“So, am I allowed to join your American traditions?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t see why not, my parents and I do Christmas at their house that evening and on Christmas Eve. So, we can do dinner and I’ll let them know I have a friend joining me.” You say as you pull out your phone to send a quick text to your mom.

“Friend?” He quirks a brow with a smirk.

“I think it’d just be easiest to say friend, for now, I mean, I can’t say, “hey mom here’s my former professor from Korea that I fucked before he was my professor,” you say and he nods with a small chuckle. He peels off from you a little, looking at a few things, as you finalize your purchases.

“Ready to go?” you ask, bags in hand, grabbing his attention from the clothing rack.

“Huh, oh yeah. Let’s go,” he smiles.

“Hey, do me a favor, take these to the car, would you?” you ask as you round a corner. He smiles and nods, heading out to the car giving you enough time to slip into the jewelry store. There’s no way you were letting him go without at least one gift on Christmas morning.

You glance at the watches, finding the one you think would suit Minho the best. You purchase it quickly and you feel your phone start to buzz.

“Hey,”

“Hey, I um, I think I’m lost.” He chuckles looking around not seeing you.

“Ok, well I won’t be long, can you get back to the car?” You ask as you eye the lingerie store.

“Yeah, are you sure you want me to wait?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out soon.” You smile.

“Ok,” he says simply before hanging up.

You walk into the store, instantly spotting the red bow tie lingerie. You smile as you think to yourself how sweet it would be, making love by the fire place, the warmth of the room surrounding you, the two of you together finally on the same page, no one trying to hurt the other, the only thing on either of your mind’s simply being pleasure and closeness.

You quickly purchase it along with a new bottle of perfume, smiling to yourself like an idiot. You make your way to the car, hiding the watch in the lingerie bag.

“What did you buy?” He asks, rolling the window down as you head to the trunk.

“Some perfume I found on sale,” you say simply. Minho feels a slight disappointment but masks it and nods.

“Let’s get home, I still have to wrap,” you say as you enter the car again.

-

The night goes by quickly, Minho ordering pizza and, poorly, helping you wrap gifts. He gets into a fight with the tape, flicking his hand like a cat, only getting it stuck worse to his hands and now sweater. You can’t contain your giggles as you watch him and catch his hand, the heat from the small fireplace hitting your back.

“Have you ever even wrapped a gift before?” you ask through fits of giggles.

“Yes,” he pouts, his brown hair falling in his face.

“Well why don’t you get me some more wine,” you say as you get the tape unstuck. He purses his lips and hops up with your glass.

“Want some more pizza?” He calls from the kitchen.

“Uhhh,” you say as you fold up the last corner on the gift, “Yes please!” you say as you place it under the tree.

“Now tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” you remind him as he brings back your drink and pizza and sits down.

“Meaning we spend the night at your parents’ with family watching movies, baking cookies and having a good meal. I remember.” He says confidently. You smile.

“Good boy,” you wink and he quirks a brow.

“Excuse me?” he says as he moves the wrapping paper and backs you onto the floor.

“I said. Good. Boy.” You punctuate each word with a tap to his nose. He smiles down at you, eyes traveling between yours.

“I’m happy,” he whispers softly. You smile at him, stomach twisting with excited anxiety.

“Me too,” you whisper as you notice the light from the fire casting a golden glow on his face. Minho gently presses his lips to yours, sighing against you.

Later that night, once you’re sure Minho is asleep, you’re able to wrap his watch, hiding it towards the back of the tree so he wouldn’t notice it.

-

The next night you’re surrounded by family and friends, something about it feeling more nostalgic than you remember years previously. The laughter, the young kids running around and watching the Santa tracker; all of it feels warm, familiar, almost final.

Everyone welcomes Minho with open arms, practically making him feel like part of the family.

“So you two met over in Korea?” your mother asks as she stabs a piece of food with her fork, her eyebrows raised suspiciously.

“Yes ma’am,” Minho answers.

“How?”

You smile nervously at your mother.

“He offered to tutor me for this psychology class I had gotten behind in, and we just hit it off. Became friends and kept in touch.”

“So, you shared the same class?”

“Yep,” you smile.

“Funny I never heard you mention a, Minho,” she says cautiously hoping she pronounced it right and Minho nods, “before.”

“Oh yeah, well it was a last-ditch effort to stay but ultimately I thought it better to come home and ya know, I’ve been busy since I got back.” You smile and eat your food nervously.

The dinner continues on, everyone having wonderful conversation, so much so you don’t hardly eat. Except for the few bites taken earlier so you could stuff your mouth and not have to talk to your mom.

As the family begins making cookies, Minho whispers in your ear.

“I’ll be back, ok?” You look at him concerned, not noticing your mother’s watchful eye.

“Are you ok?” you ask quietly and he nods, desperate to kiss your forehead but he resists, simply squeezing your hand out of sight of the family.

“I won’t be long,” he says and grabs the car keys. He leaves without another word.

Sometime later Minho returns, helping decorate the cookies with your little cousins, the sight swelling your heart as he helps them pipe the icing. The kids pick on him a little and he laughs, getting them back, starting a mini icing war that ends with you having to clean both Minho and the kids up. The two of you smile at each other, the moments between you still surreal.

-

“We’ll see you guys’ tomorrow afternoon, ok?” your mother says before kissing your cheek and hugging Minho.

“You treat her well, you hear me,” she whispers in his ear firmly. His eyes widen slightly and he looks at your mother.

“I’m sorry, I,”

“We’ll see y’all tomorrow.” She smiles like nothing was said, bright and happy, and helps you out the door.

“What’s wrong?” you ask noticing the paler look on his face once outside.

“She knows,” he says.

“She thinks she knows.” You correct.

“She always was good at that though. Picking up on the little things. But it doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you approach the car.

“The only way she’ll know, is if we tell her.”

-

You pull into your driveway, and Minho instructs you to stay put until he comes out to get you.

You quirk a brow at him as you watch him run inside and you giggle as he runs back out soon after and opens your door for you; helping you out of the car like a gentleman.

“What the heck are you doing?” you giggle. He doesn’t answer just leads you inside out of the cold.

When the door opens you notice your living room fire place is going, candles are lit and there’s soft instrumental music playing. You stop, your breath catching in your throat as you feel Minho’s hands rub up your arms and help you slide off your jacket.

“What did you,” you look back at him, a soft expression on his face.

The room is covered in candles, the fire place going, drinks and snacks out for you,  and fairy lights strung around the room.

“I had an idea and wanted to surprise you,” he smiles and pecks your lips before putting your jacket up for you. You walk in, the scene intimate, suddenly remembering the lingerie you bought.

“Give me a few minutes,” you smile and run back to your bedroom. You clean up a bit, get yourself dressed and spray on some perfume before you walk out in a silky red robe, and Minho’s brows raise.

“Wow,” he says and you watch his adams apple bob in his throat. You smile at him your heart beat erratic as you slowly step into the room.

“Technically, you don’t get presents till Christmas morning,” you tease, “But I figured in Korea, it’s already Christmas Day.” You walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his hands come to your sides, holding you close as he dips his head down, connecting your lips. Your fingers tangle in his hair and soft moans are exchanged.

You step away from him, slowly undoing your robe revealing the outfit you’d bought earlier that day.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at you, and the silk ribbon that leaves little to the imagination. You let the robe fall off your arms into a puddle on the floor.

“Well,” you pause, “Come unwrap your gift,” you smirk as he races over to you, your lips reconnecting in a heated kiss and a soft giggle escapes your lips at his excitement.

Minho’s hands are steady as he looks down, your foreheads together, and he undoes the ribbon, watching it fall off your chest.

He whimpers at how beautiful you look. Truthfully, he’d forgotten just how beautiful you really are and his hands cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your buds as your head falls back, soft moans coming from you.

“Come here,” he says and places you on your back, the heat from the fire place keeping your frame warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his eyes travel down your body, noting the small piece of what the store called ‘underwear’ is covering you. He kisses your lips again, taking his time, worshiping, loving your body as his lips slowly travel down to your jaw then your neck. His teeth graze your skin, drawing goosebumps as his tongue flattens over your skin, a soft moan leaving you. You feel him smirk against your skin as he leaves open mouth kisses down to your collar bone, softly sucking at your flesh. You squirm beneath him as he kisses his way down to your breast, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud. You bite your lip, watching as his mouth closes around it, sucking slightly as he kneads the other with his hand, sending waves of pleasure to your core.

“Min,” you moan. He looks up at you through his lashes, gently biting the sensitive area. You hiss, watching him smirk as he lets go, giving the same kind of attention to the other; not in a rush. Savoring you like you’re his last meal.

He kisses down your stomach, lips dragging against your skin; peppering kisses at your waist line, teasingly. He can see the wet patch on your panties, and he chuckles to himself.

“You want me, don’t you baby?” you nod with your lip between your teeth as you watch him.

“Please,” you beg and Minho closes his eyes at your breathy tone, feeling his pants tent up. He removes his shirt quickly before settling between your legs, kissing up your inner thighs, nipping at the doughy flesh.

Your hips left near his face on instinct, and he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and discarding them to the side. His tongue is warm and wet against your core, and you both sigh as he makes contact.

“So good,” he whines into you, nose bumping your clit as he takes a deep breath. His tongue works magically, hitting all the spots that make you tick, watching and listening, figuring out your body; making it his mission to know it like the back of his hand. He smirks as his tongue circles your bud, feeling your hips roll against his face.

“God, Minho,” you gasp as his tongue enters your hole and your back arches off the plush rug underneath you. You grip onto his hair and roll your hips as his tongue goes in and out, tasting- treasuring you.

“Wanna live here,” his voice is muffled against you. His breathing gets ragged as his hips start to grind against the ground, desperate to get friction. His tongue moves to side, adding more a little more pressure, the two of you making eye contact. He reaches for your hand, rubbing circles onto the top of it.

“Minho,” you whimper as you feel the coil tighten in your tummy. He adds two fingers with his other hand, curling them up and he pumps them in and out, quickly matching the speed of his tongue making your head spin.

“Please keep going,” you whine as your hand goes to your breast to stimulate it, causing you to buck your hips as Minho swipes his tongue harder against your clit.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Cum for me, kitten. Cum on my tongue,” he mumbles against you and you cry out as the tightening in your stomach explodes, your body arching as he takes you through it, never stopping or slowing down.

“Such a mess,” he moans into you as he cleans you up. Your hips buck when he brushes your all too sensitive clit. He kitten licks, moaning at the taste and your face flushes.

He hovers himself over you, kissing you; allowing you to taste yourself with his chin and lips still glistening.

“Fuck I want you,” he groans as you palm him through his pants. He pulls back to undo his pants and slide them down along with his boxers. You sit up and your hands reach for him, tongue flattening as you tease his slit.

“Oh fuck,” he moans as his head is thrown back. He moves to sit down, your legs intertwined as he watches you. You pump a few times with your hand, watching him. His eyes flutter close as you squeeze him, teasing the slit once more with your thumb.

“Fuck stop teasing me,” he breathes out a laugh. You oblige, slowly sinking your head down.

You hear Minho sigh and feel his hand come to back of your head, resting in your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head as you come up, sucking on it harshly, causing his hips to buck.

“Fuck if you do that I won’t last,” he growls. You bob your head up and down again, creating a steady pace, Minho’s hips bucking up into you every once and a while. You pump what you can’t fit in your mouth, his moans and groans causing more arousal to puddle between your legs. You moan around him, sending vibrations through his body. He chokes out a moan, head tipping back as you hollow your cheeks and suck faster, desperate to get him to his release.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he whines as you feel him twitch in your mouth.

“God keep going,” he groans as you begin to taste more and more of his salty precum on your tongue.

 “Ah shit, fuck I’m gonna cum.” He says and you moan, encouraging him and he does with a loud groan. He paints your throat a shade of white as his ropes spill down your throat, making you swallow everything, happily.

He gasps for air, chest rising up and down. You giggle at him, seeing his fucked-out expression.

“Something funny?” He asks a playful glint in his eye, and you simply smile at him as he gently tackles you back down to the floor.

“My girl,” he whispers before sliding in slow, eye contact being made the whole time. When he bottoms out the both of you sigh, the feeling other worldly as you feel the stretch and he feels the warmth of your body.

“God this feels perfect,” he whispers in your ear.

“Like you’re made for me,” he says as he starts a slow pace, thrusting slow and deep, making you feel every inch of him. You look into his eyes as he does, bodies and souls connecting as one.

“You take me so well,” he mumbles before planting a kiss on your forehead, resting his forehead on yours as he starts to pick up the pace, causing you to gasp and your mouth to make the ‘o’ shape, your back arching you into him.

“Feel good?” he asks in your ear.

“So good,” you whimper arms coming around his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his skin. His head falls to your shoulder, nipping at it.

“Minho, fuck,” you gasp as he hits your sweet spot hard.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks.

“I wanna ride you, please,” you whimper as you feel him slow down. He gently pulls away from you, only to pull you with him in his lap, helping you position yourself on top, slowly sinking down on him.

You whimper in response, and he holds you close, bare chests touching as you take a moment to get comfortable.

Slowly you grind your hips, bouncing up and down, causing your chest to bounce in his face. The new angle has your world stopping. Time doesn’t exist, life isn’t real and Minho is the only thing keeping your tethered to earth at this point. Quickly you begin to feel the coil in your stomach.

“Fuck you look so beautiful using me like this,” he says before sucking on your chest, one hand coming down to rub your clit making you scream as you hold onto his shoulders.

“Cum for me baby, cum on my cock,” he says and brings you down for a fervent kiss.

“Minho,” you whimper against his lips and Minho’s hand comes up to your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you let out in a high-pitched voice as your body explodes causing you to shake, and Minho thrusts up into you as he notices your rhythm failing as you go through your orgasm. You gasp for air once breathing becomes possible again, and Minho finishes right after you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you come down, sitting together, bodies as one, holding each other.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Just want you,” you say against his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby girl.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses the top of your head. The two of you sit together for a moment, the low hum of the music creating a nice ambiance. Minho checks the clock and smiles.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He whispers in your ear. You pick your head up, and look at him slightly confused.

“It’s midnight.” He smiles as he points to clock hanging up on the wall. You turn your head and check it.

“Merry Christmas.” You smile at him before pecking his lips and disconnecting your bodies.

Minho helps you get cleaned up grabbing a towel and warming it with water. Gently wiping between your legs and wiping himself off.

“How about a bath?” you suggest as he slides on his sweat pants.

“Actually, I wanna give you your gift.” He says as he hands you your robe.

“Huh?”

“Well, one of them,” he mentions as he unzips his suit case.

“It can wait till morning.” You try to stop him.

“Actually, it can’t.” he says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you.

“What is it?” you smile.

“Open,” he encourages and you pull out a certificate, your heart swelling and your breath catching in your throat.

“Minho,” you whisper as your read the paper. He smiles nervously.

“Come on, we should be able to see it.” He takes your hand carefully, grabbing you a pair of pants and a coat and you step outside into the quiet night. You look up into the sky and see it, your star.

“There, right beside the big dipper handle, you see it? Just beside it, shinning bright.” He points and you smile.

“I can’t believe you had a star named after me.” You whisper as you hug his side and look up at it.

“No matter how far apart we are, we can always be connected through this.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper and share a sweet kiss before heading back inside.

The two of you opt for a shower, washing each other off along with the sticky remanence of earlier activities.

In bed the two of you are curled up, staring at each other.

“So what does Christmas day look like?”

“Similar to what we did, but we get to have our own celebration in the morning.” You smile as your thumb rubs his cheek.

“And we get to watch cheesy Christmas movies and make breakfast and just chill the first half of the day.” You explain. He smiles and nods kissing your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you say and close your eyes.

-

The next morning you wake up to the sound of pots and pans banging together. It’s just past 7am and you slip on your proper pj’s and slippers and quietly watch from door way of the kitchen as Minho tries to figure out your appliances. He’s going back and forth from his phone trying to figure out how to make you something.

You watch as he puts the eggs in a bowl then looks back to his phone. Grabs the bread; back to his phone. Then whisks the egg, back to his phone and repeats the process until he has an egg-soaked piece of bread ready for the frying pan.

“Morning Master Chef,”

“Aish!” he jumps and drops the bread into the pan.

“You scared me,” he says you smile as you walk over to him and look at what he’s doing.

“Nah, no, back!” he says swatting the air with a spatula.

“Woah, what’d I do?”

“Go to the living room, I’ll be there soon.” He motions for you to leave. You smile to yourself as you turn on the tree, noticing a few more gifts under it than what was there when you went to bed.

You quirk a brow but wait for Minho to finish breakfast as you turn on the tv. Not long into A Christmas Story Minho brings out breakfast for the two of you; French toast with syrup and powdered sugar.

“It looks delicious.” You compliment and he watches as you try the food. You moan as the sweet taste hits your tongue. Eyes shutting.

“This is so good,” you assure him and he smiles, feeling relieved he did it right.

“I added some vanilla to the egg mixture for added flavor.” He explains.

“Recipe?”

“Did that one on my own.” He says proudly.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile as the two of you eat and half way watch the movie.

“So, places really do shut down today?”

“Mhm, you’ll see it later when we go to my parents’ house.” You smile.

After breakfast you help Minho clean up the dishes and the two of you sit down in front of the tree.

Minho distributes two boxes your way, and smiles.

“What in the world have you done?” you giggle.

“Just open them and see,” he smiles, innocent excitement taking over. You nod and grab his gift from the back.

“Here’s yours.” You smile and he looks flabbergasted.

“When did you,” he looks up at you confused.

“Yesterday,” you shrug.

“You go first!” you say and motion for him to go. He’s about to argue with you but instead doesn’t fight it and tears the wrapping paper off the box. He opens the box revealing the sleek and stylish watch. He pauses for a moment, emotions trying to get the better of him.

“I remembered how you always wore a watch to class,” you begin, “And I remembered our last night together, I saw it on the night stand and it looked warn. So I found this,” you mention and he doesn’t speak for a moment, shock over taking him.

“If you don’t like it we can take it back and you pick out what you do like,” you ramble and Minho leans over and kisses your lips.

“Shut up, I love it.” He says still in disbelief at the beautiful gift. He carefully takes it out of the box and puts it on.

“It’s beautiful, y/n. Thank you,” he says lowly. You smile, proud of yourself.

“Ok, he says as he blinks his eyes quickly, “You’re turn.”

You pick the box up with the red wrapping paper and undo it, revealing a small box. You open it to see a chain with an ‘M’ initial on it. It has your birthstone in the bottom right corner and his in the upper left. You grin as you hold up letting the light hit the jewels.

“When did you find this?”

“I found it in a shop a month ago, when I started planning my trip here,” he admits, a light blush painting his cheeks.

“You held on to this for that long?”

“Kept it nice and safe, yeah.” He nods.

“It’s beautiful, put it on me?” you ask as you take it out of the box.” He nods and you position yourself on your knees and allow him to drape the jewelry on your neck and he clasps the necklace together.

You smile as you look at the last box. You take the paper off the box and open it, revealing a delicate key.

“What, I have the key to your heart?” You giggle sweetly.

“No, well yes you do, but that’s a key to my house.” He says slowly. Your heart rate speeds up.

“What?” you ask, voice slightly pitched.

“I want you come back with me,” he says as he takes your hand. Your brows raise and your mouth falls open slightly.

“What do you say?”

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[vainvenus]

mind games | ln4 | pt.8

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're out of the bath after the entire situation with Lando and he's still there and trying to convince you that everything is normal and fine.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, obsessive/possessive + manipulative + delusional behavior, emotional coercion, forced proximity, power imbalance, sweet(ish) lando ig????

An: "Next chapter drops this weekend" I said then I got obsessed with the new season of love island and forgot 💔💔

@eclipsedcherryblossom @slutforvoldy @alliseeisversainz @taylorrtgs @lorena-mv33

You spent a little more time in the tub than you would normally have and to your surprise Lando didn't come back there. He was strangely quiet after you heard the rummaging through your drawers end, the faint sound of your TV playing instead.

You got out, towel wrapped around you as you stepped back into your room and say him laying on your bed, his head back against your pillows as he was watching the TV.

He was just sitting there like he belonged there. Not only was he sitting there but he had also somehow changed into much more comfortable clothes which was both confusing and unsettling to you.

He glanced back over to you, a small smile spreading across his face as he sat up. "How was the rest of your bath?"

"Fine." You murmured as you grabbed the pajamas he picked out for you. It was just a simple t-shirt with plaid pajama pants. You looked back over to him to see that he was still staring at you and you narrowed your gaze.

"Are you gonna watch me change?"

"I'll look away if you want me too." He shrugged. "But it's not like I didn't just see you naked."

You didn’t reply to that.

Instead, you turned your back to him and slowly began to change, slipping on the soft cotton t-shirt and plaid pajama pants he had picked out like he knew your drawer better than you did.

Your hands were trembling. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you had to breathe slowly to keep them from fully giving you away.

Behind you, the mattress creaked as he shifted, but he didn’t get up.

Didn’t leave.

Didn’t even pretend like he wasn't looking.

You could feel his stare, heavy and unrelenting, like he was memorizing the curve of your shoulders, the movement of your spine, the delicate way you folded your towel and placed it over the back of the chair.

You finally turned around.

He was still watching you.

His eyes weren’t devouring, not in the way you would’ve expected after everything.

No, this look was worse. It was soft. Gentle. Intimate. Like you were already his, like everything that happened before had been nothing more than a fight between lovers. Just a bump in the road.

He gave you a smile. Small. Pleased. Like your body in pajamas that he picked out, in front of him, letting him be there like it was some kind of win.

“Feel better?” He asked, voice smooth and casual like it was any other night, like the air between you wasn’t dense with fear.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. Your mouth was too dry.

He raised an eyebrow at your silence, tilting his head slightly. “You were in there a while. I thought you fell asleep. Or maybe you were hiding from me again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why are you still here?”

Lando leaned back into your pillows like they belonged to him. "I've got nowhere to be at four in the morning on a Monday."

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He gave you a look like you were the one being unreasonable.

“I brought you home, ran the bath for you, picked out your pajamas,” He slowly said, listing off each point like they were all huge favors. “I waited. I gave you space. I didn’t even come back when you were washing up. And now I just want to spend time with you.”

You stared at him. “You drowned me.”

He winced at the word.

“Almost drowned you." He corrected softly, like it mattered. “And only because you kept ignoring me. I didn’t want to do that. You made me do that.”

Your breath caught.

“It made me angry.” His eyes met yours, almost sincere. “When you wouldn’t talk. When you shut down like that. You made me feel like I didn’t exist to you.” His voice cracked a little. “And it made me think of that day again. When you wouldn't give me a second of your time like I was useless."

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. It felt like the floor had tilted.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I just needed you to see me again. To hear me.”

Lando sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was pleading now. “Everything I’ve done, everything I do, it’s because I love you. And you keep running from that like it’s some kind of threat.”

“It is.” You whispered.

He paused.

The silence stretched long between you. The TV was still playing in the background, but you couldn’t register what it was saying. It was just noise now.

Then, he let out a small laugh, almost breathless. “You’re still scared of me.”

He said it like it was a discovery. Like it wounded him.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.” He continued, voice quieter now. “I thought once you were home, once you were safe, we could just...reset.”

Your brows furrowed. “Reset?”

Lando nodded. “Start over. There's no race this week, no pressure. No media. Just us. Maybe we could cook something later. Watch a movie. Go somewhere quiet."

He was talking as if this were normal, as if the two of you were a normal couple. As if you were a couple at all.

"You can wear that white sundress you like. I’ll take you somewhere private so it's just us."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression neutral but your bottom lip was wobbling. “There's no us, Lando."

His entire body stilled.

But he didn’t snap. Didn’t yell. He just inhaled slowly, like he was trying very hard to keep something inside from cracking.

He stood up, not fast, not aggressive. Just…calm. Methodical. Like he was controlling himself.

He walked to your side of the bed. You tensed, but he didn’t touch you.

“I know you don’t see it yet.” He murmured, standing close enough that you could still smell the faint scent of your perfume. “But you will. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. So we can keep pretending this isn’t happening, or…”

His eyes burned into yours.

“…you can accept that you already belong to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smiled again, soft, but with an edge. “We can have a quiet day for us later on today. Then Tuesday or Wednesday we can go somewhere more public so the media can get a couple pictures, get some fans to start up some rumors."

“No.” You managed to say, your voice barely audible.

He hummed like you hadn’t said anything at all. “Then we can post a few pictures of each other, nothing with our faces in it of course. A soft launch. Everybody loves a good soft launch."

You stepped back again.

This time, he let you.

“I’m going to stay here tonight.” He said casually, like he was announcing the weather. "You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. So have I.”

You stared at him like everything was happening in slow motion, blinking as you slowly shook your head. “You...You can't stay here.”

But he was already settling back into your bed, pulling your blanket over himself, hands behind his head like he owned the space. “I'll sleep better near you."

You stood frozen in place, heart racing, skin clammy.

“Come on." He murmured, patting the space next to him. “Let’s just…lie down. No fighting. No more stress.”

His voice was too soft. Too gentle. Like the last hour hadn’t happened.

You didn’t move.

He patted the bed again, more deliberate now and his voice a bit more needy. “Please?"

You didn’t move.

“I’m not gonna do anything.” He said after a beat, his tone quieter now. “I just wanna be near you.”

You stood there for another long moment, heart hammering. He was watching you like a hawk—smiling softly, like this was something gentle and sweet, but his eyes said something else.

You knew what happened when you didn’t listen. What he was capable of when ignored.

So you forced yourself to move.

Your feet felt like they were filled with sand, but you crossed the room, inching closer to the bed. Every step made your chest tighter. Your breath shorter.

You sat. Carefully. Barely on the edge of the mattress.

Like the moment you relaxed, you’d fall into a trap.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“See?” He murmured. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer.

He turned his body slightly toward you, close but not quite touching. You felt the heat radiating off of him. It made your stomach twist.

“You don’t have to be scared of me." He said after a moment. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you if you just—”

“If I just what?” you whispered. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “If I just… do what you say?”

His jaw tensed.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see his face. “Is that it?”

“I’m trying,” Lando said, like you were the problem. “I’m here. I’m being calm. I gave you space. You won’t even look at me.”

Your mouth was dry. “You tried to drown me.”

“You we're being mean.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t even saying anything!"

“Exactly!” He said, almost sharply. “You shut me out. Like I didn’t matter. I couldn’t take that again. You don’t know what that feels like.”

You flinched.

He softened again in an instant. That fake, practiced tenderness crawling back into his voice.

“I’m not the bad guy here." He murmured. “I love you. I want this to work.”

Your breath hitched. He noticed.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He asked gently.

He inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose like he was keeping himself in check. “I want to start over with this, pretend that what happened earlier never happened."

“No.” You whispered.

“It's kind of hard to forget something like that, Lando.” You said before you could stop yourself. Your voice was too shaky to sound brave.

He was quiet for a beat. Then he said, almost heartbreakingly, “Do you really think I can't fix this? That we can't start over?"

You didn’t respond.

He looked at you like you’d just torn the sky apart.

“Right.” He muttered, sitting back against your pillows. “Okay. Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

You didn’t want to know.

You stood up silently and pulled back the covers. You crawled in slowly, limbs stiff, hands trembling as you tucked the blanket over yourself. You turned your back towards him, staring at the wall.

You didn’t say goodnight. Didn’t ask him to leave.

You just laid there, chest tight, stomach churning and back turned to the boy who still thought this could be turned normal.

The mattress dipped as he shifted in beside you.

It was silent, just the hum of your TV until he spoke up;

“Goodnight. I love you.”

Your throat tightened as you clenched your fists around the cover, voice soft and barely above a whisper.

"I wish you didn't."

You heard his breath hitch like you told him you hated him.

Maybe in his mind there was no difference.

[angel06babysworld]

I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter Fourteen

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The sun was going down, soft gold spilling across the backyard like it had been poured just for them.

The grill was cooling. The plates were scraped clean. Ellie had gone inside twenty minutes ago, too full from dinner, mumbling something about cartoons and stretchy pants.

It was quiet now.

She sat on the back step, legs tucked to the side, dress bunched around her knees. The air smelled like cut grass and warm cedar. Her hair had slipped out of its clip. She didn’t bother fixing it.

Rafe was standing barefoot in the yard, two beers in hand, shirt untucked like it always was when he was home. When he was real.

He crossed the grass and held one out to her. “You always drink half and forget about it.”

She smirked, taking it anyway. “You love that about me.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

She blinked up at him.

He didn’t sit. Not right away. Just looked at her with that quiet kind of affection that had never once asked her to be anything but herself.

“One year,” he said.

She smiled. “Since the job interview?”

“Since the night I realized I didn’t want you anywhere but here.”

She tilted her head. “And the interview?”

He chuckled. “That was just luck.”

He sat beside her finally, knee pressed to hers. They didn’t speak for a moment. The kind of silence that comes from knowing someone long enough that words aren’t required.

Then, slowly, he reached into his back pocket.

Pulled out a ring box.

Set it in her lap like he wasn’t going to beg or explain or push. Like he already knew her answer.

She stared at it.

Then looked up at him.

His voice was steady. “There’s not a version of life I want where you’re not in it. Not just in this house. In everything. I want the fights and the soft mornings and the weird grocery runs and you humming when you fold laundry. I want your moods and your opinions and your laugh in my bed for the rest of forever.”

Her hands shook a little. “Rafe…”

“You don’t have to be anything,” he added. “You already are. You’ve been ours. Now I just want you to be mine, too.”

She opened the box.

The ring wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t some Pinterest-perfect showpiece.

But it was beautiful. And it was him. And it was theirs.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Of course yes.”

Rafe exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a year.

He slid the ring onto her finger—hands shaking just a little—and kissed her slow.

When Ellie peeked through the window a minute later, she gasped, then bolted for the back door.

“I knew it!” she shouted. “Does this mean I get to wear a dress with sparkles?!”

They both laughed, pulling her into the hug without hesitation.

And in that small backyard, under the lazy sunset and a thousand shared memories, everything felt right.

The end.

And the beginning.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby

[nahoney22]

Liar Liar (Part 11/?)

Part 11 - No Going Back // <<< part 10

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧 Chapter Summary: A strange run-in with Stone seems to settle some nerves and an accidental confession leaves Fox aching for more.

🫧 Warnings: more angst, accidental feeling confessions.

“I wish you’d cheer up.”

You blink, jerked from your thoughts. “Huh?”

Stone huffed. “See? You’re not even paying attention.”

You were half a step behind him as you both made your way down the corridor, arms full of reports you were delivering for some dull errand. Stone had been chatting nonstop. Something about Thorn, cafeteria food conspiracies, and maybe something involving an ill-fated training drill—but the words had just buzzed around your ears like background noise. You hadn’t heard a single thing. Your brain had been… elsewhere.

“Sorry,” you muttered, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Stone gave you a long look, one brow slowly arching. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head—and then, of course, the sheepish smile followed.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“That ‘lot’ on your mind wouldn’t happen to be a 6 foot tall something, wears red, commands a battalion and acts allergic to feelings, would it?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes narrowing. “No.”

He smirked like he’d won a lifetime supply of rations. “Sure. And I didn’t overhear you and Thire talking the other day.”

You groaned and covered your face with one hand. “About what, exactly?”

Stone made a vague gesture. “Y’know. You and Commander Doom ‘n Gloom’ .”

“Something did happen,” you admitted through gritted teeth, although you wish more of the guys would stop catching wind about it. “But I’m not going into it, so wipe that stupid grin off your face and let’s just drop it.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising both hands in surrender, but his grin didn’t budge. “Just saying. I think you two would actually make a good pair.”

“Stone.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Stone.”

“You’ve got that whole ‘irresistible tension’ thing going on. Very holodrama.”

You threw your head back and groaned as you resumed walking. “Kriff’s sake…”

But even as you tried to laugh it off, your chest still ached from your recent run-in with Fox.

The memory of it stung. Badly. It was the day after 79’s, a few days ago now, and he’d cornered you in a hallway, posture stiff, voice tense even through the filter of his helmet.

“The woman at the bar,” he’d said abruptly. “She was just a civvie. Thanking me. That’s all.”

You’d tried to keep your voice neutral, indifferent. “It’s none of my business, anyway.”

“But Hound said you—” he hesitated. “He said you were crying.”

You cursed Hound’s name internally.

You looked at Fox, bitterness pressing against your ribs. “Maybe I was. Maybe I had a right to be.”

His posture had wavered for a split second, and then he’d leaned in, voice low. “Can we talk? Just… privately. Please.”

Stars, how you wanted to say yes. But it was the part of you that still ached that answered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected quietly.

You swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I didn’t handle things right,” he said. “But if I could just—”

“You had plenty of time to explain,” you cut in, barely above a whisper.

He looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. He just deflated a little, shoulders sagging.

“…Is this your final decision?”

You hadn’t answered. Couldn’t. You’d just looked away, whispered something about getting back to work, and left him standing there.

And now, days later, the conversation was still looping in your head like a broken holotape.

You and Stone finally reached the destination for your delivery. It was a quiet, empty records office and you had to refrain from grimacing because it smelt bad. Like, really bad.

“Huh,” you then murmured, scanning the room. “Wasn’t someone supposed to meet us here to sign off?”

Stone shrugged, already leaning against the nearest desk and lazily inspecting his blaster. “Maybe they forgot. Or maybe I’m too intimidating.”

You raised a brow. “You got chewed out yesterday for not cleaning your weapon properly.”

He huffed. “I’m working on it. ” He waves his blaster in his hand at you.

You rolled your eyes and dropped the reports onto the desk, glancing uneasily at the vents above. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. “I don’t like just leaving these out here. It feels… off.”

Stone waved it off. “Relax. I do this kind of thing all the time. Besides, what’s gonna happen? A paperwork bandit crawls out of the air ducts and steals the mission reports?”

As if summoned, a loud clang echoed above your heads.

Both of you froze.

“…Okay. If that’s the bandit, I take it back,” Stone said, already on his feet, blaster drawn.

“You heard that too?” you asked, stepping back.

“Affirmative. Get behind me.”

You did as he said, heart racing as Stone climbed onto a nearby crate to reach the vent. He glanced at you, holding up a hand for you to stay where you were, then opened the latch and flicked on his torch.

There was a long, tense moment as he leaned in.

“Stone?” you whispered. No answer.

Then—

PEW!

You flinched at the sharp sound of a stun blast. “Wh-What was it?!”

Stone didn’t respond at first. He shifted forward, grunting as he dragged something towards him. Then he jumped down and turned toward you, holding it by the legs like a wriggly, ugly prize.

You blinked. “Is that a… hawk-bat?”

He nodded. “Looks like a baby one. Underfed, too.”

You stepped closer, frowning. That’s what I’ve been hearing? That thing’s been crawling around the walls?

He held it out, watching it sway in its stunned state. “You wanna keep it? Call it something cute, like Gremlin?”

You chuckled. “I think Fox would be a better name.”

Stone returns the laugh, smirking. “Definitely looks like him too, he's been a mess lately.” And for some reason, that didn’t make you laugh like perhaps he thought it would.

“Is he?”

Stone nods. “Sure. Not sleeping, drinking an unhealthy amount of caf - worse than usual. That prisoner's disappearance has really done a number on him.” Stone says almost casually, lifting the creatures leathery like wings to take a look and then he looks at you. “And I suppose if you have broken his heart then add that to the list, too.”

“I haven’t broken his heart,” you roll your eyes but still frown at everything else, “we should take this somewhere, set it free once we know it’s healthy.”

Stone nods in agreement, saying that he knew where to take it.

So the two of you leave the office, hawk-bat in hand. But still, your eyes drifted back to the vents above. Something still didn’t sit right. And not just about hawk-bats.

⋅⋅ ───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

You and Stone were halfway back to your main station, still carrying the stunned hawk-bat when something made you slow down. Your eyes drifted across the corridor where you see tucked just out of plain sight, Fox and Thorn. Thorn’s arms were moving a lot, sharp gestures like he was making a point, while Fox stood still, head tipped forward slightly like the weight of it all was finally pressing down on him.

Stone noticed too. “That’s a serious-looking powwow.”

You didn’t answer. You were too focused on how different Fox looked. Slumped shoulders. Arms folded tight across his chest. Even from a distance, he looked worn down. Tired in a way caf couldn’t fix. Stone had been right, he did look a mess and so you forced yourself to look away.

Once back at your station, you handed off the hawk-bat to one of the medtechs with instructions to keep it warm and fed. At least that solved the weird banging noises you had been hearing.

As you settled into your desk, Thire suddenly called your name.

You looked over to see him nodding toward the corridor where Fox and Thorn had been standing. “What do you reckon that’s about?” he asked.

“I… don’t know,” you murmured, gaze flickering back toward them. “Something serious.”

You sat back down, fingers moving to the console but your thoughts weren’t on the reports. They were on Commander Fox. A strange guilt started bubbling low in your chest, but you shoved it aside and focused on your screen.

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You stiffened and turned. Thorn stood behind you, visor locked on. “Come with me.”

You blinked, confused. “Uh, okay…?”

You followed him quietly, heart beginning to thrum faster the closer you got to the corner where Fox still stood. Thorn didn’t say a word, just guided you to stand directly in front of the pair of them. The air was thick with something heavy and Fox still wasn’t looking at you.

You looked between them both, brows furrowing after a moment too long of silence. “Am I in trouble?”

Thorn’s voice was level but pointed. “Are you going to tell her, or am I?”

Fox exhaled hard, clearly agitated. “You can do it.”

That tiny flare of nerves that had been simmering erupted into something worse. Panic.

Thorn didn’t waste time. “We’ve been tracking the system disruptions for a while now. The failures. The delays. It turns out that all of them… came from your station.”

You blinked, completely taken aback. “Wait, what? My station?”

“Your terminal’s been used as the access point for multiple data breaches,” Thorn said. “The logs line up. And the signature pattern matches your ID.”

“That’s not possible,” you said quickly, voice rising. “I—I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“We’re not accusing you. Not directly,” Thorn said evenly. “But this is serious. And it’s coming from your end.”

You looked at Fox. Desperate. “Commander, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this.”

But he didn’t even speak.He didn’t even lift his head.

The silence from him was louder than any accusation Thorn could’ve thrown. Your breath hitched in your throat, something like betrayal creeping up your spine.

“…Fox?” you asked, quieter now. Pleading. “Please.”

His helmet shifted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but whatever it was, it died in his throat.

That was worse than shouting. Worse than suspicion. He didn’t believe you. Or maybe worse was that he did —but he didn’t trust himself enough to say it out loud.

You sucked in a breath, steeling yourself. “Am I fired?”

Your voice came out calmer than expected, and weirdly—there were no tears. Not yet. Maybe you’d cried them all out for the man who couldn’t even look at you now.

Thorn shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Fox and then back to you. “No. Fox convinced me not to terminate your position.”

Of course he did.

The silent executioner.

“But,” Thorn continued, “I have to escalate this. The breach came from your system, and until the investigation clears, you’ll be reassigned to another station.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “So let me get this straight—you think I’m too dangerous to be here, but I’m safe enough to just be dumped in another corner of the building? Sure. That tracks.”

Thorn hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “I… didn’t say it like that.”

You turned to Fox then, who had finally raised his head. Not quite looking at you, but closer. “If you’re so worried about trust, Thorn,” you said coldly, “maybe take a good look at the man standing next to you.

Fox’s shoulders squared instantly like your words hit him physically. He stood up straighter, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of your gaze. Not now.

You turned on your heel and stormed off, boots echoing with fury down the corridor until you slammed back into the station. Heads turned. Conversations dropped.

Stone raised an eyebrow as you marched to your desk, grabbing a crate. “Uh—what’s going on?”

“Moving,” you snapped.

“M-Moving where?” Thire blinked, hurrying over.

“A different station.” Your voice cracked a little from the sheer force of holding everything in. “Apparently I’m a security risk.”

Grizzer whimpered at your feet, sensing the tension, but you stepped over him as you shoved datapads and personal items into the crate. Hound blocked your path for a second before you brushed past him too.

“They think I can’t be trusted,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “Apparently every damn system breach came from my terminal.”

Stone shook his head, eyes wide. “That’s impossible. We would’ve noticed—”

“Yeah, well,” you scoffed bitterly, “apparently I’m real good at flying under the radar.”

“You need to talk to Fox,” Hound said, frowning. “He’ll fix this.”

You gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I did. Or tried to. But it turns out he’s good at being speechless when it matters.”

Hound opened his mouth again, but you cut him off, voice rising with each word. “He had plenty of chances. When he lied. When he said it didn’t mean anything. When he watched me get blamed for something I didn’t even do!”

Thire approached you gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Just calm down for a second, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

“Calm down?” You turned on him, eyes wide and blazing. “They’ve accused me of screwing up everything . You want me to calm down? Would you be calm if your name was dragged through the mud without even a shred of defense from the person who—”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as the floodgate cracked.

You dropped the next item into the crate harder than you meant to, rattling the others.

“And Fox?” You spat his name like venom. “I have never in my life met someone so disloyal. He lies for weeks, strings me along like I mean nothing. Then stands there mute when I need him most? Screw him.”

No one moved. Even Grizzer stayed perfectly still, ears back. The three clones stood in stunned silence, watching you as if you had grown an extra head.

You turned, ready to storm out only to freeze in place as he - the very topic of conversation - stood in the doorway, silent and unmoving. He must’ve heard every word. Good.

For a second, no one breathed. You stared at him, seething. “Oh, if it isn’t the bubble-brain himself,” you sneered, lifting the crate in your arms. “Come to lend a hand, or just here to make sure I don’t steal anything on the way out?”

Fox stared you down, visor locked onto you and only you. The boys behind you shifted awkwardly, the air thick with unspoken words. You huffed, throwing your hands up.

“Yes? No?” you bit out, answering the question for him.

Fox hesitated then sighed, stepping aside wordlessly to let you pass.

The silence that followed was almost heavier than the tension before it. Thorn shook his head, watching Fox retreat toward his desk.

“What the are you doing, Fox?” he demanded.

“What choice do I have?” Fox grunted, his armour clinking as he moved stiffly.

“Go after her!” Thire snapped, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is your last chance.”

Fox’s fists slammed down onto the desk, the crack echoing through the room and cutting them all off.

“You heard what she said!” he barked. His voice cracked through the modulator—frayed, exhausted, broken. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment before dragging them down his helmet with a long, heavy sigh. “It’s done. It’s been done.”

Then he lifted his gaze to Hound, sharp and bitter. “And you—you weren't doing me any favours filling my head with ideas that she still cared. She doesn't.”

“She’s angry ,” Hound said firmly, stepping forward. “Because you didn’t stand by her. Not because she doesn’t care.”

Fox’s jaw locked hard enough you could almost hear the grind of his teeth. His helmet tilted, staring at the door you had stormed through.

“I’m tired, Hound,” he muttered.

“So is she,” Stone said, quieter this time. “Tired of fighting battles you make her fight alone. Just apologise. Be the man she knows you are.”

Fox's hands balled into fists again. “How can I fix it when she thinks I’m the most disloyal bastard she’s ever met?”

The others went silent. No one had an answer for that.

Fox let out another sharp breath, shoving back from the console. His body was tense, his movements mechanical—but after a second of pacing like a caged animal, he cursed under his breath and made for the door at a near-run.

He searched every corridor, panic blooming tighter in his chest with each wrong turn. Fifth hallway down, he caught sight of you. Crate in your arms. Walking fast.

He called your name.

You slowed, just for a second, your head tilting back over your shoulder. But when you saw it was him, you immediately turned back around, quickening your pace.

Fox jogged after you, closing the distance fast. He skidded in front of you, blocking your path. You scowled. “Move.”

“Just give me a second.” His voice was rawer now. “Let’s talk. Properly.”

You hesitated. Sighed. Then took a step back, shifting the crate’s weight in your arms, your exhaustion written in every line of your body. “Fine. Talk.”

Fox stood there a beat too long, fidgeting like he was physically holding himself together. You noticed his hands shake slightly at his sides. The great Commander Fox, reduced to nerves in your presence.

"I..." His voice faltered before he swallowed hard and forced it out. "I tried. I know you’re not responsible for the leaks. Any of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner. I spent days convincing Thorn not to have you fired.”

You stared at him, dead-eyed. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

Fox bit his tongue, chest rising and falling heavily. “No. I just—I don’t want you thinking I don’t believe you.”

“You could’ve said something,” you muttered, shaking your head, shifting the crate again. “You’ve never been the type to shut up when it mattered. I’ve worked for you for years. I know you.”

"If that's all..." you added, voice rough, "I'll be on my way."

You went to move past him—but he caught your sleeve.

“I’m not done.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to him.

Fox’s shoulders stiffened. He scanned the hallway quickly, making sure no one was around before he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. “About what I did to you. About… Whisky. About everything.” His hands fisted and flexed at his sides. “I don’t know why I made him up. Maybe I just wanted—needed—you to look at me the way you did that night.”

You swallowed hard.

“When you came to me at 79’s,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges, “I thought you knew it was me. And I just got caught up in a lie, second guessing myself of how you would have acted if you knew the truth. I wanted you to believe it was me. Because it was."

The silence between you was unbearable.

You shifted the crate higher in your arms, biting back a wave of emotion. “Let’s just forget it happened, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected immediately. “I told you. Call me Fox.”

You clenched your jaw, staring up at him through lashes thick with unshed tears.

“Let’s forget it happened, Fox ,” you corrected hollowly. “I’ve gotten over Whisky… and maybe moving stations is a good thing.” Your voice wavered, cracking right down the center. “Because now I can finally get over you too.”

Fox's eyes widened behind his helmet, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Get over me?” Fox repeated, stunned. He took an automatic step forward, towering over you. “What do you mean—?”

You dropped your gaze, heart pounding so hard you thought he could hear it.

“N-nothing. I need to go.” You tried to step past him again but this time he stopped you with a hand at your waist.

You froze. The heat of his touch burned right through the layers of cloth, igniting something you had tried so hard to bury. A shudder tore through you.

“Please…” he murmured, voice almost wrecked. “Tell me. Did you… did you ever feel something for me? As me?”

You looked down at his hand—then back up at him. “I guess I did,” you whispered, the confession leaving your lips like a wound torn open. The anger, the jealousy, the heartache, it was because of Fox. “But it’s all changed now.”

Fox sucked in a sharp breath, taking another step closer, his entire frame blotted out the corridor, your world reduced to his red armour and the familiar scent you had now realised to have missed so much.

“It doesn’t have to,” he rasped. “You can trust me. You can—"

You closed your eyes tightly, inhaling the scent that broke you all over again. It was the same one that had clung to you in the meadow, in the cab, on the nights you let yourself dream he was yours.

“That’s the thing, Fox,” you breathed, voice almost breaking. “I can’t. I look at you and I just think back to when I opened myself up to you. When I told you that trust was everything to me. But when I look at you… all I see is a liar. And I can’t do that to myself again.”

Fox doesn’t let you go, not yet. His touch lingers a moment more on your waist as if savouring the feel of you so close before he takes a step away, his hand slipping back to his side. “I respect your decision. I hope… I hope that you will be happier.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, moving past him for the last time, “me too.”

Tags:

@forcesavetheclones @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @therealnekomari @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @the-bad-batch-baroness @dreamie411 @griffedeloup @501st104th212th99s @clonecyare88 @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog @mitth-eli-vanto @cloneflo99 @raethewargeneral

[aoipierce]

some ch 30 thoughts

i feel like some people have the impression that hirano is still confused and figuring out his feelings and whether he is fully on board with being with kagi and what that entails (ie. physical stuff), and im wondering if they paid attention to the chapter.

hirano has realized that he loves kagi. there is no doubt in his mind about that now. him being ready to confess is proof that he is also ready to face what comes next. yes he is still insecure about the aspects of their feelings that don't overlap, but before deciding on his own that the parts that do overlap are not enough, he wants to tell kagi his feelings first. the chapter is called "overlap, and what comes after", and what comes after is not what he imagines will happen in his mind, but this. getting out of his own head, and communicating with kagi.

even before the chapter i saw people theorize that hirano wouldn't tell kagi his feelings right away. and i always thought 'why?' to me hirano is the kind of person who speaks his mind when he is certain about something, but also when he really wants to understand something. and after trying so hard to figure out if he can return kagi's feelings, he finally is certain. he may not have all the answers yet, but that is even more reason for him to convey his feelings and see where they go from there. the fact that this is a conversation he is ready to have means that he is sure now that he wants to be with kagi, whatever that looks like.

it makes sense that he would still have some doubts, but people should not get confused. what he is doubting is not his love for kagi, or his desire to be with him. hirano loves kagiura. he is just not sure if his love is enough. but if it's enough for him (it is everything, everything) he is willing to face this and find out if it's enough for kagi too.

(he is about to find out that it is, and always has been, because kagi has only ever wanted hirano. and hirano still hasn't fully grasped how deep kagi's want goes. at least probably not until that kiss)

also people who are doubting kagi and his ability and willingness to match hirano could probably dwell some more on "i want to kiss you because i'm in love with you, but that's not why i want to date you". but that is for another post.

[delayeddrabbles]

eat the rich - fwb!oc and frat!rafe (s3 based) - chapter 3

pink ribbons

plot: rafe and nat awkwardly navigating triggers and ground rules and secrets in their FWB arranagement. 2.5k briefly proofread. cw: i'd say this is PG/M level rather than R. making out and grinding and mentions of boners. mentions of grief and trauma and anxiety and mental health. no sex actually occurs (poor rafe is dying here) credit: @cursed-carmine

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"This is why we need ground rules..." Nat sighed from down on the floor, rubbing at her carpet-burned elbows with a pout. "Not just for me, for you too"

One second he'd been completely wrapped up in her entangled on his bed, unable to get enough, the next he'd tossed her half way across the room and she landed on the ground in a heap. Rafe's hard sharp turns and pendulum swings were starting to give her whiplash. What the hell had gotten into him?

Nat sighed and clambered up to his desk chair to dust herself off and collect her thoughts. "Rafe..." she started gently finally lifting her eyes to find him sitting hunched over at the edge of the bed, knuckles white against the bed frame. Her lecture died on her tongue. "Where are you right now?"

He stayed silent. His head low, a dark crackling energy hanging around him like some kinda stupid anime character. His eyes scrunched tightly closed and his jaw tightened at the sound of her voice as if speaking would worsen his overwhelm.

"Do we need to call Barry?"

He managed a quick short shake of the head.

Then with three rough pounds of the mattress in quick succession he suddenly leaped to his feet again and Nat recoiled at the sudden transformation. His shirt was back on in seconds and he was scooping up her belongings from around the room. "You should go."

"Hey..." in retrosepct she'd hate how soft and warm her voice had become. He flinched at her careful hand on his shoulder, eyes darting and wide until they finally found her in the mist of his racing mind.

Nat cautiously stepped closer to him, eyes large and searching, her skin shrinking as he stood a few inches taller than her and significantly more clothed. The other day with the bad batch of coke had been had enough. This only added to this bubbling worry in her chest. He was shutting down and closing off and never addressing it. He wouldn't talk to her for days and then randomly reappear again. Her stomach pooled with cold dread. Was this why? Was he spiralling and just expecting her not to notice? What kind of friend did he think she was?

Slowly he shifted. His eyes softened as his breathing slowed. His demeanour shifted to something frighteningly young and delicate, eyes big and bue, his brows dropping, his bottom lip jutting out. Nat exhaled softly as her shoulders loosened and her heart ached at that sorry sight.

"Wha..." her hands lifted to cup that fragile face in her hands. Before she could finish that thought a knock wrapped on the door.

"Rafe?! You good in there?!"

Shit. Declan. Natalie's stomach dropped at the sound of his housemates' voice and her eyes widened as Rafe clamped a firm large hand over her mouth before she could speak.

"Yeah?!"

"I heard a crash?"

Rafe silently cursed and dumped her belongings into her hands. Quickly, he ushered her to hide under the bed despite her protests, tossing a blanket under there with her to hide her from prying eyes. Her heart was pounding in her ears. The longer Johnny went without knowing about this the better and D had the biggest mouth out of everyone! The little rat!

"What?" Rafe asked sharply as he opened the door.

"Did you break something or..." Nat heaved at the sudden smug glee that slipped into Declan's voice at the sight of Rafe's hurriedly thrown on clothes. "Got a girl in here?"

"No. Porn" Rafe answered flatly without blinkly.

"Oh...shit" Nat bit back a snorted laugh at Declan's immediately backing down.

"I've been drinking. Slipped on my comforter"

"Oh, can i bum a drink?"

"None of it would suit your pallete" Nat could hear the forced smile and supressed pride in Rafe's voice as he answered curtly and promptly shut the door.

"Dick..."

Always the alcohol snob.

By the time they heard Declan's footsteps drift away and his bedroom door close down the hall the moment had officially being murdered. Thankfully Declans music now drowned out the heavy silence.

Nat could feel her mood dropping swiftly as she slipped on her clothes and felt her skin crawl at the thought of Declan hearing any of what had just occured. Her stomach tangled in knots and a sickly thick taste slid down the back of throat.

"Wait, you're actually going?"

"Yeah..." Nat mumbled to her feet, her shoulders beginning to lift around her ears and her hands gripped onto the front of her jean pockets. "Need to..." The longer she thought of Declan and porn and privacy and alcohol and that happy little twist in his voice the sicker she felt. Her head grew dizzy and the rapid breaths she was trying to hide from Rafe got shorter and shakier.

"Come on..." Rafe's arms snaked around her from behind without warning and she froze instantly. Where the fuck had he come from? The edges of her vision grew blurry. "we can still turn this around..." What he meant as seduction conicidentaly soothed her. A hand smoothed her shiny hair, a soft kiss against her cheek softened her tight jaw, his warm breathe against her neck pulled her attention away from herself. She melted against him as her eyes fell closed. He boldly slid the strap of her camisole from her shoulder and pressed his lips there as he unzipped her jeans. She could hear the victorious grin in his voice. "What's the beef with you two anyway...?"

Nat felt like she plunged off a cliff into ice cold water. "Fuck off..." she immediately shrugged him off her and went back to packing.

"Jesus, I was just askin...Guess i won't tell you shit either then. Fine."

She didn't see him for another two weeks. Two weeks of wanting to apologize for pushing him to open up but stubbornly not wanting to break the silence first. Two weeks of hoping he'd apologize for being such a dick but he never did. Two weeeks of girls and dates and study groups but never him. She didn't want to be caught in a cycle of having to mother him. She needed a partner in crime. A friend. An equal. Not another man child on her already growing list.

When he emerged again there was no text, no call, just him lounging on her bed when she got home like he belonged there. Alone in the dark. Black hoodie pulled tight and white sneakers rudely trespassing on her freshly made bed.

She startled at the sight of him. Her bag and keys hitting the floor. "Jesus, Rafe! I could've shot you!"

"You have a gun?"

"Yeah! So be careful! What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?! How did you get in?"

"Hidey key. I was going to leave but then Rayna got home so i hid."

"She knows about us"

"Yeah but she'd think i was a creep if she found me sculking around"

Nat gestured to their current predicament with pointed hands and raised brows and Rafe laughed and nodded in surrender to her point. "Fuck...." she breathed as the panic subsided and she turned on a lamp.

She took off his shoes without asking and collapsed on her bed in exhaustion. With a big sigh she flopped down face first in a clean set of sports bra and leggings on the tiny strip of bed left beside him and he turned back to scrolling. She groaned as every part of her body ached and she struggled to keep her eyes open. After a long silence as she soaked in the comfort of her closed eyed and soft sheets, Nat answered what she assumed was his unspoken question. "i'm too tired"

"I just needed to get out the house" he corrected her assumption and she cracked an eye open at that unusually vulnerable admission but his face was blank and his eyes still fixed on his phone.

"Bad day?"

"Yeah." he absent-mindly traced the compass tattoo sitting on the soft skin on the back of her shoulder. "You?"

"The worst." Natalie let her eyes fall closed again with a groan and focused on his wandering touch instead of her splitting headache. "Two back to back shifts. a lecture. then I had my own gym session and what do I end up having to do in my time off? Clean up after these stupid rich kids that come in every week and don't wipe down their gear or put away their mats. It's fucking disgusting..."

Rafe chuffed a small laugh "That sounds like something I would do..."

"Oh it's definitely something you would do, pig!"

He nodded in defeat. The rough pads of his fingers traced delicately up the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine, before he casually twirled a loose strand of hair sticking out of her bun, grounding himself through her. "And then Mahjong?"

"Fuck" his eyes finally left his doom scrolling to fall on her and Nat bit the inside of her cheek to try and fight off the deep red blush " I hate that i told you that!"

"I love it!"

"Course you do. It was just supposed to get you off my back not make you more curious. Now you're probably picturing me with little old ladies and tea and crumpets"

"Were there crumpets?"

"No. There were potstickers though!"

"I should crash"

"No!" she shot up onto her knees now with new found vigour and Natalie faught a laugh as she forbade him with a firm finger. "No, you're not allowed"

"Since when are you the boss?" he tossed away her offending finger aside and she climbed into his lap without thinking.

Nat rolled her eyes and caught his chin between her finger and thumb. "They're my friends!"

"What?" he mocked but the teasing tone didn't quite smother the smile in this voice. " Sheila and Carla?"

"Fuck you!" she shoved his smirk away with a limp half committed wrist "You'd be so lucky to meet Carla!" she asserted with certainty but quickly crumpled against him with a yawn.

After a brief soft comforatble silence, Rafe's voice vibrated against her cheek. "Did she win again?"

"She always does!" Nat sat up again, perking up at that shocking turn of events despite how tired she was. Rafe chucked and stared up at her sudden animated state. "I swear she's cheating"

"Sneaky bitch....You're right" he nodded softly, his eyes drifting down her bright smile. " I would like her..."

There it was again. Natalie studied that tender look in his eyes that felt so out of place. That softness they so rarely slipped into. Quiet and gentle and intimate. Maybe it was her sleepiness, maybe it was his cosiness but the world slowed right down until it was just finger light touches and barely audible breathes.

"Mhm...." Nat gave in to that sleepy warm pull of his skin and pressed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck and let his arms wrap around her.

"Someone's comfy..."

"Hm just tired ..." she mumbled and pressed a kiss to crook of his neck.

"big tough girl huh?"

then his jaw.

"Shut up...I hate you..."

then his cheek.

What started as hazy and half asleep quickly shifted to something heated and motivated. She straddled his hips and cupped his head so she could nip at his jaw, tugging on the loose skin and soothing it with her tongue. Her head dipped lower to repeat the same down his neck as his hands travelled down to her hips.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Chen...." he warned, deep and raspy, but buried his fingers in her hair gripping tightly. She grinned against his skin at that shift and pulled him into a kiss and rolling her hips against his.

Despite his protests his tongue dove into her mouth hot and eager. With a muffled gasp he clutched her tighter to him, large warm hands now covering her ass and grinding her down against him. She whimpered at his fingers digging into her soft flesh and the contact of his rough jeans through the fabric of her leggings.

He broke the kiss with a sloppy pop to catch his breathe and watch her rithing in his lap. "God, i missed this...."

"Good..." she panted and tugged him back in a again stifling his laugh with her tongue.

Nat was so lost in the heat and haze it took her a moment and notice something silky and metal pressing into her chest. "Wha..." she pulled back just far enough to see a small ribbon stark against the black of his hoodie. Rafe whined and tugged her back in. "Careful....you'll stab yourself..." she unpinned the ribbon and delicately set it aside on her stack of records.

When she met Rafe's eyes again something was different. That hooded eyes and parted lips were gone and he looked small and cautious once again. Only this was inquisitive. On edge. Uncertain. Her eyes moved back to the scrap of pink fabric beside her bed and then back to him. "Is that why you needed to leave the house?"

He nodded with a thick swallow.

She shrugged and let it sly. She didn't push. She didn't pry. "Then ok..."

She let things carry on. That was his businesss. However once they'd lost momentum it was hard to pick it up again and Nat eventually had to let her forehead for to his shoulder with a defeated sigh. "Fuck...you're right..."

"What?"

"I'm too tired..."

"Damn, don't say that...That's twice now..."

"I know..." she whined "but my body's done all it can do for one day" as she caught her breathe her eyes wondered down to where they're bodies met and how tight his jeans now were. "do you need a minute?"

"Oh..." It felt oddly intimate to let him use her bed but it wasn't like they hadn't done much worse beneath these covers. "Ah yeah.."

"Ok!" Nat climbed out of his lap and dusted herself off. "I'll make you a bite to eat. Ramen or grilled cheese?"

"Ah..." Rafe wiped a hand down his face and fumbled his words a little and she almost thought she saw his cheeks flush as he asked. "W-which takes longer?"

She beamed at the implication and shook her head at his embarrassment. "Fancy Grilled Cheese it is then"

[seaouidbabyx]

SUCKER || Dealer! Chris x Maneater! Reader

chapter three.

notes: sorry guys, I got carried away. I might split this into two parts. Also, sorry for not updating regularly, ive been swamped at work :(

warnings: swearing, smoking weed, mentions of drugs (no use, just dealing),

Jayden was... nice. I was currently sitting across from the boy with neatly styled hair, a pressed, clean shirt, and a suave smile. He had the balls to come up to me while I was out at the cafe near my apartment, he told me I was gorgeous, and that he would love to show me a restaurant for dinner if I liked this place. He was too nice, and the more that the conversation went between us, the more I felt like I was sitting in a lecture. A lecture purely on him. He spoke about all the houses his family owned, how he graduated with honors in Finance and Law. I don't think I've gotten a single word out this whole date besides the greeting when we first walked in.

The restaurant was great; it was a neat little Italian place a few blocks away from where I lived. He also offered to pick me up, but I politely declined. Sure, why don't I just let you see where I live, random man I've never actually had more than a single convo with? I sat with my little red dress, the long sleeves covering my arms as they crossed each other. My hair was in a classy, mid-bun with curls falling out, and my fingertips were tapping against the stem of my wine glass. My knee-high boots tapped against my folded leg as my foot played along to the song in the background. I don't think I've heard this man say anything even remotely interesting. My thoughts wondered to a certain brunette boy who would've given anything to see me smile.

I nodded with a tight lipped, polite smile as Jayden had started another story about how his grandfather took him for polo lessons as a kid. I looked around the resturant, looking at the people who were having actual engaging conversations. There were red and white plaid table clothes on some of the wooden tables, some wicker basket chairs after some of the booths. I actually really like this place, but god was Jayden making it feel like it was claustrophobic. His big head was taking up about half the room with his ego. "It was rather lovely, the fields were always green when we went in summer-" I zoned him out, when my phone lit up next to me. It was an unknown number, so curiously, I picked it up and opened it.

"you're enjoying your date over there, princess?" My heart raced, I instantly started looking around. How the fuck, did this drug dealer fiend get into a place like this. Then it dawned on me, what if it's some random? I looked around, trying to spot a certain brunette triplet, even going as far to lean out of my seat a little bit, but I couldn't see anyone. I was about to text back and ask who this was, when no other than Chris walked up to our table, one hand in his pocket and one hand holding a takeaway bag. His loose curls were free of the backwards cap, but he looked good. He swaggered up and had a smug smile on his face, looking like he just spawned out of nowhere. I sent him a sharp, what the fuck glare, which he just winked at. I was almost, almost about to get angry, but I knew that deep down I was breathing a huge sigh of relief. He stuck out like a sore thumb; his casual attire really did not match the vibe of this place. He casually just dragged a chair from the table next to us, placed it next to me and spread himself leisurely across it.

I think this was the first time that Jayden had actually just stopped talking. I looked at Chris, Jayden looked at Chris, and Chris just lazily smiled back up at me. "What are you doing here?" I finally asked, looking at him expectantly. Jayden looked pissed, "Yeah man, what the fuck? Who are you?" I rolled my eyes at that answer, my god. I know this wasn't convenient for him, but no need to be a dick about it. I sent a sharp gaze over in Jayden's direction, not impressed, but he didn't seem to care as his focus was all on the boy sitting next to me.

Chris leaned over, picking up a piece of bread from the basket in between us and started peeling off pieces and shoving them in his mouth. "'M here to save her from this god-awful date." Chris muffled through a mouth full of bread, and I was so shocked at his answer that I actually let out a laugh. I put my hand in front of my mouth embarrassingly so, which Chris just cheekily smiled at. Jayden then looked at me, back at Chris, then zoned in on me once again. "Did you set me up?" He seethed, his face turning flush with anger and I looked at him with an 'excuse me?' look. "You're just a fucking stuck up bitch, why couldn't you just tell me you weren't interested?" He shouted, slamming his hands on the table, acting like a toddler. I placed my hand on the table, leaning in to not cause any more of a scene then he was. "Look, I had no idea this man was even here, but you've done absolutely nothing but speak about yourself, I mean do you even know a single thing about me? If he can see that this is a terrible date, then I have nothing more I really need to say, now do I?" I smiled sweetly at him, reaching for my purse and throwing a 50 on the table, standing up and pushing the chair back with an awful screech.

"Here's for my wine, and next time you think about taking a girl on a date, give her a chance to fucking speak." I spat, grabbing my purse and tapping Chris on the back before making my way over to the entrance of the restaurant. Chris grabbed two more pieces of bread out the basket, before saluting Jayden and followed close behind me. He walked out next to me, "Hey! Slow down woman! Are you okay?" He asked, following in my footsteps.

As soon as we were a few walking steps down the sidewalk, I stopped, turned to him and let out a belly laugh. God, I can't believe this is happening to me. I placed my hands on my hips, breathing in big deep breaths in between laughs. I heard Chris nervously laugh along too, probably looking at me like I was crazy. I wiped the tears from my eyes, "Did you see the look on his face! God, what a stuck up, asshat. How did you know I was there?" I shouted and questioned, placing a hand on his shoulder, softening my giggles. He shrugged at me, "Oh you know, I just saw this pretty girl who looked bored out of her mind when I came to get see what they have for takeout. Thought she needed saving." He smirked down playfully at me.

Chris stood next to me with a big smile on his face, still shoving peeled off pieces of bread, I smiled up at him. "Oh, so that's why you're out. Totally not stalking me or anything." I teased, falling back into step with him. He rolled his eyes, passing his extra bread roll over to me without even looking at me. I gently took it, peeling pieces off as he did and started nibling. "Where's your car?" He asked, seeing as were almost about a block and a half away from the restaurant. I shrugged, "I took an uber, but its not far from my place, I don't mind walking." I ripped another piece, placing the soft bread in my mouth. He stopped, dead in his tracks and looked at me with a wild and absurd expression. He then rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before grabbing my forearm. "Not a fuck am I letting you walk. I mean, have you seen the type of dudes out here? You were just on a date with one!" He lectured, pulling me across the street and a little further down. I rolled my eyes, "I can handle myself, thank you very much. It looks like youre fucking kidnapping me right now!" We continued walking and I really was not complaining, before Chris stopped in front of a BMW 5 Series. I looked up at him and back at the car, and he huffed, rolling his eyes once again. He opened the door for me, holding my hand as he helped me into the car.

"Wow, a thug and a gentleman, who would've guessed?" I teased, sarcastic, as he made his way into the driver's side. He rolled his eyes as he got him, pushing the 'push-to-start' button, and putting the car into drive. "How do I know you're not one of those weirdo's out here to kidnap me?" I sassed, turning to look at him. He looked at me with a blank, 'really?' look. "Listen, I've got shit to loose, if anything, I'm scared you're going to kidnap me." He chirped back, shaking his head and looking forward, pulling out of the parking space and creeping up the street.

"Kidnap you! You're lucky I don't have my hands around your neck. I'm flattered you're scared of me, that's what I was aiming for." I said, crossing my arms, looking outside. He smirked, a ghost of a smile behind it, shaking his head at my reaction once again. "Alright, you prissy princess, where are we going?" I looked at him, with a skew look. "Um, my house?" I argued. He stopped at a red light, "C'mon, you got all dressed up and pretty and had a shitty date. How about this, I've got some to do some runs, but after that, I can show you what it's like to go on a real date." He rambled, talking animatedly with his hands as he drove. The way he acted, really didn't show that he was a drug dealer.

"Are you fucking joking? You want me to come on runs with you? I am not some thug accomplice Chris!" I said, turning my body to face him fully. He rolled his eyes at me, "I'm not hearing a no?" He huffed, smirking slightly at my reaction. I crossed my arms, looking out the window. "I did dress up really nice," I murmured, softly. I heard Chris let out a laugh, tapping my thigh gently with his big hand. "Atta girl, lets go have some fun." I smacked away his hand once again, missing it already. I heard him whisper to himself, "God, you're so dramatic." I gasped and pushed his shoulder. He put his hands up in surrender, "What? It's true!"

We eventually started driving through some random neighbour hoods, some with large, high houses, others with simple flats. He was nice enough to let me play some music, so I started shuffling through and decided to settle on some Pouya songs, which I could see he appreciated. Conversation flowed between us, naturally, and the more I got to know Chris, the more I started to realise that he was different. A good different, one that made me want to learn more about him. We had just talked about the basic things, where we grew up, our favourite shows, but he gave me chances to speak about myself, like he was actually interested. The last house we pulled up too, was a small, single-story flat. Its fence was not up to par and the streetlights were not all working, but the garden was neatly kept and the patio didn't look half bad. It had peeling green paint on the outside, and the rusted golden number showed '7'. Chris pulled out his phone, silently parking outside the house, phoning someone.

A man, in a black hoodie and some sweats, quickly opened the door to his house and made his way to Chris's window, with a huge smile on his face. He leaned down; Chris rolled the window so he could meet him. "What's up Chris? Thanks for coming dawg." He spoke, and as he leaned down, I locked eye contact with him. He had some face-tattoos, his hair in dreads. He smiled at me, gold grills on some of his teeth. I smiled politely, before looking at Chris, not knowing what the fuck to do in this situation. "Huh, Chris has got a girl with him, I ain't never seen that before. And she's hot as fuck. This your girlfriend Chris?" He teased, placing a thick wad of cash into Chris's hand. He kept looking between me and Chris, but continued to speak like I wasn't even there? What the fuck is going on? I was gobsmacked, most of the people just came and took their shit, this man doesn't seem to care.

Chris reached over to me, pulling open the cubbyhole, and pulling out a couple baggies, some had green leaves, and one had white powder. One bag even had some small, multi-coloured capsules. I blushed when I felt his arm press against my legs. "Something like that," He replied, clearly not interested in conversation with this man. He closed the cubbyhole, handed him his stash and sent a wink flying my way. I looked at him confused, but my heart beat increased, and I felt my face flush. We bid this man goodbye, Chris rolled up his window and drove off down the street.

He looked at me, clearly irked. "Sorry about him, he just doesn't know when to shut up." I shook my head, "It's no problem, I just didn't know what the fuck was even going on." I chuckled softly. He smiled in return, "Alright, that was my last run, no more scary people." He cheesed, looking at me with lazy eyes. "You hungry, Princess?" I smiled, a small one, trying to refuse how hot he looked. I nodded, "What do you feel like getting? Anything you want," He said, leaning back leisurely in his chair, his gaze flicking to me and the road.

I thought about it, looking at him with a teasing look. "If I'm being totally honest with you, I'm really craving some greasy fast food." I said, a little unsure. He smirked back at me, "Some chicken nuggets, for the finest lady?" Teasing, patting a hand on my thigh once again. "You have to choose where we go, though." I stated, cheekily smiling at the brunette. He nodded, pursed his lips. "I got it," he said, driving away from the suburbs.

He had pulled us into a Burger King, and my eyes lit up. I grabbed his shoulder and shook it excitedly, "Yes! This is my favourite! We have to get matching crowns too Chris." I said and turned to look at him. He had a grin on his face, parking the car. "Let's go get those crowns." He came to my side of the car, opened the door for me like the gentleman he was. I smirked, "Aren't you scared it's going to ruin your whole criminal look you've got going on?" I said, placing my hand in his and getting out of the car. He tutted, "I can still look swag as fuck." He gloated, pulling out a flex of his muscles, which made me fake gag in return. I followed him into the restaurant, walking besides him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, smirking down at me. "You know, I was not expecting to come to Burger King for our first date."

I shoved him off, placing a hand on my hip as we walked inside, "Who said anything about this being a date." I quipped, returning his smirk. He placed a hand on the base of my spine and walked us to the counter. He ordered for us but leaned down to me again. "We both know it's a date, sweetheart. Get off your high-horse and just enjoy it." He snipped, making me want to swipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"Fuck sakes," I mumbled, feeling a heat run through my chest. I blushed, looking away as he continued with the cashier. Chris grabbed the takeout, before asking the cashier for two of the paper king crowns, grabbing them and stopping me before we made it to the door. He placed the food on a table nearby, grabbing my waist and making me stand straight in front of him. He maneuvered the paper crown, folding it together, before he gently grabbed the underside of my jaw, and placed the crown on top of my head. I smiled up at him, scrunching my nose, as he gently took my hair behind my ear for the crown to sit properly.

He placed his own crown on his head, looking down at me with that, upside down smile, the one that looks like he's trying not to smile, but he just can't help it. He placed a hand on the base of my spine again, grabbing the food and walking us back out the car. He opened the door for me again, helping me into the car, placing the takeout bag on my lap, before heading to the driver's side. I handed him his burger and fries, taking out my own, and placing the chicken nuggets in between both of us on the centre console, so we could share. He sent me a charming smile, taking one of the nuggets and placing it in his mouth. "You know what would make this even better?" He spoke with a mouth-full of food, which I grimaced at before looking at him curiously. He reached into the side of his door, pulling out a freshly rolled joint. I cheered, "Okay, maybe this is like my dream date or something." I mumbled, quickly shoving some fries in my mouth. He looked over at me, placing the joint between his lips. He moved to fix the crown that had gone slightly askew on my head with a gentle touch. "Princess, this is the bare minimum. I thought you out of all people would know that." I shrugged, "I don't need expensive things to like you." I uttered out. He looked a little shocked, but smirked, nonetheless. He lit the joint, taking a drag.

Once he had puffed it a few times, he gave it over to me. We were both facing each other, the night lights and the interior Led's giving us a soft glow. I looked at him, big, aspiring eyes, before taking the joint from his hand. I took a few drags, blowing out away from his face, before handing it back. There wasn't much said, just two people enjoying each other's company. The lowered music in the background, my heart thundering in my chest. I looked at him again, but Chris's blue eyes were already on mine. I moved to hand him back the joint, but he grabs my wrist, pulls my hand over his shoulder and closer towards him, his left hand slithering towards my waist. We were inches away, so close I could smell the weed off his breath. He placed a soft hand on my neck with his right hand, his thumb just below my jaw, looking at me with hooded eyes. "Such a pretty girl," he said, almost a purr. I looked up at him once again, through my eyelashes. I could not show that he was making me blush, but I'm sure he could feel the heat from my neck. "You gonna do something about it?" I teased, to which smirked at, rolled his eyes, before speaking almost against my lips, "Do you want me to?" His eyes were now fully lowered to my mouth. I started to grow frustrated at this game, so I pulled my head to the side, "Don't waste my time, Chris." I said, more meaning than what I had intended.

Frustrated too, Chris's other hand reached up, pulling my face into his again. "Stop being so fucking dramatic," He whispered, eyes fire-y. And with that, he pulled me in for a kiss. It was full of emotions; his lips were softer than I expected to be. I gasped into the kiss, gripping his sweatshirt like my life depended on it. He asked for entry with his tongue, to which I allowed. We kissed each other, ferociously, our tongues exploring each other's mouths. The weed, him, the kiss, his hands, it was all making me dizzy. So dizzy in fact, that I had dropped the joint somewhere between. He pulled away first, but almost chased my mouth for another kiss, making me smile. "Mm, I think you could use a little more kissing lessons," I grabbed his chin, teasing him, looking at his soft, pink lips, now swollen slightly. Fully joking, knowing this was one of the best kisses I've had to date. His hooded eyes followed mine, before lazily smiling back up at me. "Only if you're gonna teach them." He muttered, placing a hand on my thigh. I let out a small laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.

Who is the sucker now?

A/N: YAAAYYYY THEY FINALLY KISSED WHOOOO

tags -> @chrispycremedonut @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @iluvchr1s @passionfruitchris

[insociometry]

"Ready Or Not" Minho POV, chapter 31

Drabble of Minho missing your calls. ~1k words.

Minho leaves the studio, checks his phone, gets in the car, checks his phone, comes home, checks his phone, eats, checks his phone, lies down on Jisung’s bed with his face in his packmate’s pillow, checks his phone, falls asleep for an hour, and checks his phone.

When Jisung walks through the door, he’s obviously not in the mood to hang out, eyes flicking to where Minho’s spread out on his bed with that tense, jittery lightning-burn to his scent: get out of the way; a storm is coming, and you’re the easiest target. So Minho gets up, fake-stretching to keep some semblance of normalcy, and sees himself out before Jisung can even finish getting his hoodie off.

He goes to the kitchen and checks his phone. Drinks water and checks his phone. Thinks about sending you another text, even though you’d never even read the last — Call me, he’d said, and then, a minute later, Please.

He hates the feeling of you being upset with him. He hates not knowing where you are and what you’re doing, not getting photo updates of your day, the silly little things that make your voice jolt up and your fingers tack extra exclamation marks onto your words: skylines and flowers and paw prints stamped wet on concrete; funny signs outside street stalls and children’s drawings on the subway wall, hastily scrubbed at by some desperate parent’s hand. Descriptions of things: overheard jokes, the smell of fresh bread, a story your friend had told you. Long, rambling thoughts about your classes that go way over his head, shifting into English like you don’t even think about it, like your thumb is always hovering over the ‘change keyboard’ button.

You didn’t used to look or listen; you’d told him yourself, during your first real conversation. He didn’t think too hard about it at the time; you’d never seemed like the most observant person, and there’s nothing wrong with just trying to get from one place to another, really. But you’ve been so much happier since you’ve started keeping your eyes open — and you’ve sent him more and more texts as a result, too, and more and more photos, letting him scroll through your scattered messages in between schedules like the morning paper.

But now you’re upset with him — with all of them, because they’re all at fault — and when he goes to check anyway, he finds your chat just as he left it, his own words staring back at him like an accusation.

Call me, he tells you, turned into an echo by his constant rereads, checking to see if you’ve opened it yet. Please.

Pathetic, he thinks, washing out his cup. He’s sure you’re being constantly inundated with messages from the others, anyway. He isn’t going to add to the burden of that, not knowing your disposition, not when a missed text from your roommate had made you wince when you were at his apartment months ago.

Still, his thumb lingers over the keyboard when he checks his messages again. Frustrated, he throws his phone on the couch, locks himself in the bathroom, and takes a shower so hot it makes his head spin.

He can’t be in there longer than ten minutes. In that time, he misses two of your calls.

It doesn’t even register at first. Minho blinks at the screen once, twice, three times, fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around his neck, clothes half-on. Then, he scrambles.

You don’t pick up when he calls — so he tries again, then again. Holds off a while, pacing to Jisung’s room — then picks up that scent again in the hall that marks himself as a lightning rod and their apartment as an imminently burning field, and retreats. Calls you again — nothing. Opens your chat — nothing. Hovers over the keyboard, uncertain, before finally typing out the only things running through his head in an impulsive rush: What happened? Where are you? Are you okay?

No answer. Minho grabs a jacket and trades his house slippers for shoes, keys held tight in hand. Then he changes them back, pacing the living room, wet hair dripping onto his t-shirt.

Not for the first time, he wishes you had meant it when you asked if you should always share your location with him. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d said yes, that he’d said anything, instead of just watching the way your uneasy smile had slipped and stumbled on your face.

The pack is a mess; everyone is a mess. Half of them have been locking themselves away and the other half can’t stop pacing, and no one knows how to settle the feeling kicking at all of them: the protective, placating nature of an alpha turned shrill and piercing with nowhere to go, having failed to protect and failed to placate. Minho still feels like he can taste a wisp of your scent behind his teeth, not enough to satiate but just enough to drive him mad, echoing, Mate, mate, mate— But you aren’t his, and you aren’t here, and you won’t fucking call him back.

Minho goes for a drive just to settle the feeling. He finds himself on your street without even realizing how much time had passed, staring at any lit-up window and wondering if it’s you.

When he does snap back into the present, he all but lunges for his phone, so quickly he picks up his foot without meaning to, unparked car lurching. But even though some time has passed — his screen lights up, and there’s no answer.

He supposes he deserves this. He hadn’t wanted to go along with any of this but he’d done it anyway, and now he’s paying the price for his compliance. Still, he holds onto his phone like a lifeline, opening your chat just to stare at his own words all over again.

Call me, he thinks — rereading the message, living and breathing it, plucking at the bond and hoping you’ll hear. Please call me. Please.

[eviemonroeer]

The Monroe Effect: Chapter 17

Set in between Seasons 5 and 6 of ER. It's original material y'all!

Warnings: varying pregnancy symptoms

WC: 3.1 k

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, and @antisocialfiore

Main Story: prev | next

Snapshots: prev | next

I ended up being on bed rest for a total of three weeks. At my first appointment with Dr. Coburn during the second week, which Carter had managed to sneak away to come to, she found that the hematoma had almost totally healed, but another week and a follow up appointment was warranted to make sure everything was okay. Thankfully the appointment wasn’t a total bust. I got some medicine for my nausea which was helping a lot. So, Carter kept bringing me fruit cups and occasionally fries from Doc Magoo’s, my new craving, while I continued to wait it out in my apartment. 

Once I got the all clear to go back to work, it felt like a prison break. Granted I was stuck at the admit desk answering phones and ordering labs on half shifts, but at this point I would do anything to get out of my apartment. I could get back to light nurse duty once I was out of my first trimester before working my way back to full RN mode.

Walking through the ambulance bay doors, the light hustle and bustle of the early morning ER was a welcome change from the silence of my apartment. Could someone actually miss this place? I smiled as I walked into the lounge, dropping my stuff off in my locker before I grabbed a clerk jacket and headed out onto the floor. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Haleh exclaimed, putting her chart in the holder and giving me a hug. “It’s so good to see you sweetie. How are you?” 

“I’m glad to be back. I could only stay in my apartment for so much longer.” 

“Evie!”  

Lydia came around and joined the hugs, followed by Yosh and Chuny. “Wow, if I knew I would get this reception, I would have taken time off a long time ago.” 

“We missed you.” Lydia said. “How’s the baby?” 

“Baby’s good. Ten weeks. Hematoma is healed, but they don’t want me going back to nursing duties until I’m past twelve weeks. So, for right now, I’m working the admit desk.” 

“We’re just glad you’re back.” Chuny said, before forming a frown. “Someone has been a little cranky without you around.” 

“Evie!”

“Speak of the devil.” 

I tried to disguise my laugh as Carter walked over to the admit desk. “I didn’t know you were here yet. I’m sorry I couldn’t come in with you.” 

“It’s all good. Train ride was fine. Just ready to get to work.” The other four nurses gave me a few more pats and encouragements before walking away, leaving us alone. “I heard you’ve been a little cranky?” 

Carter shook his head. “Just miss having you around.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fruit cup and a wrapped plastic spoon. “Here. Wanted to make sure you had a snack during your shift. There’s more in my locker if you want them.” 

 “Thanks.” I said, smiling as I took it from him. “That’s really sweet, Carter.” 

“I have some charts to finish up, but if you want, I can pick up a half shift and stay here.” 

“Carter, you’ve been working all night. I’m a big girl. Finish up, go home, and sleep. I’ll bring dinner by later and I’ll call you on the very slim chance something happens.”

He sighed and put his hands in his coat pockets, giving in. “Alright. Stay at the desk. Don’t go running into a trauma because they’re down a nurse.” 

“I pinky swear.” I said and held up that finger. He rolled his eyes and took my hand in his before pulling me closer and kissing my cheek. My eyes went wide, and my mouth got dry. 

“See you later.” 

“You’re back!” 

I spun in the desk chair and smiled when I saw it was Carol walking up to me. I stood and gave her a hug. “And not a moment too soon.” I looked her up and down, taking note of her midsection. “Look at you, you’re finally starting to get a bump.” 

“I know.” She said, gently stroking it. “It just kind of appeared overnight.” 

“And here I am losing weight because I’ve been puking throughout the day.” 

“Don’t worry. It’ll make its appearance before you know it. How is everything going with baby Carter?” 

I chuckled at the nickname. “We’re okay. Hematoma is gone, thank goodness, and we are officially 10 weeks and five days today. Stuck here at admit until my appointment at 12 weeks.” 

“I see you’re still craving peaches.” She said, gesturing to the empty container on the desk. 

“It’s the only consistent one so far. It’s actually my second one today. I had to break into Carter’s locker to get it.”

“Just wait till you are craving full meals.”

“I would kill to stomach a full meal right now.” 

Carol laughed before the doors to the ambulance bay opened. “Evie, what’s open?” Mark called out as he and Carol joined the paramedics. 

“Trauma One!” I shouted back before they took off down the hall. I was itching to go join them, but I knew better. To many people around who would escort my butt right back to this desk. So, I gave my stomach a light rub before I sat back in my seat and started back up with paperwork. 

“Hello?”

I smiled at the sleepiness in Carter’s voice. “It’s me.” 

“Is everything okay?” I heard the sheets move as he sat up quickly in bed. 

“Calm down. I’m fine. We’re fine.” He sighed on the other end, and I could hear him lay back down. “I’m actually about to finish up my shift and wanted to know what you wanted me to bring over for dinner.”

“I can just meet you at your place.” 

“Absolutely not. I need to be out of those walls for a while. I was thinking pizza. Does that sound okay to you?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever you’re craving.”

“Good because I already ordered it, and it should be there by the time I arrive.”

Carter chuckled. “Then why did you even ask me?”

“To be polite. I was just really hoping you would say yes. Get a little more sleep and I’ll see you soon.” 

“Can’t wait.” 

“Evie! Come on in.” Dr. Weaver said as she opened the front door. She looked like she was getting ready to leave for a shift. “How was your first day back?”

“Good. Different, but good. I imagine Carter’s told you the baby is doing okay.”

“He has. But I’m also glad to hear so are you. Listen, the pizza already came, Carter has it downstairs. Take whatever you guys need from the kitchen. I’m headed into work.”

“Have a good night!” I called out at the basement door. 

“You too!” She yelled back as the front door closed behind her. I smiled and opened the door, but Carter was already climbing the stairs to meet me. 

“Hold on.” He said and held out his hand to me. 

“Carter, I can walk down the stairs by myself.” 

“Humor me.” He pulled me into his side and walked with me down the stairs, a hand tightly wrapped around my waist. The pizza box was sitting on his bed, the top open and enveloping the room in a mouthwatering smell. 

“I have been waiting for this all day.” I moaned and left his grasp once we were on the floor. I ran over to the box and grabbed a slice, taking a large bite. I moaned again as the flavors danced off my tongue. 

“That good, huh?” He asked, chuckling. 

“Indescribable.” I muttered, my mouth full. 

“Well, just go slow. You don’t want to regret it later.” He sat on the bed and passed me a plate and a napkin, which I happily took and loaded another piece onto. “I’m glad to see your appetite is back.” 

“I wouldn’t say its back. I’ve just been craving this since this morning. If it were anything else, I would not be digging in right now.” 

“Well, either way, I’m glad. I’m also glad it’s a normal craving, not something weird.”

“I was never really a fan of pickles to begin with. But we’ll see what happens later on.”

“Noted.” He finally got himself a slice, making me feel less insecure about stuffing my face. “You know, I was thinking....” 

“Thought I smelled smoke.” 

“Ha-ha.” He said and rolled his eyes. “I was actually thinking that maybe we should go on a date.” 

“Isn’t that what we are doing right now?” I took another bite. “And if you ask the ER staff, I think they would tell you we’ve been dating for five years, just with a couple breaks in between.” I laughed.

“I’m being serious.” Carter said, and I could tell by the look on his face, he was. “I want to take you out somewhere special. If we’re taking this next step, I want to start off on the right foot and I want to do something better for you then pizza in the basement.”

“But I like pizza in the basement.”

“Evie....”

“I know. It’s very sweet and I appreciate it. But Carter, I told you I didn’t want to start a relationship with you just because we’re having a baby. That’s not a good reason.” 

“And I told you I wanted to be with you before and the baby was just a bonus.”

I sighed and sat down my plate, biting my lip. “What were you thinking of for this date?” 

Carter smiled, satisfied that he won. “I didn’t want to preplan dinner. Just in case something wasn’t working for you.”

“I appreciate that.” 

“I thought maybe we could go walk around the pier. I know you can’t ride any of the rides, but maybe we could still have fun.” 

“That actually sounds really nice. I haven’t been to the pier in a long time. Okay Romeo, when do you want to do this?” 

“Saturday night?” 

“Absolutely not. Our first date will not be on your birthday.”

 “Why not? It’s my day. We can do whatever I want.” 

“You really want to tell our kid one day that our first date was on your birthday?”

“Would make the date easy to remember for anniversaries.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “Is that what you really want to do?”

“It’s what I really want to do.”

“Fine then. Dr. Carter, you’ve got yourself a date for Saturday night.”

“Come on! Please don’t do this to me!”

I groaned as I tried buttoning up my shorts for the third time, praying somehow this time it would work. For the first ten weeks, I had been losing weight thanks to my constant need to run to the bathroom to puke. Now all of a sudden at eleven weeks, the bloating was real, and I couldn’t get my favorite pair of shorts on. What made it worse was this was the first nice day we had all week. No rain, just sunshine and a slight breeze. Perfect shorts weather.

“Why do you have to do this to your mom now? These shorts make my butt look good.” I threw down my arms beside me and stared up at my ceiling, trying to think of what else I could wear. That’s when there was a knock at my door. “And of course your dad is early for once.” I got up from the bed and walked through the apartment to the front door to open it. Carter was wearing khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and tennis shoes. He looked down at my unbuttoned pants and shoeless feet and furrowed his brow.

“I guess you’re not ready?”

“No.” I groaned and turned to head back to my bedroom. “I thought I was, but then your spawn had to go and mess things up.”

“Hey, stop blaming my kid.”

“Then do you want me to blame you?” I stopped and turned to the side, holding up my shirt so he could see the small curve of my stomach preventing me from buttoning my shorts. “I’m only eleven weeks. I should still be able to fit in my old clothes.” I put my shirt back down and kept padding towards my room. 

“I’ll just wait out here.” He said and I could hear him chuckling. 

I closed the door behind me and went over to my closet trying to decide what might fit. After some digging, I stumbled upon something I hadn’t worn in a while. It was an ivory, floral sundress with a halter top and open back. I last wore it to some event in college. I had been a couple pounds heavier back then from late night snacking, so many it would fit me now. I quickly switched out the outfit I had for the dress and checked myself out in the mirror. It actually did fit pretty well, the dress hugging my new curves nicely. My boobs did look pretty huge, but I think that was something I was going to have to live with for a while. And it went with the hair and make-up I had already done. Overall, it honestly was a big win. 

Dressing it down with a pair of white sneakers, I transferred everything to a matching bag before walking back out to the living room. Carter had turned on a basketball game and wasn’t even paying attention when I walked in. “I’m ready to go.” 

“Okay, cool.” He said and turned off the TV and standing. “I thought we could......” But the words died on his lips when he saw me. “Wow. You look amazing.” He walked over to inspect me closer.

“You’re just saying that so I won’t go change again.”

“No, I’m saying it because I mean it.” He put his hands on my hips, his thumb drawing circles over my slightly curved stomach. 

“Thanks Carter. Oh, I almost forgot.” I ran back into my room and grabbed the wrapped gift off of my bed. “Here.” I said, handing it over. “Happy Birthday from me and the baby.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know. But seeing as your real gift won’t be here for another 7 months, I thought this would be a good replacement.” 

He unwrapped the square shaped gift, getting a black box. He lifted the top cover, revealing a watch. It had a brown faux leather strap with a white and gold face and black roman numeral numbers. “Evie this is too much.” 

“I’ve been saving for a while. I heard you saying your other one was broken and so I thought I’d upgrade you.”

“This is very nice.” 

I took the box from him and took the watch out. I grabbed his left wrist and put it on, having already set the time before I wrapped it up. “There you go. Looks great.” 

“Thank you, Evie.” He said and without thinking, he lightly grabbed me face and kissed me. My breath was taken away at the sudden gesture and it felt like butterflies were floating around in my lower tummy. I think my toes even curled. He backed away and smiled. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” 

 

The sun was just beginning to set as we made it to the Pier. We had stopped for dinner after I got a strong craving for a cheeseburger, and we were finally walking down the length of the Pier together. The walk started just side by side, no touching. But eventually as we talked, our bodies naturally gravitated towards one another and soon we were holding hands.

It all felt easy. The way we could go from talking about our day to just being in comfortable silence without any awkwardness. It was really nice. Granted knowing each other for years helped things, but it always was easy with Carter. Why would this be any different?

“So how does it feel to be twenty-nine? One year closer to the big 3-0.” 

“It doesn’t feel too different. Didn’t think I’d become a dad at 29 though.”             

“Thought you would be younger?” 

“Older.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help you be able to run around with your kids old man.” I suddenly stopped and tugged on his arm. “Oh! Can we go on the Ferris Wheel?” I asked, pointing up to the giant wheel. 

“Uh, I don’t think—” 

“Oh, come on Carter. Please. It’s the one ride I can get on. Its slow moving.” I put on my best pouty face. “Please.”

Carter thought for a moment and then sighed. “Alright.”

“Yay! Thank you!” 

“Man, if our kid inherits that face, I’m in trouble.”

“Especially if it’s a girl.” I said, pulling him over to the line. 

After some waiting, we were finally able to board the Ferris Wheel in our own car. The view was amazing, especially with the colors of the setting sun painting the sky. Carter pulled me in close to him the moment we were sent airborne, a tight hold squeezing my side. I used that to my advantage to lay my head on his shoulder as I watched the skyline as we made our way around. It had gotten dark by the time we made it back safely on the ground and Carter’s heartrate went back to normal. We ended the evening with ice cream while we sat in Polk Park. I really wanted to make it until the fireworks, but I guess I had yawned one too many times for Carter, so he said he was taking me home. 

“I had a really nice time, Carter.” I said as we walked up to my door. “I hope it was a good birthday.”

“I honestly think this was the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be just a little part of it.” I opened the door to my apartment after unlocking it. Carter tried to come in with me, but I stopped him. His brow furrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t invite guys in after the first date, even if they are the birthday boy.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. I smiled and stepped back out a little, raising up to kiss him again. It was a quick kiss, a simple peck, but it still brought a smile to both our faces.

“Happy Birthday John. Good night.” I closed the door, but there was a knock. I opened it and Carter grabbed my face, this time giving me another toe curling, take your breath away kiss. My arms wrapped around him as I melted into him, my exhaustion forgotten as we held each other. Eventually he pulled back and smiled. 

“Good night.” 

And with that, he left, pulling the door shut behind him.