#really pulled through with the descriptions

[artsymeeshee]

Galaxy Pines! ✨🌌✨

[rotapathetic]

: ̗̀┊͙TWITCH STREAMER!RAFE taking reader shopping ⠀꒰ 🎧 ꒱ !⠀⠀୨୧

❝she won ❜ : bold text is stream chat! 💬

STREAMER who comes up with random excuses to do things for you irl stream

“alright,” rafe pulled you into his lap, placing his headset on top of your head. it titled to the side, the mic hitting your chin instead of your lips. “have something planned for today’s stream.”

user: geez she needs her own headset user: hi guys user: a duo game??

“what is it?” you perked up, the headset jostling. rafe chucked, moving it down around your neck. “i take you shopping and say yes to whatever you want,” rafe answered, sliding you closer on his lap.

“really!” your head tilted, smiling down at him. “are you sure?” rafe tilted a brow at you, “yes, really. need to spoil you, it’s been an urge.”

user: wee!! we get to tag along user: can we get food on the way user: need to see more of her wardrobe taste

ᵋ @ barnes and noble ᵌ

“if you want a guy who can play hockey, i could learn in two days,” rafe frowned at the book you held.

user: no you couldn’t

you giggled, placing it in the basket with your other picks. “i don’t. i don’t want this guy, i want him to end up with the main character,” you explained.

rafe nodded with hesitance, glancing at the other books on the shelf, letting the viewers also see. “i’m just saying. . if you were into that fantasy, wizard crap, i could make something work.”

user: what are you talking about user: he’s about to end the challenge user: what did she pick out

rafe pointed the camera at your basket, “they want to see.” “oh!” you rifled through the books, naming them off, “some were being hyped on social media and i’m easily influenced, and others i just like the description,” you explained to them.

“is that all?” rafe didn’t like the little amount you grabbed. “yeah. . should i grab more?” you frowned at your basket.

rafe thought for a second, “i actually don’t need you discovering you have a new type, we can check out.”

ᵋ @ coach ᵌ

“i really don’t need it. that’s not even the challenge, you said anything i want.”

rafe finished paying, grabbing the bag from the cashier. “you pick it up, you want it. i buy it.” he added the bag to the others on his arm.

you frowned at the expensive coach bag, “but i put it down. .” rafe smiled at you, “and i picked it back up. now where else do you want to go?”

user: she won

ᵋ @ popmart ᵌ

the girl gasped, looking between you two, “wait. .” rafe kept the camera pointed to himself just in case the supporter didn’t want to be on video. “. .oh my gosh, it’s you!” she said to you, ignoring rafe.

you put the box you were holding into the basket rafe held. “hi. .” you nervously giggled out. rafe kept an eye on the girl as she stepped closer. he didn’t mind anyone meeting you, he just had to make sure the girl respected you and didn’t try to sneak a picture.

“you are so pretty. . hi rafe,” she tossed a glance at him, looking back to you. rafe smiled at you, not minding at all the attention not being on him.

user: that’s humbling user: no fair she got to see her before us user: she better not be weird. .

“you are too! wait, what are you getting?” you asked the girl, looking at the boxes she had. she stepped next to you so you could see.

“okay, so. on the stream where you guys met, you said you like skull pandas. i’m not really a skull panda girl, but when you said you like them, i was like i have to get them.”

you widened your eyes at her, “no you did not,” you cooed. “that is so sweet. we were just about to check out, i’m so glad we ran into you. .”

“oh! i can leave you guys alone, then. i just wanted to say hi. and i literally won’t say anything about you by the way, i am not like that.” she promised you and rafe.

you frowned at her, “you don’t seem like it. okay, wait. .” you walked back to rafe, peering up at him. “mm. . would you say yes if i asked you to buy her boxes for her?”

you didn’t need to put on those eyes. “anything you want, baby.”

ᵋ @ the thrift ᵌ

“you see the vision, right?” you held the top up to your chest, turning for rafe to see.

he stared intensely, “that’s cute, i can see it. it can go with the hat you picked up,” he reached into the cart, pulling out the hat and holding it up to your head.

you gasped, “you’re so right, okay.” you placed the top in the cart.

rafe read the chat. “wow, they really doubted my fashion skills. that’s rude guys.”

you peeked over to read, some of your face showing in the camera. “no, guys, he helps with my outfits sometimes. he’s really good.” you walked over to another rack, rafe pushing the cart behind you.

rafe read more chats. “now they’re switching up. you guys always go with anything she says.”

you giggled, peering over your shoulder, then going back to rifling through the clothes.

“as they should though,” rafe said.

ᵋ @ rafe’s place ᵌ

rafe placed the bags on the desk, some on the floor that couldn’t fit.

user: this was so fun user: haul time

rafe turned to you sitting in his chair, legs crossed. “they’re asking for a haul, but you don’t have to give one.”

your eyes widened, “they still want to see me?”

user: duh this is your stream

[radenajeng]

Older Boyfriend Jeongin

Tags: idol!jeongin, female!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional maturity, mild age gap, reader is early legal age, reader is NOT minor.

A/N : English is not my first language, and this is my first time writing something like this (idek what writing style is this the hell) but i hope you enjoy.

He’s known as the maknae on top. Everyone treats him a little differently. He gets to eat first, gets extra turns in games, and when he messes up, people just laugh it off.

They coddle him, tease him, ruffle his hair like he’s still the youngest of them all.

And most days, he doesn’t really mind.

But you know a different side of Jeongin. The one who doesn’t ask for special treatment. The one who doesn't act like the baby. The one who knows how to show up for someone. Quietly, consistently, like it’s second nature.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who doesn’t post you, doesn’t flaunt you. But always has a hair clip stuck in his bag strap, a playlist titled like a love letter, and an emoji that represents you in every description of his posts just so people know he's not single.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who never shows you to the world, but introduces you to his family and members with his arms around your waist, smiling so wide his eyes disappear into crescents.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who is not only say “i love you”, but adjusts your seatbelt, charges your phone, walks you to your door, carrying your purse around like second nature.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who plays tough with the members, rolls his eyes at their teasing, shoves Hyunjin off the couch for being too dramatic, but he lets you lie on his chest until his arm goes numb. Lets you take his hoodie even when it's his favorite. Lets you in.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who still gets shy around you sometimes. who bites the inside of his cheek when you compliment him, and pretends to scroll through his phone when your head rests on his shoulder.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who remembers the exact way you breathe when you're overwhelmed. who answers late-night calls with a voice low and steady, whispers “take your time” instead of “what’s wrong?”

olderboyfriend!jeongin who doesn’t talk over you when you’re mad. He waits, lets you finish every word, every sigh, every silence.

He doesn’t try to win.

He tries to understand.

So when you snap — sharp words, a crack in your voice, something bitter you instantly regret — he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t fight back.

He just looks at you with that quiet, steady gaze that makes you feel both too much and never too little.

Then he breathes in, slow and careful, like he's afraid anything louder might hurt you more.

"i know you didn’t mean all that," he says, voice low.

"but even if you did, i’m not going to stop showing up."

And maybe that’s what gets you.

Not the apology. not the patience.

But the fact that he stays.

Even when you push.

Even when you're not sure you deserve it.

He stays.

olderboyfriend!jeongin who listens quietly when you say sorry. who pulls you into a hug before you can say more, tucks your head into his chest and whispers, “we’re okay.”

olderboyfriend!jeongin who lets you be messy, sharp, complicated, whatever it is that shapes your personality — and never once makes you feel hard to love. Because he knows love isn’t about perfection.

It’s about staying. Even when it’s not easy.

—————

©radenajeng, June 2025.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

On the Brink

joel miller x reader smut

description: you’ve been wanting him for so long but joel can’t bring himself to give you what you want, what you deserve. a near death experience makes him realize how much he needs you

WORD COUNT: 4,2 k words

WARNINGS: smut, angst, age gap, semi-public sex, it’s also fluffy and cute at the start so no complaining about the angst

Your eyes watch him from across the yard with that same look you’ve had for the past few months. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is- he’s not an idiot… but that doesn’t mean he can ever acknowledge it. You’re young. Not a child by any means but for god’s sake, you’re half his age. There will be no entertaining these longing glaces you throw his way.

It was innocent at first, or at least he thinks it was. You would knock on his door, ask for his advice when it came to things like shooting and whatnot. He liked being helpful, useful. He liked that it was him that you came to, not Tommy even if he was known to be a sharpshooter. He thought that you looking up to him was the part he liked; he’s starting to realize that what he really likes is your attention.

“You need some help there, Mr. Miller?” You ask sweetly as he pulls in the planks of wood. He didn’t even see you walk over.

Joel rolls his eyes. You know he doesn’t like it when you call him that. Makes him really feel his age. “Not from you, trouble.”

He was getting the supplies together because part of his front porch was rotting and he’d be damned if he fucked his knee up some more stepping through a weak plank. He could use the help, but he just doesn’t want your help.

“You getting sick of me already?” You say, giving him that ‘kicked puppy’ look that would make any man’s heart melt. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel more than sympathy.

“Course not.” He grumbles. “I did just see you this morning though.”

“What can I say… i’m clingy.” You shrug and grin at him with a smile so bright it could light up the sky.

“Go be clingy with somebody else.” He waves you off as he picks up his pencil and ruler to start marking lines on the wood. “I’m sure any man in Jackson would appreciate it.”

You stop for a moment, like you see something underlying in his words. “That seems to imply that you don’t think my attention is purely friendly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t give you any more of an answer.

“Besides, are you not a man in Jackson?” You ask teasingly, wanting to get more out of him.

He tries to keep his focus on his work so his attention doesn’t feed into your teasing. “That’s different.” He grumbles.

“Why is it different?”

He sighs, keeping his head low but letting his eyes rise up above his glasses to meet yours. “It’s different because i’m an old man in Jackson.”

You frown a little. You know what he means but you want him to explain it anyhow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can’t entertain…” He gestures with his hand. “... whatever this is that you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

He knows. Of course he knows; you haven’t been exactly subtle. You just never thought you would be able to make him say it out loud. “And what have I been doing?”

“Askin’ too many damn questions.” He grumbles under his breath and grabs his ruler to check his cut lines again. What is it all those carpenters say? Measure twice, cut once? That must’ve been a rule he would live by.

“What is it that i’m doing, Joel?”

He stops with his work now to look up at you properly. He seems like he’s about to speak but pauses for a moment, knowing that if he addresses this then it’s out in the open. He won’t be able to neatly pack up this conversation and put it in a safe where nobody can find it. Whatever is going on between the two of you… it’s pandora’s box.

But in the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re flirtin’ with me, sweetheart.”

“I am.” Is all you say in reply, looking into his eyes far too deeply.

He’s a little surprised and was half expecting you to deny it. “Well you shouldn’t.”

“How come?” Your quick little replies are irritating him now.

He rubs his forehead with his thumb, feeling frustrated. You’re not stupid and you know he’s twice your age. You know why you shouldn’t. You know it makes him feel wrong. So why act so clueless?

“It ain’t right.” He grumbles. “I’m too old for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” You say softly. “I would still like you if I was 10 years older.”

“It’s not about you liking me. It’s about what’s good for you.” He sighs. “And an old man ain’t it.”

“I hardly care about pre-outbreak morals, Joel.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you deserve. A man that can keep up with you, take care of you even 20 years from now. I can’t be that.” He looks almost nervous now. He feels the same way he did when he asked Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies. It’s a different sense of care but he still doesn’t feel worthy for you in the same way that he didn’t feel worthy for her.

“It’s you that I want.”

He sighs.

“There’s plenty more age-appropriate men in Jackson who’d be chomping at the bit for a chance with you. You should go and take your pick of them.” He continues, trying his best to push you away. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Christ, he really wants you. But he also cares about you and that means he’s gotta try to nudge you in the right direction.

“I took my pick. Currently, he’s being difficult.” You say and he scoffs as he tries not to think about how endearing he finds your quick wit.

“I said age-appropriate.”

“Well there’s no other man i’m interested in.” You understand why he’s trying to convince you that he’s not somebody you should spend your time on. Maybe there was a time when things like age were more important but it feels miniscule now in the great span of things and besides, you can tell when he’s being self destructive. “So it hardly matters how many there are to choose from.”

He furrows his brows. Joel can hardly understand why it would be him you would want. He originally thought whatever you were feeling was a passing fantasy due to proximity, but it’s starting to appear as if it’s more than that. You’re just so full of light; he doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Y’know I can probably finish up here on my own. I ‘preciate your help though.” It makes him uncomfortable to realize your attention isn’t going to be quite as fleeting as he thought. He doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not that he wants to hurt you. He’s just never been a man of many words.

“Um… yeah okay. No problem.” You try not to show how upset you are but it hurts for him to brush you aside so easily. “Bye.”

You walk off, regretting trying to push his hand, regretting the conversation in general… and most definitely regretting that you agreed to fill in for Tommy on his patrol shift with Joel in the morning.

~~~~~

When he walks into the stables the next day, Joel’s ready to grumble to his brother about how he has no damn coffee left and slept like shit, but is stopped in his tracks when he finds you tacking up Bellard.

You don’t turn around to look at him, you already recognize the sound of his heavy footsteps and besides, who else would be in the stables at 8am?

“I promise i’m not trying to stalk you. I already agreed to cover Tommy’s shift. Ben’s still not feeling well.” You tighten the cinch on the horse, not wanting to have any more whoopsies involving your saddle half slipping off like when you were just learning to ride.

“Didn’t think you were.” He says, already able to tell how your voice is colder. You’re more closed off to him now.

You put your foot into the stirrup and swing your leg over so you’re sat on the saddle. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel.” It’s ironic really, they way you sound so vulnerable when you speak even though you are literally sitting up on your high horse.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He says as he gets up onto his horse as well, giving her a light nudge with his heel to get her moving. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

His false mirror words don’t fool you, the illusion shattered like glass by his nervous mannerisms. You know your conversation with him yesterday made things weird and you’re starting to wish you’d just ignored the whole thing like a normal person. You’d just really felt the need to defend yourself, never wanting to chase a man who doesn’t want you. Even if you have a feeling that he does.

But he ignores it. For the whole patrol he ignores it. The slight crack you saw in his demeanor has melded itself back together and he is back to the gruff man he usually is.

What you don’t see is his watchful eye, ever on you, protectively. You don’t know that it’s the same way that he watches Ellie and Tommy. The only people he would risk everything for, the only people that he makes sure are safe before himself. But it isn’t quite the same, is it? There’s something more in his gaze as it’s cast upon you, a hint of the same longing you have when your eyes fall on him.

“Did you hear that?” Your question puts him on alert right away. He tries to listen and he thinks his old ears are failing him before he hears the crash. It’s coming from a cabin east of Jackson, one that’s been checked through multiple times, even by Joel himself. While patrol routes are changed often, buildings are still checked regularly for anyone that might be hiding out. Clickers are of course dangerous but thinking, intelligent humans are much worse.

“Stay here. I’ll get closer and see if it’s anything to worry about.” He says, like it’s a command.

“I’m your partner, not your sidekick. I won’t let you go in there alone just because you don’t think I make good backup.”

“Jesus, woman ya really think that’s why I want you to stay behind?” You give him a look that says that’s exactly what you think but he doesn’t have time to validate you when there’s a chance that something dangerous is in that cabin right now. “Just follow at a distance then at the very least.”

That’s enough for you so you nod and the both of you hop off your horses and tie them up, not wanting them to spook at the first sign of whatever is in that cabin.

The two of you approach slowly and you try not to flinch at the crashing sounds so you can hold your gun straight. You also don’t want Joel to sense your fear. It’s not helpful for him to be worrying about you. You won’t be a distraction. He moves around the side of the cabin to look through the window and mouths the word ‘infected’ to you, holding up three fingers. You nod to show your understanding and he starts to make his way back, likely to come up with an action plan.

Though he barely makes it two feet when one of the horses whinnies. You both freeze. It wasn’t that loud, right? How good could an infected’s hearing possibly be?

Your answer comes moments later when they burst through the front door, but they don’t hear Joel. You’re the one who is in direct line of the horses.

“Shit.” You breathe out as you aim your gun and make a shot for the one in front, missing the head but hitting it in the shoulder. A shoulder shot doesn’t stop a runner.

“Goddamn it.” Joel acts quick, putting a bullet through the one closest to him with easy precision. The infected drops to the ground.

The one closest to you is still moving fast and you know you need to make this shot because if Joel misses, the last one will be on you before you can even think. You keep your hands steady, too pumped full of adrenaline to shake like you were before, and you pull the trigger.

You hear a gunshot, but it isn’t yours as Joel takes down the other runner. Your gun never fired.

Because your gun is jammed.

You pull the trigger again, and again, frantic now.

It’s no use so you drop the useless weapon. You look down for a moment to draw your knife but it’s too late as the infected tackles you to the ground.

“Joel!” The call rips out from your throat and Joel is sure he’s never heard such terror in anyone’s voice before. Well… not so sure.

You hold the infected back as well as you can, knowing that it’s over if you’re bitten, but you don’t have to push it back for long.

Joel’s gun fires and the shot rings true as the mindless flesh creature falls off next to you. A headshot taken from just the right position so the bullet wouldn’t graze you.

“Are you hurt?” The fear in his eyes matches your own as he kneels in front of you and seems to check you for injury over anything else.

Then he pauses.

“Are you bit?”

The thought comes to you at the same time. You were so dazed during the attack that it’s something you actually have to think about.

“I um… no.” You stumble over your words for a moment before speaking more confidently. “No, it didn't bite me.”

“Good.” He nods and moves on quickly, helping you to your feet.

He starts to move around, checking the infected, checking the house. He’s not focused on you anymore, like he wants to be distracted from the thought.

“One of them probably got bit a day or two back. Didn’t tell his friends and then…” He trails off, gesturing to the bodies. “This happened. Don’t think it’s something to worry about too much though. Probably an isolated event.”

He explains, but he’s rambling. Joel Miller doesn’t ramble. The near death experience is brushed under the rug, but you won’t have that.

“Joel.” You start but he cuts you off.

“I can write up the report for it. I know that’s something you’re not a fan of.” It’s idle talk, nothing of value.

“Joel.” You say his name more firmly now and he looks up at you. “I almost died.”

He clenches his jaw, the tenseness in the conversation now unavoidable. You walk closer and it takes everything in him to not step away. He wants to leave, wants to push it down, but you almost died. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. If he had shot that runner a second later, it would have bitten you, at the very least, and his next bullet would’ve been in your head.

“I know.” He grumbles.

“Do you? Because you won’t look me in the eye.” There’s desperation in the way you look up at him and it’s like he’s staring through you instead of at you.

He lets out a breath and it kills you because you can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s emotion in his eyes but you just don’t know which one.

“Please don’t shut down on me.” Your hand rises to touch his shoulder and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

His eyes finally flicker down to yours and then to your lips for just a moment. He should think about what he’s doing, he knows that. Your age should be enough to put him off, but he almost lost you only minutes ago.

He won’t deny himself any longer.

Joel’s hand lifts to your chin and your eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion as he tilts your chin up. You part your lips to speak but don’t get the chance because his mouth is now on yours. All his hunger and need and desire finally come out as he kisses you harshly. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you against him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t need air to breathe as he pushes his lips against yours and walks you back until a tree stops you. His tongue pushes into your mouth and he groans when feeling yours push back.

He pulls back and you worry that he regrets it, thinking he acted irrationally or emotionally. Those worries are quelled when he focuses his attention on your neck, leaving gentle kisses and sucking on the soft skin just the right amount so it won’t leave any marks. You let out a soft moan as his fingertips graze up your thigh before gripping it firmly and lifting it up against him.

“I need you, Joel.” You whisper so softly that he’s not even sure he heard you correctly.

“Hm, honey?” He still isn’t fully focused as he trails kisses up your jawline.

“I need it.” You whine a bit and he frowns.

“No.” He murmurs against your skin, kisses so soft and featherlight that you can’t be convinced he’s even touching you. “Not here. You deserve better than here.”

“Please. I’ve been waiting for so long.” You slip your hand under the hem of his shirt. “Been so patient.”

A hint of a smile graces his face. “Patient? Sweetheart, you’re begging me to fuck you in a forest in the middle of our patrol.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” Your hand slides up his chest. “You gotta finish the things you start, Mr. Miller.”

His hand grabs your other thigh and he lifts you up so you’re pushed against the tree. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of him lifting you up with ease, like he’s got something to prove. “I know.”

“Then you should learn to watch your mouth.”

You smirk, knowing just how easy it is to rile him up. “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

He huffs as if your bratty little comments annoy him, but you know he likes it. It’s easy to tell by the way his lips find yours once again. His moves are messy and imprecise. It’s so unlike him to be so reckless but it’s you that brings it out of him.

Hands are pulling at clothes and you’re quickly at a point where your pants are off enough for him to touch you. His fingers waste no time pushing past your underwear to tease you. The movements are slow now, just enough to leave you wanting for more.

“Joel.” You try to scold but it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“Hmm?” He’s not focused on your face anymore, no matter how pretty it might be. He’s more concerned with how many fingers he can push inside you before you start to whine.

“Joel.” You pout again as he feels your wetness pooling in his palm.

Three then. He thinks to himself, calculating how long he’ll have to wait to let you adjust to his cock before he can fuck you how he wants. But he already knows he’ll be pushing your limits.

“Shh, baby. Clearly, you’re not as patient as you claim to be.”

You can’t even reply, not with how good it feels when his fingers start to curl inside you. Joel continues the motions for a minute or so but it’s not what you want. It feels so damn good but this isn’t the way you want to finish.

You start to push him away and he stops as soon as he sees the hesitation.

“Everything alright?” He asks and your heart melts at the tenderness in his voice.

“I wanna feel something a little bigger.”

He rolls his eyes. “No damn patience.” He unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his jeans. “I’ll give you what you want then.”

He pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs- his very nice thighs- so he can pull himself out of his boxers. There’s no more slow, teasing actions. He wants to show you what your impertinence gets you. Lifting you back up with just one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance.

As the head pushes in, he watches your face so he can see how you struggle to take it. You won’t speak up though, not after you whined and begged for him to fuck you. He might be a lot bigger than you’ve had before but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it.

Joel doesn’t want to miss the look on your face as he pushes in but can’t help but glance down. The sight of your desperate pussy sucking him in more and more is almost enough for him to finish there and then, but he holds off. He won’t let this be something you regret.

“Fuck.” He groans as he pushes the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. You whimper, hiding your face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your cheeks heat and he starts to pull himself back out again before you hear the slick squelch of another deep thrust.

“Shit, Joel.” The stretch stings but it’s a good hurt.

“I know. I was trying to prepare you but you never fucking listen.” His words sound sympathetic, no matter how harsh they are, but the way he punishes you with his dick seems to contrast that.

His hands hold up both your thighs as he leans you against the tree for more leverage so he can pull his hips back and fuck into you deeper and deeper.

“Mmm.” You moan, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

The way the head of his cock hits just the right spot before slipping up to kiss your cervix makes you feel pleasure in a way you couldn’t previously fathom. You’ve never been fucked like this before and it just makes it oh so better because it’s him fucking you.

Joel’s deep brown eyes feel like they’re burrowing into your soul with the way he’s watching you. He lives for it, your reactions, every little sound you make. It all makes him harder as he slams into you rougher with each thrust.

“You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Taking me so damn well, finally learning how to listen.”

“Dick.” You grumble and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one who begged for this.” His hips push against yours. You didn’t think he’d be able to get even deeper but he does. “Fucking begged, honey.”

“I’m not the one who let go of all my morals for it though, either.”

It’s a dangerous thing for you to point out, almost threatening enough for him to stop. But it’s also another thing he likes about you. You always bite back. There is even some part, some sick part, of him deep down that enjoys how wrong it is. It enjoys that you, being so beautiful and smart and full of life… and so young still want him. You could have any man between your thighs but it’s Joel whose fucking you.

“I’m close, Joel.” You say after his fingers have crept down to rub between your legs. He needs you to finish first, needs it bad.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing around me. Wanna know how you love it.”

His pace never falters as he leads you to the edge, drawing in and out of you with a pace that you didn’t think a man his age could hold. It just feels so good; you want it to last forever, but all good things end eventually.

“F-Fuck.” You moan and he feels it as your walls tighten around his cock. It almost makes him cum instantly but he pushes through enough to lead you through your high.

You’re panting now as he pulls out, spilling himself onto the forest floor. You look up at him as he lets you down gently. You’re scared, scared that it’s over now, scared that this was a one time thing. And he just won’t fucking look at you.

“Joel?” Your voice cracks. God, you hate how you can’t control it.

His head snaps back right away and when you look into his eyes… it’s not regret that you see. “It’s okay, trouble. You did good.” There is something more in the way he comforts you. “We’re good.”

It’s not much of an explanation but it relieves you. You understand him and though he didn’t speak many words, you know what lies between the lines. This isn’t the end of what’s between you.

comment to be added to taglist

@grayandthyme @littledes1re just thought I’d tag my new moots because y’all’s writing inspired me to get back into it :)

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

[yup-thats-me]

— Trust • P. Seonghwa

𐙚pairing: bf!Seonghwa x fem!reader 𐙚summary: ❝Y/n trusts her lover completely❞ 𐙚warnings: somnophilia, fingering, piv, cockwarming, humping 𐙚a/n: hope you don't mind me adding smno, noonie😋 also the description is pretty bad :")

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"Y/n," Seonghwa whined, falling face-first on the girl. "I'm so tired."

Humming, Y/n raked her fingers through his raven locks. "Awe, my baby."

Feeling her lover smile against her skin, Seonghwa snuggled his face deeper into the crook of her neck. "Am I not heavy, love?"

Y/n shakes her head. "I like it, actually," she grins.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, looking at her curiously. "You do?"

"Absolutely. My human weighted blanket," she giggled, caressing his face.

Smiling smugly, Seonghwa holds her close, pressing his ear to her chest. The light thud of her heart beating. The man sighed, matching his breathing with hers.

"....babe?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I," he pauses, shaking his head. "No wait. Nevermind."

Y/n sat up, making Seonghwa fall off her body. "No, I mind. I really mind. Tell me right now or I'll literally combust."

"Damn. Just wanted to ask...if I could fuck you while you sleep," his voice growing quieter by each word.

Y/n smiled, pulling on his cheek. "Of course," she nods.

"Really?"

"Yes," she confirms. "I trust you, Hwa."

And the man could feel his chest tighten. Nodding, he pulls her close, resuming their position.

Y/n however, didn't think he'd size up on her permission this quick, though.

"Darling," Seonghwa called out softly as he treaded lightly into the bedroom. The man face-palmed himself mentally when he saw your form peacefully sleeping.

He didn't mean to be late, though. Finishing up recording as quick as he could, he took the ride home to you.

Sighing, he took his place beside you, snaking his arm under your stomach pulling you flush against his chest. Breathing in your scent, his fingers played with your hair.

It was a hard day at work today. Redoing takes after takes, the man was tired. But he couldn't help his cock growing stiff against your thighs, the shorts you wore riled up to your waist.

And he tries, tries to not get hard when you're sleeping so peacefully right next to him. Taking a deep breath, he lightly humps against your bare thigh, the feeling making his head dizzy.

But it isn't enough. Carefully, he pulled out his cock, rubbing the head to your soft skin, the precum leaking from his tip making it easier. When even that wasn't enough, he slowly lowers your shorts, rubbing himself against your pussy.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Seonghwa pushes himself off the bed, deft fingers running up and down your glistening pussy. You shifted a bit, your body instinctively reacting to his touch.

Seonghwa watched, eyes trained on your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he slips a finger inside you, feeling your gummy walls clenching around him.

"Hwa," you mumble in your sleep. His fingers stops. He really did not want to wake you. When he found no further reactions from you, he slipped another digit in, slipping them in and out of your now wet pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He needed more.

Aliging his tip to your slick opening, he saddled up behind you, resting his arms either side of your head for support.

He groans as he slipped in without restrain, his head falling back in ecstacy.

"Won't you hold me?"

He grins apologetically. "You awake, love? Sorry."

"Mm," you mumble. "Now hold me."

"As you wish, darling," he grinned, leaning down as his hand snaked around your throat, tilting your chin to make you look at him.

"So good, my love," he praises, kissing your lips. You moan around him, in need of more.

Seonghwa pants, hissing. "Raise your hips a bit, love."

And you oblige, allowing him to thrust in deeper into you. "Hwa," you gasp, sleep erased from your features.

He smirks, leaning down as he kissed your neck. "You're doing so good, Y/n, always so good for me."

"Coming," you whine.

"Come, darling," he said, kissing back of your neck sweetly. "Come for me, love."

And you do, gushing all around his cock. But the man doesn't stop, fucking you through your high. It doesn't take long for him to finish, a few lazy thrusts and he spills into you.

His eyes flicker to where you connected with him, your explosions spilling out of your stuffed hole. He licks his lip, slowly trying to slip out before you grab his wrist, stopping him.

"No more, Hwa," you say, knowing what he was about to do. "Sleep," you say firmly.

And Seonghwa is surprised but he obliges nonetheless, laying down next to you. He was about to take his cock out of your pussy but you stop him for a second time. "Stay, feels nice."

And the man smiles, nodding.

"Your wish my command, darling."

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

⋆.𐙚˚reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ

[andy-15-07]

hi not sure if you’ve done this before but id LOVE a fic with pedro pascal helping reader through a depressive episode! completely understandable if you wouldn’t feel comfortable tho. maybe pedro gets home to find reader still in bed/sleeping on the couch and he already knows that she hasn’t taken care of herself all day but he asks her anyway (stuff like have you eaten, have you been out, when was the last time you showered). and then just description of him helping her do these things whilst reader is kind of fighting the help a little bit? like she doesn’t want to be a burden but deep down knows she needs the help. loads of praise and hurt/comfort and fluff!!!!! you are such a great writer im in love with all your fics ☺️☺️

Even If You Can’t Move, I’ll Be Here

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 939| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The key turned softly in the lock.

Pedro pushed the door open with one shoulder, balancing a paper bag of groceries in one hand and your favorite takeout in the other. He wasn’t expecting a grand greeting , he hadn’t gotten one in days , but the quiet stillness in the apartment hit him like a sigh.

You weren’t on the bed.

You were curled up on the couch again. Same oversized hoodie. Same blanket from the night before. Curtains still drawn, the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Pedro’s heart clenched.

He set the bags down gently, not wanting to startle you, though he wasn’t sure you’d even notice.

You did.

Barely.

A flutter of your eyes, then a quick glance away. No smile. Just the sinking guilt in your chest and the shame you couldn’t explain. Your throat felt tight before he even said anything.

Pedro crouched beside you, hand brushing your arm. “Hi, cariño.”

You swallowed hard. “Hi.”

He tilted his head. “Did you eat today?”

A pause.

“Not really.”

“Get outside at all?”

You shook your head.

He hesitated before asking gently, “When was the last time you showered?”

You almost wanted to laugh , not because it was funny, but because it made you feel even more disgusting. The tears started building before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pedro sat down beside you, arms opening before you could even blink. You fell into them like you always did , like gravity , and he held you close without a word.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just… tired. And that’s okay.”

“I feel gross.”

“You’re not.”

“I haven’t done anything today.”

“You’re still mine. And I still love you.”

Your face crumpled against his shoulder.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to take care of yourself. It was that every little task , getting up, brushing your teeth, opening a window , felt like climbing a mountain barefoot in the snow.

Pedro didn’t rush you. Just let you cry quietly for a while, his hand running slowly up and down your back. When your sobs faded into shaky silence, he pulled back to look at you.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We’re gonna do a few little things together, alright?”

You started to protest, but he kissed your forehead.

“Not all of them. Just a few. I’ll help.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You could never be. You’re the person I love most in this world. And I want to take care of you, even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t think I can do everything.”

“Then we’ll do the smallest version of everything.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means… we start with one thing. Like brushing our teeth. Together. I’ll even let you pick my toothpaste like a little gremlin.”

That got a soft, tired laugh from you.

“Then we can try something else. Maybe a shower. And then food. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just something. You can wear one of my shirts after, if that helps.”

You nodded slowly, still unsure, still hollow , but his voice felt like a lighthouse in the dark.

Pedro stood and reached for your hands. “C’mon. Let’s start with the bathroom.”

You followed, moving slowly, socked feet shuffling along the hardwood. It felt weird to be upright. But it also felt a little like relief.

In the bathroom, Pedro handed you your toothbrush with a small smile and squeezed toothpaste onto it.

“There. Hard part’s over.”

You managed to copy him, brushing in slow, lazy circles. He stood beside you, doing the same, humming something off-key under his breath. It made you snort a little, and he beamed at the sound.

“See?” he said, rinsing. “You’re killin’ it already.”

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“But you are,” he said firmly. “And I’m proud of you.”

The words settled in your chest like warmth. Like maybe they were enough to anchor you here, in this body, in this space where someone loved you even at your lowest.

Next was the shower.

Pedro didn’t rush you. He handed you clean towels and a fresh T-shirt (one of his) and sat on the edge of the bed while you stood under the warm water, letting it wash over the weight clinging to your bones.

You cried a little again , not because you were sad, exactly. Just… tired. Just overwhelmed.

And when you stepped out, eyes red, Pedro wrapped you in a towel like it was armor and kissed your cheek.

“You did it,” he said, grinning. “I’m so proud.”

You curled up next to him in bed afterward while he brought the food , your favorite noodles, not too hot, with broth on the side. You only ate a few bites, but he didn’t push. Just smiled and kissed your temple.

“This isn’t forever,” he said softly, pulling you into his arms as you laid back down. “I know your brain’s lying to you right now. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You buried your face in his chest.

“I don’t feel like myself.”

“That’s okay. I’ll hold the pieces until you do.”

Tears pricked your eyes again , but this time, they weren’t so sharp. More like a release.

Pedro pulled the blanket up around you both and whispered again, “I love you. Every version of you. Even this one.”

And for the first time in days, you believed it might be true.

[camficdiner]

1.2

2.10

3.1

4.3

i think you’re gonna cook with this one 🙏🏼

☕️Cam’s Fic Diner – Order 025

Thank you for your sweetness and patience — this one’s been a journey, a fully on fluff journey, with regrets and tears,

Enjoy your meal love, its served with honey glaze

-your favorite server

⸻

💬“She Had Your Eyes”

✨ Description & Prompts

• Character: Quinn Hughes

• Prompt: Drunk marriage in Vegas, accidental pregnancy, emotional confrontation

• Word Count: ~2.1k

• Type: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family

🛼✨🧁🍒

Las Vegas was supposed to be a quick getaway. A fun escape from your routines, a wild weekend with friends, some bad decisions and blurry photos. You never expected to wake up in a luxury suite at The Cosmopolitan, your mouth dry, your head pounding, and Quinn Hughes sleeping next to you — shirtless, tangled in the hotel sheets.

And definitely wearing a wedding band.

You sat up too fast, blinking at the ring on your own finger. Your heart thudded, first with confusion, then with a growing pit in your stomach. The echo of last night’s chaos slowly filtered in — the shots, the dance floor, the neon lights, Quinn’s laughter, his arm around your waist. You remembered a chapel. Pink. Elvis impersonator. The words “I do.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no.”

A low groan came from the other side of the bed. Quinn.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt: messy curls sticking up in every direction, red-rimmed eyes, shirtless. And when he sat up, he mirrored your horror as you both stared at your left hands.

“We didn’t—” he started.

“We did,” you said grimly.

You both lunged for your phones. Sure enough, your camera rolls confirmed it: a chapel, a very happy officiant, and you and Quinn grinning like idiots with glitter in your hair and rings on your fingers.

Quinn Hughes, your very complicated friend-with-benefits, your maybe-something-more-but-never-defined, had married you. In Vegas. While drunk.

You remembered the sex too. Vaguely. It had been good—scratch that, amazing. But also messy and unexpected and clearly not thought through.

Quinn freaked out.

He stood, muttering about mistakes and how this couldn’t be real, how he had to leave. You tried to talk to him, to get him to calm down, but he was already pulling on his jeans, grabbing his phone.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled.

“Quinn—”

He was gone before you could stop him.

⸻

Three days later, you stared at the two pink lines on a pregnancy test.

The silence of your bathroom was deafening.

You weren’t sure how you got there. How from a half-joking night in Vegas, a half-relationship with Quinn Hughes, you ended up alone, with a baby on the way. You hadn’t heard a word from him. Not a text. Not a call.

And that’s when you saw it. A story. A post. A girl — tall, blonde, draped over him like she belonged there. And the caption: “My whole heart.”

Your throat closed. He hadn’t ghosted you because he panicked. He hadn’t vanished because he was scared. He was with someone else.

You were just the detour. The accident.

So you did what you had to: you called your brother.

He showed up twenty minutes later, no questions asked, and held you while you sobbed. Then, slowly, piece by piece, you began to rebuild.

The months passed. The bump grew. Your brother went to every appointment with you, holding your hand while you heard the heartbeat for the first time, while you picked names, while you decorated a nursery in your new apartment.

And you tried—really tried—not to look at Quinn’s Instagram.

But you saw it anyway.

The James Norris Trophy. A clean suit, his proud smile. “Couldn’t have done it without the team.”

Then, a month later, an Instagram story from Porsche Centre Vancouver: “Thrilled to welcome Quinn Hughes as our newest brand ambassador.”

Each announcement was a dagger. Because he was out there, living his best life, achieving everything he’d ever dreamed of—and you were in the quiet of your small apartment, folding newborn onesies and wondering if he ever thought about you. About that night. About what you were now carrying.

You didn’t want him back. Not after he ran. But part of you, some deep, aching part, wished he would at least ask.

Because even if your heart was fractured, your body swollen and tired and aching, you were growing something beautiful.

And he didn’t even know.

—

The hospital lights were harsh, too white, too real for the blur of pain and panic you were in. Your fingers clenched around the side of the bed as another contraction hit, tearing through your spine. You were alone, but not lonely — not anymore. Because you weren’t doing this just for yourself.

You were about to meet the only constant that had stayed with you since that night in Vegas. And she was coming fast.

You screamed, you pushed — and suddenly, everything fell away.

The nurse’s voice filtered in through the haze. “It’s a girl.”

Your chest heaved. Your hands trembled as they placed her on your chest, slick and warm and alive. The world narrowed to a heartbeat and the softest cry.

And then you saw them.

Her eyes.

Deep blue a touch lighter than yours, with some green in it. Familiar. Exactly the same shade as his.

Quinn.

You’d spent the past nine months trying not to think of him. Trying to erase the weight of the Instagram post that shattered your heart — his smile beside her, captioned “Heart”

But now, here she was. With his eyes. The proof that Vegas wasn’t just a mistake. It had left you with someone permanent.

You named her Olympia.

⸻

Three Years Later

Vancouver in early spring was always wet and green. You’d found peace in its stillness, a small rented flat near the sea, and a part-time job at a bookstore that let you be home by three.

Olympia ran ahead on chubby legs, clutching her red balloon and squealing as the ducks in the park scrambled. Her hair curled in soft brown waves. Her laugh was infectious. She was everything.

And yet —

You still looked him up sometimes.

You knew Jack had moved closer. That his family still spoke well of you.

But you never reached out.

And then you saw them.

Two figures coming down the paved path, side by side. Quinn and Jack. Laughing about something. You froze mid-step, your heart doing a strange, sharp twist.

You hadn’t seen him in person since that morning in Vegas.

Quinn stopped first.

His eyes scanned you, then softened in surprise. His lips parted slightly, like a question was sitting on his tongue but hadn’t formed yet.

Jack said something, but you didn’t hear it.

“Hey…” Quinn’s voice was quiet, unsure. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded, tensing your jaw. You were about to reply when you heard her.

“Mama!”

Olly’s voice rang out, bright and high, and she came toddling over, arms outstretched.

You bent to scoop her up, hugging her to your hip like muscle memory. You didn’t look at him yet. Not yet.

But when you did—

Quinn’s face had changed.

His eyes locked on Olympia.

Then flicked to you.

Then back.

His expression folded inward, shock overtaking confusion. Because there, in your arms, was a little girl with his exact same eyes. The same curl in her hair. The same shape to her mouth.

His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “She’s yours?”

You didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything.

You saw it in his eyes before you heard it in his voice — the slow-burning panic blooming behind his irises, the sharp, silent question written in the twitch of his jaw: She looks like me. How is that possible?

Quinn stared at your daughter like she was the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask himself in three years. You adjusted her on your hip, her tiny hand curled around your necklace as she blinked up at the stranger. Stranger to her, anyway.

“She yours?” he asked, voice raw, cautious.

“She’s mine,” you answered carefully, but your voice cracked under the weight of truth, and you saw it land.

That hurt that bloomed over his face—it was real.

“But is she…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

You nodded once. “Yes. She’s yours, Quinn.”

His breath caught. It wasn’t relief—it was devastation, thick and swallowing. He stepped back a little, like the truth physically hit him. Jack said something behind him, but it was muffled, distant. This was Quinn’s storm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly.

You looked down at your daughter, then back up at him. “Because you left me. You ran out of that hotel room like I was a mistake, and a few days later, you were posting pictures with your girlfriend on Instagram. I found out I was pregnant the same week.”

Quinn was silent.

“You didn’t even check if I was okay,” you continued, words trembling now. “You never texted. Never called. I thought you didn’t care. And I wasn’t going to beg someone to be a father who didn’t want to be there.”

Quinn’s hands were shaking. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. I panicked. I was scared—”

“You were selfish, Quinn,” you snapped, more pain than anger. “I was terrified. I went through pregnancy alone. I gave birth alone. I’ve raised her—every scraped knee, every nightmare, every milestone. Alone.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes.

“I never wanted you to be alone,” he whispered. “I was a coward. I thought if I ignored it, it would disappear. But it didn’t. You didn’t. And now she’s here and she looks at me like she knows me and I—”

He stopped himself, choking on the weight of it all.

“I want to know her,” he said finally. “Please. Let me try.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no.

—

It started small. A text asking how she was doing. A message asking what kind of books she liked. A FaceTime where she shyly showed him her dinosaur pajamas. And slowly—like thawing ice—he melted into her life.

He came to the playground and pushed her on the swing. She reached for his hand without hesitation.

He showed up at your door with her favorite muffins and left with marker drawings all over his forearms.

The first time she called him “Dad,” he cried. Quietly. You saw it, though. And your heart cracked open.

Then came the big things.

Introducing her to Ellen and Jim. Watching Jack fall in love with her in five minutes flat. Quinn holding her on the bench of a Canucks pre-game warmup, helmet on her head three sizes too big.

And one day, he stood in front of you, nerves in his fingers, and said, “I left her. A while ago. The girlfriend. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to show up like a white knight.”

“You’re not a white knight,” you replied. “But you’re trying. That means something.”

He took your hand. Carefully. “Can we try too?”

You blinked. “Try what?”

He smiled, small and real. “Us.”

Your daughter ran between you both just then, laughing with her pigtails bouncing, and without thinking, you reached out together—one hand each, steadying her between you.

You looked at her. Then at him.

And for the first time in three years, you let yourself believe that maybe… just maybe… things weren’t broken.

Just unfinished.

——

It started with a question, whispered one quiet evening in your daughter’s room.

Quinn had come to tuck her in like he did now every night he was in Vancouver. She’d taken to calling him “Q” at first, unsure of what else to call him. Now it was “Daddy.” Sometimes “Daddy Q,” when she was being silly.

That night, as he settled the stuffed unicorn into her arms and brushed her dark hair behind her ear, she blinked up at him with those same eyes. His eyes.

“Daddy?” she asked, voice small. “Are you and mommy married?”

Quinn blinked. He glanced over his shoulder at you. You smiled softly, already knowing this day would come.

“Kind of,” he said, trying to be gentle. “A long time ago. But not… not properly.”

She frowned. “I want it to be properly.”

It stayed in his head all night.

And three days later, as the two of you stood on your balcony, wine glasses in hand, watching the Vancouver skyline glow like it was holding your secret, he turned to you.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to be my almost-wife. I want you to be my real wife.”

You turned to him, stunned.

He didn’t go down on one knee. He just took your hand, kissed the ring that never left it — the one from Vegas you never dared to take off — and added softly, “Let’s do it right this time.”

⸻

The wedding was small. Intimate.

Held in Vancouver, at a garden you’d always loved as a child. Your daughter wore a white dress with tulle wings sewn onto the back. She walked down the aisle holding a little velvet box, cheeks flushed with excitement, while Jack — proudly grinning — waited at Quinn’s side as best man.

Your dress wasn’t flashy. It was soft, elegant. Your bouquet was wildflowers. And as you reached the end of the aisle, your daughter took your hand and placed it into Quinn’s, the whole garden holding its breath.

Quinn looked at you like it was the first time. Even after everything — the mistake, the heartbreak, the rediscovery — he still looked at you like you were the beginning and end of his world.

“I do,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

You couldn’t stop the tears as you said it back.

⸻

The reception was simple — a long table under strings of lights, family and friends all gathered. Jack toasted to “the only couple I’ve ever known who got married in reverse order.” Your daughter climbed into Quinn’s lap halfway through the cake. He fed her the icing off his finger, kissing her temple like he’d never lost a single day.

Later, you danced to no music under the stars, her asleep in her flower girl dress in your mother’s arms.

“I always meant it,” he whispered in your ear. “Even back then. Even when I was scared. I’ve loved you every damn second.”

You pressed your cheek to his.

“Then here’s to forever.”

And in the warm hush of the garden, his lips met yours.

What happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas.

It just…

Came home in time.

⸻

[vaginalvr]

ok so the reader is in LOVE with spencer and everyone knows it but spencer rejects her in the harshest way possible but later gets jealous and realises his feelings when he sees reader with another guy. it can end with smut ( wink, wink 😉 ).

content warning: Oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal sex, light roughness (wall/table sex, harder thrusting), explicit language and descriptions.

a/n: i really tried to branch out with my writing style to make it a little, idek intellectually challanging to read???? also did you notice that my intro isn't colorful anymore? lmk

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The worst part wasn’t that Spencer Reid rejected you.

It was how he did it.

You stood in the BAU breakroom with your heart clutched in your throat, your hands trembling slightly as you offered him the carefully folded note you’d debated giving him for weeks. It wasn’t a dramatic confession—just a quiet, simple truth written on paper because the words stuck in your throat every time you looked into those kind, analytical eyes.

He read it in three seconds flat. Blinked once. Then said, without even looking up, “You shouldn’t waste your time on people who don’t feel the same.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The words crushed you like glass underfoot—cold, sharp, and cutting deeper with every breath you tried to take.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

But the next morning, you came in smiling like it hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night replaying his words until they etched themselves into your bones. You were fine. You kept telling yourself that until it started to feel almost believable.

Almost.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice.

Morgan softened around you. JJ gave you too many meaningful looks. Penelope pulled you into her office for long, rambling pep talks about self-worth and soulmates.

Even Hotch said your name more gently than usual.

But Spencer? He acted like nothing had changed. And that somehow made everything worse.

So, you moved on.

Or pretended to.

The guy from counter-terrorism—Eli—was easy on the eyes, charming in that cocky, I-bet-he’s-great-in-bed way. You let him flirt with you in the hallway. You laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. And one Friday after work, you let him take you out for drinks.

You didn’t expect Spencer to care.

You certainly didn’t expect him to glare across the bar like he wanted to kill Eli with his mind.

But that’s exactly what happened.

It was a BAU outing, and you were perched at the bar, Eli’s hand casually resting on your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You laughed—because you were trying, trying to feel anything but the ache Spencer had left behind—and when you turned to look at him, Spencer was staring at you with eyes that had gone dark and unreadable.

He was furious.

You blinked, startled, but he looked away as quickly as he’d looked at you. You pretended not to notice when he left early.

He didn’t speak to you for days.

You thought maybe you’d finally crossed some invisible line. That whatever bridge remained between you had burned to ash.

Then, on a late Thursday night, you found yourself working alone in the briefing room, flipping through profiles in a haze of exhaustion. The lights were dim, your coffee had gone cold, and your legs ached from sitting in the same position for hours.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Why him?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet like a crack of thunder.

You looked up, startled. He stood in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, his tie loose, his chest rising and falling too quickly for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“Why him, of all people?” he repeated, stepping closer.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched. “Eli. The guy from counter-terrorism. You let him touch you like you don’t know who’s watching.”

Your breath caught.

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger. Possession. Regret.

“You said I shouldn’t waste my time,” you said flatly, heart thudding. “I listened.”

“That was a mistake.”

You froze.

Spencer took another step forward, voice low and raw. “I thought I was protecting you. From me. From what it would mean if I said yes. But then I saw him touching you and—” He exhaled sharply. “And I wanted to rip his fucking hand off.”

The silence that followed was like a string pulled taut between you.

“I’m in love with you,” you said quietly, not flinching this time. “Even after what you said. I’m still in love with you.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Not when he crossed the room in three long strides, not when he cupped your face with trembling hands, not when he kissed you like he was drowning in everything he’d tried to deny.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

You gasped into his mouth as he backed you against the wall, lips fierce and unforgiving, hands sliding down your body with shaking restraint.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you were tugging at his shirt, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to break me and then decide you want me.”

“I know,” he breathed against your jaw. “I know. I’m sorry. Let me—please—let me make it right.”

His mouth trailed to your throat, then lower, unbuttoning your blouse with fevered urgency. You weren’t even sure how your skirt ended up bunched around your hips, or when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his breath hot against the inside of your thigh.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, reverent, almost pained. “You always have been.”

Then his mouth was on you, and all thoughts of heartbreak scattered like dust.

You braced against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair, hips twitching forward as his tongue circled your clit with maddening precision. You cried out his name—once, twice—until he groaned against you and slid two fingers inside, curling them just right.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He worked you through it, licking and stroking until your legs were shaking and your mind was blank with pleasure.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already standing, already unbuckling his belt with a heat in his gaze that made your breath catch.

“I need you,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me I can have you.”

You nodded, dazed, and he spun you around, bending you over the conference table like he couldn’t wait another second.

When he slid inside, you both gasped—his hands gripping your hips, your cheek pressed to the cool wood, the stretch of him grounding you in the best way.

“You feel—fuck—so good,” he groaned, thrusting deep.

You arched into him, pushing back. “Harder.”

He obeyed, fucking you with growing intensity, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the dark room. One hand wrapped around your waist, the other slid between your thighs to circle your clit again. It was too much. It was perfect.

You came again with a broken moan, and he followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a harsh gasp, his body collapsing over yours.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

Then, softly, his lips brushed your shoulder.

“I love you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”

You turned your head, met his eyes. “You’re damn lucky I still want to hear that.”

A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

[garbinge]

SHOULD'VE BEEN (2/?)

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader Deran Cody & Platonic!Reader Barry 'Baz' Blackwell & Sister!Reader // Word Count: 23.6k (I KNOW OKAY I KNOW) Summary: As you navigate Baz's death, your mind finds itself searching the past for ways to cope. Previous Part Reader is Baz's biological sister. With that being said, I left out physical descriptions outside of a scar on reader's face from backstory. If you catch any, always feel free to let me know and I'll edit! Reader also is (was) a doctor. Due to this, reader has a nickname which is used throughout the fic. In this fic - Pope did not kill Cath. Also, I made all the Cody boys + Baz + Reader closer in age than in canon. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Canon-level violence. Canonic character death. Mentions of being drugged/slipped something. Hazing. Bullying. Grief. Mourning. Loss of a sibling. Blood. Telling a child about parental death. Mentions of domestic abuse, Semi-graphic descriptions of wounds + violence. Psychologically difficult themes, yearning, angst, hurt/comfort. No use of y/n. SMUT with main character, insinuated smut with a non-canon character. Not really a happy ending? A/N: Okay so I will be writing another part that i already have a bunch of ideas on LOLOL. I just... live for these characters in this world. The dynamics are so ajkfhglkjdfhbljkhgka!!!!!

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:07AM

This is Tri-City Medical, we’re calling because you’re the emergency contact listed in Mr. Barry Blackwell’s phone. He was brought into the emergency department about 10 minutes ago. If you could just give us a call back as soon as possible, thank you. 

You didn’t call back, just rushed to the hospital. Traffic laws be damned, ran through traffic lights, through stop signs, you left your bike parked in between two cars, not even in a spot, before you were rushing into the ER. 

They brought you to where Baz was, he was on the operating table, you stood in the observation deck. Your arms across your chest, your left hand resting against your mouth, gnawing at your finger as you watched them insert tubes, IVs, blood bags. 

“Did you check if the bullets went through and through? If they did they should insert two chest tubes,” you turned to the doctor who was standing in the second aisle of the room. 

There was no answer, they just looked up from their notes at you and then back on the screen that was showing the internal cameras searching for the bullets. 

“They could have moved, if they hit his lungs they could have gone anywhere in his abdomen, they should be checking his abdomen!” You turned again, looking at the doctor who this time didn’t even look up from their notebook. “Are you listening to me?!” You screamed at them this time, tears pouring from your eyes before they jumped back to the window. Your brother, completely unconscious, tube in his mouth, cut open like a chicken on the operating table. 

“C’mon Baz,” you mumbled through a panicked breath. “C’mon.” 

“Ms. Blackwell, we’re gonna need to ask you to step into the waiting room.” Someone opened the door to the observation room and spoke low to you. 

“No, no, I’m watching.” You pointed at the surgery.

“You really shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” her voice was still low and polite, but you saw her eyes jump to the other doctor in the room. 

“No, it’s okay. See, I used to be a doctor, I–I don’t practice anymore, I can’t–but they brought me here because I knew–I know what’s happening.” You were fumbling, stuttering over your thoughts. 

“Ms. Blackwell,” the nurse opened the door wider. 

It was then that you heard the monitors beeping. Baz’s heart rate dropping, it wasn’t crashing just yet, but you felt your gut twist. “No, no, Baz c’mon. Pull it together. Pull it fucking together.” You spoke through gritted teeth. 

Before anything else could happen, there was a hand on your arm, pulling you back. You fought it, thrashed against it a little. “Stop, no, stop, that’s my brother, he’s my brother. I’m a doctor!”

As you sat in the waiting room, tears stained down your face along with mascara, your leg shaking in nerves, you kept gnawing at your finger. You weren’t sure if you thought about it, or if your mind was just on auto-pilot but you had your phone in your hand, the voicemail transcript was the first thing you saw as you unlocked it. The lump in your throat grovelled as the words sat in your head. The worry next to it knowing Baz was in this same building on the last thread of life. 

Without a second thought, your phone was ringing and you held it to your ear. You heard the phone pick up and before the other person could answer you spoke through cries. 

“Pope?” 

“What’s wrong?” His voice was littered with concern. 

“I need you.” 

That’s how you wished it went. That whole scenario was how you imagined it went as the police officers informed you and Pope of Baz’s death as you stood in the driveway at Smurf’s house. 

Pope’s eyes were glued to yours as the officer spoke, yours were—well you weren’t sure, you were going into an alternate world as they spoke. 

You wished you were there. You wished you picked up the damn fucking phone when the hospital called. You weren’t sure why you wanted that to be how it happened. It wouldn’t have changed anything, Baz would still be dead. 

Your brother would still be dead. 

Turning to Pope, your eyes glossed over, you extended your hand out to grab his arm, steadying yourself from the news. Through a wobbly sound that came out of your throat before words, you swallowed and gave it another shot but failed again. This time your head sent you back to a different time. Maybe not a better one, but a different one. 

2001 - College Parties Suck

Your head was spinning, and not like when you’d smoke a little too much and mix it with a little too much alcohol. This was different. This was scary. You pulled your phone out, hitting the first speed dial you had programmed in your phone. Baz. It rang 4 times before it went to voicemail. You called 5 more times, each time there was no answer. 

You moved onto the next speed dial in your phone. Pope. You tried him once, you felt your eyes getting heavier when you heard the beep to leave a voicemail. “Pope, it’s me, I uh, I don’t feel so good. I came to this party on campus, I just– I need a ride, I think. Yea, I need a ride.” 

The phone dropped into your lap and as you looked down you realized you didn’t have your shirt on, just your black bra and belt that was still wrapped around your jeans. 

You picked up the phone, moving to the next speed dial, you skipped Craig, he never answered and even in your altered state, you knew better than to even try. That's when you called Deran. 

“Hey Doc,” he answered the phone after 2 rings. 

“I uh, need a ride,” that’s when you saw the writing on your stomach. “I was at a party on campus,” you couldn’t quite make out the writing just yet, just black ink all over your abdomen. “I think someone put something in my drink.” 

“Where the fuck are you?” You heard him scrambling on the other line, the jingle of his keys, the muffling in the speaker as he moved around swiftly wherever he was. 

“I– I don’t know. There’s a statue. I’m covered in ink, I don’t have my shirt.” The panic started growing in your gut. “Deran, I’m scared.” 

“Go somewhere public, right now, with people. I’m driving to campus now.” His voice wasn’t panicked, just direct. 

“They wrote on me, I don’t think I should be in public.” You realized now what your stomach said. Cody train station. With an arrow pointing down. “Deran, I feel sick, I feel tired.” 

“I’m like 5 minutes away, try and stay awake.” Deran pressed on the gas with force, the engine loud enough to wake you up just slightly. But not enough for the full 5 minutes. He stayed on the phone with you even when you went silent. When you mentioned a statue, he knew pretty much exactly where you were and it didn’t take him long to find you.  

“Get the fuck away from her.” Deran’s voice made your eyelids open, you saw a few people around you, none of them familiar. 

“Deran?” You squinted hard and mumbled the youngest Cody’s name. 

There was some commotion, you weren’t sure if it was just shoves or punches but the next time you opened your eyes the crowd was gone and you saw the familiar long haired blonde. 

“Deran?” You asked his name again and felt the comfort the minute you heard his voice close. 

“It’s Deran. I’m taking you home.” He pulled you up off the ground. That’s when he saw the writing on you. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you rolled over and began to upchuck. 

“Let it out, that’s good, maybe you’ll throw it up.” Deran was rubbing your back referring to whatever was slipped in your drink. 

It took 20 minutes, but Deran eventually got you in his car and drove you back to the house. It was there that you passed out next to him on the couch in the living room. You were lucky it was a quiet night at the Cody house. He put a pillow down for you to rest your head on, occasionally scratching the top of your head with his fingers to make sure you didn’t fall asleep completely, he wasn’t sure if that was just something you did with concussions or being drugged too so he figured there couldn’t be any harm in it to play it safe.

He didn’t bother trying to remove the marker from you, just gave you one of his cut offs to keep you semi-warm in the car. You made it very clear that you wanted to lie down when you got back to Smurf’s house so he wasn’t going to bother with clothes or cleaning you up until you were more alert. 

The two of you were watching pre-recorded surf competitions, every so often you’d fade into some version of sleep and wake up when you felt Deran scratch at your head. 

“College parties suck,” you mumbled the words while a commercial played on the TV. Then you tried to tap Deran’s side. “Thank you.” 

Before Deran could answer, the sliding door slammed, alerting both of you. Pope was running down the hallway from where your bedroom was, his eyes scanning around the house until they landed on you. 

His eyes then moved to Deran. “What happened, why is she asleep on the couch?” Pope pointed and was waiting frantically for an answer. 

“She was at a party, got drugged, they did some twisted ass shit to her.” Deran’s voice was low, not trying to startle you. 

“What did they do to her?” Pope’s jaw was clenched as he asked, his mind going to a million different places, each one making him angrier than the last. 

“They wrote on her stomach, she has marks on her arms so I think they tied her up for a bit, so people could see her, when I got there she wasn’t at the party, she was on the road, had a group around her but I don’t think anyone you know—touched her.” Deran swallowed hard, he felt a little below water with all of this. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Pope was wracking his brain around seeing you like this, so out of it. Not in a sleepy way but in a fucked up way. He’d seen you drunk, he’d seen you high, this was nothing like that. 

“Pope?” You groggily lifted your head, as you moved, the cutoff tank rode up and he saw the writing. 

Pope saw red. His eyes felt hot, his fists balled up, his jaw wasn’t just clenched anymore but wound so tight he could taste the iron from how hard he was biting down. He knew exactly who did this. It was the same thing that frat asshole Shotgun Shep had said to you that night he got rocked by Craig and caused a scene with you last summer. 

“If you ever need me, you keep calling me, you hear me!?” Pope was yelling at you now. 

“I called Baz.” Your voice was a little whiny. 

“I’m talking about me! ME.” Pope raised his voice, his finger slamming into his chest. 

That’s when Deran sat up a little bit. “Dude, she’s out of it, chill.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled the words, the guilt starting to rack in your mind. “Where’s Baz?” 

“I don’t know.” Pope answered, his voice still loud but less accusatory now, his own guilt in yelling at you after he saw Deran’s response.

“Where’s my brother?” You now had the same tone as he did earlier. Demanding and raised. “Where’s BAZ?!” This time your voice gripped to the back of your throat as you yelled.

“What’s up?” Baz walked in from the kitchen, beer in hand, casual as ever. 

“I needed you.” You weren't looking at him, your words were slurred still. You felt your heart ache. It was one thing to experience him blowing you off, barely talking to you—you know, losing your friendship with your older brother. But this felt worse than all of that. You needed him. You needed your older brother. All the times he needed you, you’d be there, and he couldn’t reciprocate that anymore? 

“What’s her deal?” Baz was chuckling as he raised his beer bottle to his lips. 

“She was roofied.” Deran’s voice was firm, 

“No shit,” he let out a scoff, one that would have earned him a fist to the face from you if you were of sound mind. 

“It was Rick Shepherd.” Pope spoke up now, the anger in his voice was what you were feeling in your mind. 

“Shotgun Shep?” Deran was looking at Pope with a frown, trying to understand how he knew that information. 

“He called her that the last time he was here, at the summer party, Cody train station,” Pope pointed to your stomach, at the writing. 

“So we gonna beat the guy up?” Baz extended his hands out and shook his head, a small shrug left his shoulders too, like he was asking if they should order chinese or pizza. Not something this serious. 

Pope’s eyes practically burned into Baz’s skull, the anger pouring out of them. 

“Taking that as a yes we’re beating the guy up.” Baz dipped his head from side to side before finishing the beer off and tossing the empty bottle on the couch. He began walking down the stairs into the living room, nonchalantly headed towards you. As he leaned over your body, Deran moved his arm so that Baz could replace it with his, pressing the pillow down into the cushions, his head dipped down and he placed a peck on your head. “Don’t worry, Dockie. We’re gonna beat the guy up.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” You turned over, despite the amount of dizziness and nausea you felt, you didn’t want to even look at Baz. 

“Love you too,” his laugh echoed against the kitchen cabinets, he had already turned to leave with Pope. 

“Did I ruin your night?” You mumbled knowing it was just you and Deran in the living room now. Your face squished against the couch cushion. 

“No, you saved me from getting head from Jonesy Bradford,” Deran chuckled, putting his arm back against the pillow that separated you too. He slouched down a little more, that way he was closer to your face and could whisper a bit.  

“Heads head,” you shrugged and then lifted up a little in question, “Jonesy Bradford is gay?” 

“Very.” Deran laughed, eyebrows raised as he smirked. 

Shaking your head, you dropped it down back into the cushion, letting the sound of the surf competitions fill the room until you fully comprehended what Deran said. 

“You shouldn’t get head from Jonesy Bradford.” Your voice was muffled by the couch cushion, but Deran heard you perfectly fine.

“My point,” Deran let out a breathy laugh and scratched your head again, this time not to wake you up but to be playful. 

“Everyone thinks I’m a whore,” you enunciated the last word with a sigh, it sounded a little jokey but you did mean it.

“We don’t think you’re a whore,” Deran was trying to find some way to cheer you up from whatever funk was happening in your head. 

“Well no, I am a whore. Just not the Cody whore.” Your voice was muffled against the cushion. Deran knew what you meant, Deran might’ve been the only one who knew what you meant. He was the only one who knew how you felt about Pope, and you were the only one who knew how he felt about guys. Not that you two ever labeled your friendship, but for all intents and purposes, Deran was your closest friend. Sure, him and Craig were like brothers to you, but you had a friend in Deran that you didn’t have in anyone else. 

“You can’t tell Smurf,” you said seriously to Deran. 

“I won’t tell Smurf,” he replied with ease. 

“Baz will tell Smurf,” you scoffed. 

“I’ll tell him not to,” Deran always tried to find an answer for you.

“He isn’t going to listen. He never listens.” And you always found something to rebuttal his responses. “It’s fine, I stole Shep’s wallet before things went to shit,” you readjusted to pull the wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans. “Only ninety bucks in his wallet but I found a lock code. He’s in pharmacy school, I think the code is to his locker in the lab, could nab a good amount of shit we could fence.”

Deran laughed, his head shaking as he did. “That’ll save your ass if Baz blabs.” 

“When,” you corrected him. 

Suddenly, you heard footsteps coming back into the living room and Pope’s voice was loud again, like he was just as frustrated if not more than just a few moments ago. 

“If you need me, you call me 15 times until I answer, okay?!” There was a slight grovel in his voice. He had his keys gripped tight in his hand, he was getting ready to go to UCSD with Baz but for some reason came back to yell some more.  “I mean it, all you need to say is I need you and I’ll be there, you hear me?!” 

“I hear you,” your face got solemn as you looked at him, he regretted yelling again, it was clear on his face as he nodded, his eyes barely able to meet yours. “I’ll tell you I need you.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:10AM

One last shot. You were going to give speaking one last shot as you gripped Pope’s arm. The police officers were still going through their spiel of what went down. One more wobbly sound escaped from your throat followed by a whispered plea. 

“Pope, I need you.” 

“Yea, I’m here.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:39AM

You were horizontal on the back seats of the Dodge Ram. The numbness fully took over your body as you stared at the dash. Eyes focused on the radio, the controls for the vents, but you weren’t really retaining any of that information. Nor the conversation that Nicky and Pope were having, which was less of a conversation and more just Pope muttering under his breath as they looked for J on The Strand. 

Usually the motion of the car would turn your stomach laid up in the back seat like this, but you were so out of it, you couldn’t tell. As the car came to an abrupt stop, you moved slightly, Nicky grabbing your feet to hold you steady on the backseat. Pope’s eyes moved to make sure you were okay before they leaned over the console to call out to J. 

“Put her seat belt on,” he demanded back to Nicky who was quick to do it, she said something to you but you weren’t really paying attention, just focused on the middle console. “Get in!” Pope was now yelling to J who opened the door with haste and confusion. “Baz is dead.” 

Three words. That pulled your eyes off the middle console and back to two people in the front of the truck. 

“What?” J wasn’t yelling, but the shock was there in his tone, plastered on his face. As he hopped into the truck his head turned to see you horizontal in the back. “What happened?” 

No one answered him. 

He was still looking at you with sympathy, racking his mind around the information but also genuinely concerned about you. “Do you need anything?” 

2016 - Homecoming (Pilot) 

“How many times have I told you guys, bullets are the hardest to fucking treat,” your head was down as you were texting on your phone, messenger bag draped over your shoulder. “Don’t get–”

“Don’t get shot.” The trio of men repeated as they cut you off and held Craig on the pool table. 

Almost immediately you heard the familiar sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in years. As you laid eyes on the men gathered around the pool table, you saw Craig who was dripping sweat, bleeding from his shoulder, quick breaths. Then there was your brother, who was holding Craig down as he attempted to do something with the bullet wound in Craig’s shoulder, he had a shit-eating grin on his face like he was living for this moment. But then your eyes connected with the man you hadn’t seen in years, his hands holding Craig on the opposite side, no smile, just a piercing glare. The voice you’d recognize anywhere. Pope. 

 “Well at least you know,” you stayed frozen staring at him, not realizing he had gotten out of prison. I mean how could you? He stopped letting you visit, he stopped writing. He looked good, he looked healthy, his hair was cut like shit, those prison haircuts never suited him. 

“Ahhh!” Craig screamed and it brought your eyes back to the situation unfolding. 

“Is it through and through?” You shook your head and moved to replace Baz and help Craig. “Jesus Christ, you started to cauterize it, already!?”

“We pulled the bullet out, it needed to be sealed!” Baz raised his hands. 

“If you aren’t going to listen to me when I tell you to not get shot, then at least listen to when I tell you to leave it be until I get here.” You slammed your bag on the table looking for the kit of surgical tools you had stolen from the hospital inventory all those years ago. 

“Sorry, Doc.” Craig looked up through his sweat beaded brows at you. 

“Don’t say sorry to me, Baz should say it to you, this is going to hurt 10x more now.” You dropped the tools down and grabbed a saline bottle and poured it onto a fresh package of gauze. “I have to debride it, I’m going to give you something for the pain and I’m gonna ask Pope to hold this against the wound for like 15 minutes, soften the tissue. Then I’m gonna have to pick at it,” you handed the gauze to Pope who hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you stepped in the room, but instead of looking at him you just went into your bag and grabbed a small bottle of morphine and a syringe to give it to him. “This isn’t a lot but it’s enough,” your eyes jumped to Craig’s who smirked, a slight chuckle escaping his mouth. 

“C’mon Doc, I got shot.” 

“And I guarantee you’re already a few lines and shots in,” your eyes were trained on the syringe pushing a little liquid out the needle. “10 milligrams.” 

He sighed with an eye roll as you placed it into his arm. “I’ll be back in 15, where’s Deran?” Your eyes moved anywhere but Pope’s. 

“He’s in the living room with Smurf, nursing his own wounds,” Baz gave you a look, one that you knew meant he fucked up the job tonight and was living with that regret. You knew better than to interrupt Smurf’s coddling so you just raised your eyebrows at your brother. Before either of you could say anything, there was a creak on the stairs that led to the hall right behind the kitchen and you both turned your heads. 

You recognized him, Julia’s kid, Josh. Your eyes went wide and then they fell to Baz who also looked a little thrown off, but less thrown than you. Everyone just stayed frozen, J’s eyes jumping from all of yours to Craig who was just slightly less loud than before, the morphine clearly doing its work. 

“Josh, right?” You broke the silence. 

“Yea, J.” You could tell he was trying to read you. 

“J,” you corrected yourself before turning to look at Pope to make sure he was putting the gauze on the wound for Craig. “Apparently it’s the night for old faces to turn up.” Looking back at J you sighed. “I’m–”

“Aunt Doc.” He finished your sentence for you. 

“Yea, Aunt Doc. You can just call me Doc, though.” You weren’t going to make a kid who didn’t know you get caught up in mannerisms. He didn’t owe you that.

It was then that you realized he probably knew you visited Julia, never for long, just enough to drop food off, say hi, you never saw him though, just Julia. You knew he was Baz’s kid, or that the chance he was was pretty high. 

“Is your mom here?” You were crossing your arms, a little shocked to see the kid all grown up and here at Smurf’s place. 

“My mom’s dead–she OD’d.” J said it with no emotion. 

Your head snapped to Baz who had his hand behind his neck, knowing you were going to ring him out for not telling you and then to Julia’s twin—Pope, for his response, but all he did was stare.

“Uh, I’m so sorry I had no idea, uhm–” you weren’t sure what to say right now, your head was going a mile a minute, trying to wrap itself around the fact that Pope was back, Julia was gone, and J seemed to be staying here now. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, kind of tired.” J pointed over his shoulder before retreating down the hall. 

“I’m away for 3 days and everything fucking happens,” You mumbled, turning around, you practically ripped the gauze out of Pope’s hand to see how the tissue on Craig’s wound was softening. “Needs more time.” You didn’t even bother to look at Pope to grab the gauze back, just turned back around towards the kitchen, your shoulder bumping into Baz’s as you did. 

“Dockie,” Baz’s head fell back in slight annoyance. 

You ignored him going into the fridge to act like you were busy doing something but it was just a mindless activity. 

“Dockie,” Baz called you again. 

“What?!” You hissed the word and slammed the fridge, hard enough that it bounced wide open again. “What excuse are you going to force me to fucking believe this time?” 

“It’s no excuse,” Baz was pleading. 

“I’m away dealing with your shit,” you pushed your finger into his abdomen, “and you can’t even fucking call me to tell me Pope got out? That Julia fucking died and her kid is fucking living here?” 

“You went to Mexico for your own shit,” Baz tried to correct you. 

Your eyes went wide. “My own shit,” you let your head fall back with a laugh. “Here’s the fucking note from your fucking mistress, and the gift you wanted me to give her fucking kid went over well,” you pulled the note from Lucy out and slammed it against Baz’s chest. 

“You went down there for your own stockpile of supplies, I just asked you for a favor,” Baz was being a shit right now. 

“Well now I’m asking you for one, keep me in the loop.” Your eyes glared into him. 

“I was going to tell you, but then Craig got shot.” There it was, Baz’s excuse. Although, it wasn’t necessarily an excuse, it wasn’t a lie. Just a sorry form of the truth. 

“I used to wish you’d just tell me the truth, but now I think it was better when you’d respect me enough to come up with some story why you’d treat me like this.” Your head was shaking in anger. 

“You ever think the reason you’re out of the loop sometimes is because you just bitch and whine, bitch and whine.” Baz’s voice barked back at you, still at a hushed tone. 

“Go play in traffic,” you spat back at him. 

“Fine—you first, I’ll bring the snacks.” He smiled sarcastically. 

“I’ll bring Lucy, that way you aren’t lonely in hell.” It was a typical fight between you two. You’d both say something fucked up, but nothing that was too harsh or heartbreaking. The real heartbreaking matter was that your relationship had gotten to this point to begin with. 

“Don’t do that,” Baz shook his head and slammed the fridge closed behind you. 

“Do what?” You made a face, scrunching your nose up and frowning. 

“Act like you don’t want me here, like you wouldn’t be completely devastated if I was dead.” That line made you freeze. You’d normally go toe to toe with Baz in a verbal fight anyday. Quick responses, even faster reaction times when he’d hit you with unexpected words. But not this time. 

You stared at him, your eyes burning into his and you realized he wasn’t just fighting with you, he was being serious. 

There was a rebuttal on your tongue. I lived without the other Blackwell man in my life, I’d do it again no issue. Dead or deadbeat. I’ll bring you beer and cat food too—make it real full circle. But you knew that was crossing a line, and whether he crossed them with you wasn’t on you. This was. 

“Just…tell me shit.” You dropped your eyes to the floor. “I don’t like being surprised.” 

“Pope’s home, Julia OD’d, J’s living at Smurfs.” Baz gripped your shoulder and shook it, his way of making it up to you. It held no weight, it was the easy way out. “I was going to call you, I promise. And thank you for stopping by Lucy’s, I know you hate it, I know you hate me for it, but I appreciate it, and you.” 

It was just words. You knew they were just words. 

“When did Pope get home?” You whispered it, knowing he probably heard the entire conversation up to this point. 

“Yesterday,” Baz dropped his head to look at you. “You’re not still…?” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was saying. 

“I never was,” your eyes flew up. “What about you, Julia’s dead? How are you with all that? J?” 

“It’s Smurf’s problem, not mine.” Baz’s eyes did what yours just did.

“Alright then.” You nodded, arms crossed now. 

“Alright then.” He matched your stance. 

That was the end of that conversation, you moved back to the dining room to pick tissue from Craig. Pope stayed there the whole time, eyes on you saying no words. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Not once. Your eyes stayed trained on Craig’s wound for the full 43 minutes you picked dead and soon to be infected tissue off him. 

As you inserted an IV into his arm, you dropped the bag into Pope’s hand, still keeping your eyes anywhere but his. “He needs to be on an IV for 6 hours, when it runs out, have Baz find me and I’ll set up a new one.” You didn’t wait for him to respond, just grabbed your bag and moved down the hallway behind the kitchen, the longer way to your room but the quickest way away from Pope. 

It was there that you saw J sitting up on the bed in what used to be Pope’s old room. You stopped and looked at him, he looked like Baz, and everyone just ignored it. Without a second thought, you walked into the small patio and then into his room. 

“Do you need anything?” You said it following a soft knock on the glass door. “I’ve been away otherwise I would have been here sooner.” It was a wimpy excuse, but it was the truth, and despite your argument being completely the opposite to Baz just moments earlier, if he had started with wimpy truths from the jump, maybe you’d be somewhere different now.

“I heard,” J pointed to the kitchen nonchalantly. 

Your eyes looked back and realized both doors had been wide open and he heard your fight with Baz. 

With a nod, you exhaled and looked back at the young kid. “I’m not sure how much you’ve heard since you’ve been here—”

“I’m not gonna say anything.” He cut you off. 

“No, no, I–” You shook your head and moved to sit next to him on the mattress. “That’s not what I was saying. I just mean…” you searched your mind for the right words. “Being here is a game. One that you have to play to learn.” 

“You used to come by, give my mom meds, bring us food,” J didn’t seem to care about your words right now. 

“Yea, I did. I should’ve done more. But that’s my guilt to live with, not yours,” instinctually you wanted to tap his leg but you knew you were nowhere near that point with the kid yet so you just shook your head and moved on. “Here, take these,” you leaned down to pull a few boxes out of your messenger bag and handed them to him. “It’s narcan, I give a few boxes every so often to the guys too. Keep them on you, in case.” 

“You used to give them to my mom,” J was staring at the 5 boxes of narcan, they weren’t cheap off-brand meds, they were the name brand hospital grade. 

“Yea,” you looked down at the ground again thinking back to the boxes you’d hide below a foil container of food, just so she’d have them and not argue with you on it. Lot of good that did. “Look, I play the game, but not with everyone. This is my way of saying, I’m here for whatever you need. If you’re hurt, if you need to talk, I’m here. You’re my…nephew.” It was genuine, just like when you’d sneak away to visit Julia.

“My mom said you were like a sister to her,” you could hear the hesitation in his voice. 

“Yea,” although that’s not what you meant in calling him your nephew, but you weren’t an idiot, there was too much going on to open that box of worms right now. “I wish I did more for her.” 

“You did more than anyone else.” He finally looked at you, like he was letting you off the hook in a way. It wasn’t going to be that easy, but you did appreciate it. 

Standing up off the bed, you smiled at him. “I’ll be in the back room of the house, my old bedroom. But I have a place on The Strand,I’ll get your number from one of the guys and text you so you have my number too.” You rested your hand on the door frame. “I’m serious, let me know if you need anything.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 11:43AM “Homicide cops want us all to come down to the station for questions,” Pope was entering the living room where Deran, J, and Nicky, and you were. You had your head on a pillow, horizontal just like you were in the truck, this time just on the red couches that took up the space along the living room walls. If it was up to you that’s where you would have stayed the entire time. There would have been no dragging you into the truck to look for J, no picking up Deran at the bar, you would have been right here. Numb and parallel to the couch. 

But when you told Pope you needed him, he took that seriously. He brought you with him everywhere he went, there wasn’t a moment you were out of his radius. 

You knew he was looking out for you while also trying to have a handle on the situation, keep everyone safe. It’s why he placed you down on the couch against the pillow and made Deran sit next to you. 

“Do that shit you do,” he pointed to the top of your head after he told Deran to sit next to you. 

“What?” Deran was out of it too, not like you, but he was clearly sad. Going through the motions. His eyes were heavy, glossy, and his face was red. 

“You scratch her head or something, it calms her down.” Pope would have been the one to notice that over the years. 

Deran just looked at Pope confused before it clicked, he looked down at you completely frozen, no reaction to words, to movement to anything. As he looked back up at Pope, who moved his hand again as if to say C’mon let’s go, just do it. 

Deran obliged, his left hand went to scratch the top of your head, just his fingertips like he’d done always. It was a comfort, one that neither one of you ever noticed. As he scratched the top of your head, you normally would have closed your eyes, felt the weight of your tears and let them out but none of that happened. You didn’t even flinch from the touch, just stared blankly at the fireplace. 

Pope dropped his shoulders and handed Deran a shotgun after the failed attempt at comfort. 

The conversation continued between them, they were talking about what they’d tell the cops, who could have done this, if anyone was after them. You stayed focused on the fireplace, mind somewhere else completely. 

That was until you heard Nicky mention Lena. 

Whose going to take care of Lena? Both of her parents are gone. Does she end up in foster care?

“No.” You and Pope both spoke up at the same time, his eyes darted to yours from Nicky’s. You were pushing up off the couch, sitting up right now. “I’ll take care of her.” You said it like you were going to be babysitting for the night, not taking her on as your own for the rest of your life. But that didn’t matter, that girl needed some stability and you’d gladly be the one to give it to her. You were the only one here with a real job, the only one with a semi-clean record, a normal life. It had to be you. 

“I need the Jag,” you turned to Pope. 

“I’ll drive you where you need to go,” his voice softened in a way that it never did with anyone else. 

“No, you need to go to the station for questions,” you were keeping your sentences short at the moment, not in the right headspace to explain everything going on in your head. 

“So do you,” he frowned a little trying his best to understand. 

“I also need to identify the body, that’s what the police said this morning, and then I need to pick Lena up from school, and figure out funeral arrangements, and legal shit and make sure that I can adopt Lena or at least keep her in my custody. I need to call my job and take bereavement and I have to go to his place and figure out if I’m moving in there or taking Lena with me to my place—which one I’m going to sell.” You went from having no thoughts to a million. 

“You can’t go alone,” Pope wasn’t going to argue with you, but he wasn’t going to leave you vulnerable either. 

“I have a gun, I have a brain, if someone runs up on me I can handle them, I’ll keep my head on a swivel.” 

Pope wasn’t going to argue anymore, he just pulled another gun from his waistband as you stood up and walked to stand next to him. “Take this, too.” The gun was being handed to you, Pope had his hand wrapped around the barrel with the handle free for you to grab. A few seconds passed while you stared at Pope, the handle just inches away from brushing against your abdomen. 

“Thanks,” you grabbed it and tucked it into your waistband, then saw the Jag keys in his palm. 

As your fingers grabbed the keys, his hand gripped around yours and brought it closer to him. “You call me if you need me, I don’t care if it’s for a light on the dash or someone looks at you funny, you call me.” 

“I’ll call you, I promise,” you said it with honesty, you knew brushing him off would have done nothing but make him repeat himself again. Turning you looked back at J, and tilted your head towards the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

J’s eyes jumped from yours to Pope’s, then Deran who all gave no indication they had any idea what you were planning on saying. 

“Uh, yea,” J stood up, following you into the kitchen. It was there that you closed your eyes and tried to really pull yourself out of your head, all the thoughts that were crashing down on you that your numbing state earlier blocked out. 

“Okay, so I should’ve done this earlier. Just like with your mom, but again that’s my shit to fucking deal with, not yours. But at this point Baz is fucking dead, so any shit I was trying to tip-toe around is dead with him.” Your voice was cutting, likely the first stage of grief manifesting itself in your words. 

J’s eyes were locked on you, confused by your lack of context with what you were saying. 

“Look, I know you’re grown up, you’re 18, you don’t need someone to play mom and dad, but since Lena does, I’m going to figure out whatever I need to so she’s legally in my care. I’ll probably move her into my place or maybe I’ll move into Baz’s but either way, what I’m trying to get at is you have a place with me, alright? If you need to get away from this shit here, for good, for a night, for a week, whatever, you always have a place with me.” You were a little frantic in your delivery but it didn’t change the sentiment. 

“Thanks…” J was searching for the right words.

“You’re my nephew just as much as Lena is my niece,” that sentence was said with no shakiness, just truth. “What I’m doing for her now, I should’ve done for you then. But since I can’t change what I did then, I’m gonna do things differently now.” You nodded your head and looked up at him with soft eyes. 

“Alright,” J nodded and gave you a soft smile.

“Alright,” you nodded back, taking one quick step toward him and tapped his arm. “I’ll call you later, check on you. Let me go do all this shit.” 

Turning for the sliding doors, you paused when J called your name. 

“Let me know if you need anything, seriously. I meant it before,” J said. 

“I appreciate it, kid. But right now I need to go identify my piece of shit dead brother’s body and the conflict of that is even above my fucked up concept of life so I’ll spare you, but I’ll reach out if anything pops up.”

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 1:04PM

You wished you were numb like you were hours ago. As you bounced your leg up and down in the waiting room, your mind went through the list of everything you needed to get done. Funeral, assets, Lena, custody, place to live, the list went on. You kept your eye on your watch, checking it every so often to make sure you weren’t cutting it too close to Lena’s school pickup. The questioning was already done, they asked you where you were, names of alibis, if you knew anyone that would want to kill your brother. Normal questions. That made you chuckle to yourself, probably earning you eyes from a few people around you. Nothing about this was normal.

They called you back, like you were waiting at the fucking DMV or something, not identify your brother’s body. The frustration was seeping off your body as you walked through hallways and through door after door. After a few sighs and eye rolls, you entered the room where you saw the white sheet over Baz’s lifeless body. Almost immediately your entire mood changed, you noticed how cold it was in the room, how your hands were shaking now. As they pulled the sheet back, you felt your breath hitch, the anger suddenly gone, it was replaced with an emotion you weren’t really familiar with. It was a mix of nostalgia, a longing for the past, sonder, as you thought about the complexities of Baz’s existence as he lifelessly laid on the metal table, and a physical feeling of being so beyond out of place. You wish you could go back to being numb again, everything then was easier to deal with, probably because you weren’t dealing with it at all. As you stared at Baz’s blue and frigid face, your mind brought you back to another complicated moment in yours and Baz’s history. A recent one. 

2017 - Planning The Church Heist  

Your feet were kicked up on the coffee table as you sipped a bottle of beer. Your eyes trained on the TV but you were intently listening to the boys talk about what the next job was going to be. Yacht or church. Your vote didn’t matter and wasn’t ever taken into consideration, you never got an equal share and you weren’t expecting one now, especially since all of them were pulling away from Smurf and deciding new rules. You had started to get up off the couch, stand up to toss your empty bottle in the recycle and say your goodbyes, but the movement turned the attention on you. 

“Dockie, can you reach out to your cop boyfriend? See if security at the church has friends in blue, if there’s been any chatter of similar hits in the area, let us know what we’re walking into with either jobs.” Baz was interrupting everyone’s arguments to talk to you. 

After placing the bottle in the recycle you turned to Baz with your face twisted up ready to respond in argument when you were interrupted. 

“You have a cop boyfriend?” Pope’s question was littered in shock and a little humor, you heard the curiosity for what it was though, jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you looked at Pope to answer his question and moved your eyes onto Baz. “He’s a contact, I went to school with him, he’s a dick.”  Your arms were crossed. 

“Well, yea, most cops are,” Pope said matter of factly. 

“What am I supposed to do? Take him out and wine and dine him? C’mon. We can do our own recon, I’ll sit outside the fucking church or on the docks all night if I have to, just don’t make me go to dinner with this guy.” 

“It’s one dinner, make him pay,” Baz shrugged like it was no big deal. 

“He’s a creep, Baz.” You thought that repeating it would make him get it, and maybe, sure you were being a little over exaggerated,  but he did have a lingering eye. 

“We’ll cut you in, no more percentages.” That was his bargaining chip and he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it, you could use the money. 

“I’ll go when you go, sit in the restaurant and make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get handsy,” Deran was teasing you from his spot at the breakfast bar. 

“Can we please stop calling him my boyfriend?” You were shaking your head, you already knew you’d cave in and do it. “For what it’s worth I think both jobs are stupid and asking for trouble.” You were grabbing another beer and plopping back down on the sofa, that was your way of agreeing to do the work. 

All of them went back to arguing, you were practically done with the second beer now. This time you were going to get up and head out for real, call this asshole cop and set a time for dinner, but then you heard a little voice.

“Daddy?” 

“What?! Lena, how many times do I have to tell you? No beach. Not happening.” Baz’s voice echoed through the whole house. 

Before you even had a chance to turn around, see Lena’s face or even the rest of the guys, you heard Pope.

“I’ll—I’ll —I’ll t-take you,” his hand extended over the bar towards his niece. “If it’s okay with your dad.” 

That made you let out a silent laugh. “I’ll go with you guys,” you placed your beer bottle on the coffee table and stood up, not waiting for Baz to answer. You grabbed Lena’s hand and looked up at Pope who was making his way over to you both, picking up Lena’s drawing and complimenting her on it. 

The two of you went to the beach, stopping first on the playground that was near The Strand but still on the sand. 

You pumped your legs on the swing next to Lena, cheering her on as you both soared back and forth. Pope was leaning against the park sign post, watching both of you intently. 

“I think I’m going too fast and high,” Lena’s little voice got wobbly and you were quick to slow your own swing down and grab the chains of hers. 

“I got you,” you gripped the seat now and controlled her swings. Pope was moving towards you now, worry on his face when you looked over your shoulder. “S’ok, she just got a little nervous.” 

It was then that the swing you were on got taken by some kid who was pretty chatty, you took that as your sign to step back and let her play with kids her own age. 

You stood on the opposite side of Pope, leaning on the metal pole just like he was. 

“So you gonna call the cop?” His voice was raspy. 

“Whatever Baz wants, Baz gets.” Your voice was littered with annoyance. 

“It doesn't have to be that way,” his arms were crossed, sunglasses perched on his face. 

“Says the guy who asked his permission to take his niece to the beach, everything needs his approval, I mean even the job,” you raised your hand and it fell back down against your thigh. “You know it, too. It’s already decided, we’re doing the church.” You shrugged. “And he can’t even be bothered to be a decent dad, again.” 

“Are you really with the cop?” Pope let his internal thoughts become outloud. 

You smirked, looking out at Lena and the horizon while you pulled a pack of cigarettes from your jacket pocket. “No.” 

“Are you with anyone?” He reiterated. 

This time you looked over at him, hiding your smile between the cigarette in your mouth. “No.” 

Silence grew between you two. The sounds of the kids playing and yelling filled the space, Lena’s laughs and giggles as she went just as high as before, this time with no problem as she tried to beat the kid next to her. 

“You want ice cream?” Pope was pushing off the sign. 

“Only if you’re buying.” You took one last inhale of the cigarette and put it out on the bottom of your shoe before placing it in the ashtray above the trash can. 

The walk home on The Strand was nice, Lena was in between you both, huge cup of cookies and cream ice cream in her hands as she skipped happily.  You had your own cup, so did Pope. 

“You want one of my gummy bears, kid?” You scooped one up and dropped it into Lena’s cup before she could even answer. 

“Thanks Auntie Doc,” she grinned and immediately ate it. 

“Thank Uncle Pope, he splurged for us,” you bumped his shoulder. 

After she thanked Pope, her eyes fell on hopscotch squares that were drawn in chalk on the concrete, only a few feet away from Baz’s, she asked eagerly if she could go ahead and both of you agreed. 

“You used to take me for ice cream after we’d hang out at the skatepark,” you mindlessly picked the spoon of ice cream up and toyed with it before taking a bite. 

“Half chocolate, half vanilla, gummy bears and hot fudge to keep them soft.” Pope read out your order. 

“You used to scare the cashier to make sure he gave me extra gummy bears,” for you it was a funny memory, but it clearly did something to Pope. 

“Everyone’s scared of me,” he tossed his ice cream into the trash. 

Your eyes looked up and saw how genuine he was and you took a beat, taking one more bite of your ice cream before tossing it too. “They don’t understand you, Pope.” 

You let that hang in the air a bit, really wanting that sentiment to sit with him. 

“If they did,” you turned to him, now at the steps of Baz’s. “They’d love you.” 

Before he could respond, Baz was opening the screen door. “Where’s the kid?” 

“She’s playing hopscotch,” you pointed to Lena who was having the time of her life.

“You call the cop?” Baz was leaning against the column. 

“I will.” You stepped up a few steps and leaned against the railing. 

“Just ask him about the church, nothing else,” Baz was looking out at Lena and that’s when you made eye contact with Pope and raised your brows in a knowing way. 

“Auntie Doc, can you read me a bedtime story?!” Lena was yelling out from the road to you. 

“Yea, Lena-love! C’mon let’s pick one.” You waved her over but not before checking to make sure there were no cars coming. She was in your arms in seconds. “Say goodnight to Uncle Pope.” You leaned so she could reach him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “G’night Uncle Pope.” 

“Goodnight,” he nodded and you saw his smile. 

“Go, I’ll be inside to say goodnight soon,” Baz waved both of you inside, his hand squeezing both yours and Lena’s shoulders as you passed.

“I’m going to Mexico tomorrow, I might need you and Doc to pick Lena up from school and shit,” Baz thought telling Pope would be the easy one. 

“You should spend more time with her,” Pope didn’t mind picking Lena up, but he saw how little Baz had been involved lately. 

“Any more parenting tips for me, man?” There was a chuckle that left Baz’s mouth, but it was less of a laugh and more of a warning. 

“I mean, she definitely didn’t love that you yelled at her earlier,” Pope had his hands at his sides as he shrugged.

“You know, why don’t you figure out your own shit before you start telling me how to raise my kid?” Baz was yelling now, his voice could be heard from inside which is when you grabbed Lena’s headphones. 

“Why don’t we play a song to help us get in the mood for the story, yea?” You placed the headphones on her head and connected it to her tablet, quickly pressing the first mermaid video you saw since she had picked up a marine book. 

“No one's ever gonna have a kid with you, ever!” Baz’s voice was echoing so loudly, it was a miracle Lena didn’t flinch. You held up your hand to show her you’d be back in a minute. Stepping out of her room, you waited in the living room for your brother, arms crossed. 

As he slammed the door and walked into his house, he didn’t even look at you. 

“What the hell was that?” You turned your body to face him, looking out the front door to see Pope still standing there, processing Baz’s words.

“What?” He snapped. 

“You need to chill, I know you’re dealing with a lot but you have a little girl who depends on you,” you weren’t trying to be mean, you weren’t even trying to hound him, you were being honest with him. 

“You know what I need? I need you to shut the fuck up and mind your business.” He was slamming his hand on the tiled table. 

“Mind it until you need me in it, right?” You weren’t backing down. “Mind it until you call me because you’re somewhere doing something and need me to pick your kid up,” you pressed a finger to the other like you were beginning to count. “Mind it until you need me to reach out to someone I know and run recon that you can easily do yourself but don’t want to, mind it until you’re beat to shit and need meds from my fucking stockpile, mind it until you need someone to parent your fucking kid or do your laundry or dishes or straighten up your place,” your voice was just as loud now and you were glad Lena had her headphones on. 

“You know, we used to be close. Hell, you’d take fucking beatings for me. We’d sneak out and get snacks from some corner store and put Ray’s hand in hot water and watch him piss himself when he was passed out drunk in the recliner. You gave a shit about me, you gave a shit about everything. The minute we walked into Smurf’s house, I lost you to her, we all did,” you stepped closer to Baz now. “You made me lose my job, Baz. My job. What I worked hard for. What was supposed to be my life.” Your voice cracked. “And now I’m here watching your kid, taking her to the beach for ice cream with her fucking Uncle, because you can’t be bothered with anything that doesn’t serve you.” Your voice echoed against the walls. 

Baz went to respond but then stopped. His eyes changed their position, almost looking evil in what he was thinking. His tongue swiped along the bottom of his lip before he shook his head with a smirk. “If you want to play fucking house with Pope be my guest, but don’t do it with my kid.” 

“Which one? The one you abandoned Julia with? Or the one you abandoned Lucy with? Or the one you’re about to abandon?” Your words had a bite to them. “You’re not a good person Baz, you’re not. I love you, you’re my brother, and I will always love you but you suck. And for the record it’s not playing house when we’re the only two people who give a single fuck about what happens to her, you don’t care Baz, and it used to be okay when it was me, when it was Pope, but this is your child, she has no one else, she needs you. You think you’re nothing like dad but you’re the spitting image of him, but Lena doesn’t have an older brother in her life to look out for her, and you know what? She’s probably better off for it. Because he’d learn from you and abandon her when she needed him the most. At least this way she has me, she has Pope, someone who knows when school fucking ends, what grade she’s in, what TV shows she likes. You treat her like a burden and she realizes that, she’s fucking 6 years old Baz, she’s a kid, a fucking kid.” 

After your long winded statement, you didn’t give him time to answer. Turning around, you went to go back to Lena’s room, say goodbye to her and tell her you were sorry you couldn’t stay for the story. She didn’t mind, you told her you’d see her tomorrow, which was the truth, you heard Baz’s plan to go to Mexico tomorrow. 

As you closed Lena’s door, you turned to your brother who was clenching his jaw. “When you leave tomorrow, call Pope, not me. I don’t want to hear from you about anything besides the job.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 4:15PM 

That wasn’t the last time you talked to Baz, far from it. In fact, you had in some way made up from that fight at a point. You always did, but it was never a real fix. You never talked about the real problem, any real solutions, he was always running from it, and maybe in a way you were too. 

It’s what you were currently doing, running from it. As you unloaded Lena from the car in Baz’s driveway, your eyes clocked the blood stained sidewalk and the blood that was on the siding of the front porch as well. You were quick to hide it from the girl and told her to go play on the playground that was just a few feet down from his house. 

As she happily obliged, you stood on the sidewalk, your eyes staring at the blood that seeped into the concrete, it felt harrowing. It felt like a metaphor for something. The stain Baz was going to leave on your life, on everything. You felt your heart pick up, your mind was still trying to grieve the idea of Baz you had created in your head and begged for him to be, and now it was forced to deal with grieving him completely. It was a lot to take in, and seeing his blood here on the sidewalk, felt like it was forcing you to take it all in right now, rubbing it in your face. Every memory, every fight, every disappointment, every loss of what was to come, what could’ve been, what should’ve been. He was haunting you, it hadn’t even been 24 hours yet and Baz was haunting you. 

Someone calling your name brought you out of your spiral, it couldn’t have been one of the boys, they never used your full name unless it was serious and that was rare, although one could argue rare circumstances were upon you all. But you could tell by the voice it wasn’t someone that familiar, and you were right. There was Travis Callahan, the dirty cop you had wrapped around your finger. One dinner and he had made it a point to run into you at least once a week. Nothing inappropriate, but still an annoyance. 

“Hey, I just heard about your brother, I came down as soon as I could, are you okay?” He had his uniform on, his car was parked across the street, you must’ve missed it in the middle of your spiral. 

“Hey,” you closed your eyes and shook your head, “Yea, thanks Travis, you didn’t need to come down here, it’s all well you know, it’s family stuff.” You tried to put on your best brave face. 

“No, I know, I just— the guys at the station said you had stopped by right before I came in for my shift, I just figured I’d come check on you, I know this isn’t anything serious— between us meaning, but I don’t know, it’s your brother and he’s dead.” 

You tried to hold onto the sweet parts of his sentence, he was an airhead most days and today was no different. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” you smiled, sarcastically. 

“Shit, sorry. I just—just wanted to check on you.” He ran his hand through his gelled hair. 

“Thanks, Travis, really I appreciate it,” your face softened, maybe you had misjudged him all this time. When you would run into him, you didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t in small talk or co-worker talk territory, and he did just come to check on you, so maybe you should just smile and take it for what it was, someone being kind. 

“If you need a distraction, or if it helps not to be alone, I’m around, if you need…” he trailed off and that’s when you almost let out an audible laugh. Here you were feeling guilty for misjudging the guy when he was only here to jump at the chance to manipulate your grief. 

“What?” You thought you’d give him the chance to pull back a bit, earn a bit of something back, but he just doubled down. 

“You’re allowed to want comfort, you know. Even if it doesn’t make sense right now.” 

“I think I’m good, Travis. Alone is kind of my thing,” and still despite him reinforcing the fact he was a dick, you still let him down softly. 

“But you shouldn’t have to go through this alone. If you need someone, even just to stay the night, I can be here.”

“She said she was good,” Pope’s voice made both of you turn your heads, he was walking up from his truck that was parked a few feet behind both of you. 

You closed your eyes and mumbled a few words, something along the lines of here we go or great, this day sucks. 

“Pope.” Travis greeted the eldest Cody, his hands instinctively going to rest on the vest he was wearing over his uniform. “Sorry to hear about Baz.” 

“I’m sure,” Pope was behind you now. “This is kind of a family issue we have to deal with,” that was his way of politely telling Travis to leave and you knew Pope wasn’t going to ask again. 

“I’m serious,” Travis put his attention back on you. “Call me if you need anything.” 

Before you could answer, this time you planned to be a little more forceful, tell Travis you didn’t need anything and that unless he had any investigation news he should let you grieve with the family, Pope stepped in front of you. 

“She’s taken care of, Officer Callahan, you can go.” His hand pointed to the cop car. 

“Pope.” You hissed. 

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ll see you around,” he waved and moved back to his car, Pope kept his eyes on him until the car was well down the street. 

When he turned back around to you, he saw how angry you were. 

“I thought you said you weren’t dating that asshole?” 

“I’m not.” You went to rub the top of your head.

“You trust him,” that realization broke Pope a little bit. He was the person you called, and despite never talking about whatever shit was going on between you, being the person you relied on was what kept Pope together. 

“He’s a contact, Pope. I trust his intel, I trust his ability to find dirt on what’s dirty, that’s it.” You were reaching a limit. “I had it handled.” 

“I handled it for you.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I thought I told you to call me if anything happened.” 

“Nothing happened!” Your voice cracked as you yelled, one arm across your chest and the other lifting off your forehead frantically. “I told you I had it handled.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Pope was a little taken back, he hadn’t heard you get like this towards him in a long time, you normally saved that for Baz. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I just— I need to tell my niece that her dad is dead and I don’t have the space to deal with this,” you moved your arms around referencing everything around you. The blood on the sidewalk, Travis and Pope’s ego contest, your crippling emotions. 

“I can tell her if you want?” Pope was just trying to be helpful now, he was dropping the Travis thing. 

With a deep breath you extended your hands out and grabbed his forearms. “No, thank you,” you let out a sigh and squeezed his arms. “Looking at the body fucked me up, I’m sorry I’m in a mood,” you shook your head and dropped his arms, letting your hand run down your face. “I can tell her, she’s on the playset right now and I’m gonna just feel it out. Can you take care of this blood, I don’t want her to see this.” You nodded to the stain. 

Pope didn’t even look at it, not even a glance or a minute to suss out the situation to see if he could even do it. He would make it happen, no questions. “Consider it taken care of.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 5:04PM

Sitting on the swings that weren’t too far off from Baz’s place, Lena to your right, sun setting in front of you, you debated in your head the best way to tell her for a while. You could wait, but it wouldn’t change anything. You could just say it, but what would that do to her in the long run? You had to do this the right way, if that even existed. 

“Hey Lena?” You leaned against the swing chain, your legs slightly moving against the ground swaying you back and forth. Her head turned to you and the way her eyes met yours despite the sun making her squint made your heart ache, but you still couldn’t find it in you to cry. “I have to tell you something that might be hard to hear, so when I tell you, feel free to ask me any questions or tell me whatever you’re thinking or feeling. None of that will be bad or wrong, okay?” 

She nodded and with one last exhale, you told her.

“Your daddy got hurt really badly today and they had to take him to the hospital. The doctors did a bunch of stuff trying to help him but they weren’t able to fix what happened to him.” You hoped that was the right way to phrase it. 

“Daddy is dead?” Her voice sounded even more innocent than before and it broke you.

“Yea, Daddy is dead.” She had to hear those words, no matter how hard they were to say.

“Were you one of the doctors that tried to help him?” Her voice was so curious, like she didn’t really process much yet. 

Her question gutted you, bringing you back to being told by the police, everything you wished happened, how you wanted to be there at the hospital but weren’t. 

But you were here now and this is what would matter moving forward. 

“I wasn’t, Auntie Doc doesn’t work at the hospital anymore,” you answered her. 

“Oh,” it was a simple response from her. 

“You know how your daddy is my brother?” You looked out to the ocean. 

“Yea,” Lena did the same. 

“When I was about your age, he was just a liiiiittle older than me. He’d take me with him to the skate park with him and Uncle Pope, and never because he had to. No one told him to take me, but he always wanted to bring me. It was before we were living with Grandma Smurf, when we lived with our dad,” you looked back at Lena. 

“Daddy sometimes talked about his dad, he said his name was Rain,” Lena shrugged. 

“Yea,” you smirked, “Ray.” Continuing the story, you lifted your legs off the ground and started to swing slightly. 

“So at this skate park, I really couldn’t skate, Grandma Smurf got me a scooter I’d leave at her house because it was the easiest thing to do,” that made Lena giggle. “But this one time, I took this kid’s skateboard because I really wanted to skate like Daddy and Uncle Pope.” 

“Were you able to?” Lena asked curiously. 

“No,” you laughed. “I fell on one of the ramps and the skateboard came right back into me, I had scrapes and cuts all over me.” 

Lena made a yikes face. 

“I know,” you raised your eyebrows. “But your daddy, he got so mad,” you took a deep inhale. 

“At you?” Lena raised her voice. 

“Yea, at me and the boy whose skateboard I took,” you put your feet back down on the ground and looked at Lena. “He yelled at me and then he yelled at the boy.” 

“What did Uncle Pope do?” Lena’s eyebrows frowned. 

“He took care of me, cleaned up my scratches and he bought a bike from the skate shop so he could give me a ride and I didn’t have to limp my scooter home,” you remembered Pope putting his skateboard in his backpack and you standing on the pegs of the bike as he rode the brand new thing home. 

“That’s nice,” Lena nodded. 

“Yea, I just want you to know that sometimes Daddy got mad because he cared, it wasn’t the best way for him to act, but adults make mistakes sometimes too.” You weren’t trying to excuse Baz’s behavior, but you also didn’t want this girl going her whole life remembering the shitty things about her father and that’s it. When she was older she’d get a better explanation of the whys and hows of her father but this was the best you could give her now. 

“Okay,” She looked up at you. “What about Uncle Pope?” 

“What about him?” You slowed your swings. 

“What do you want me to know about Uncle Pope?” She asked and you couldn’t help but flare your nostrils and smile. 

“I want you to know that Uncle Pope will always take care of us.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Like he took care of you at the skatepark.” Lena didn’t phrase it as a question, just a statement. 

“Yes,” you nodded. 

“So both of my parents are dead?” The question came quickly and it hit you hard. You didn’t think how to respond first, your first thought was actually that Smurf had both of them killed and you felt that Blackwell anger bubble in you. You didn’t know if Smurf had Baz killed, but your intuition was telling you she did. You knew she had Cath killed, paid someone in her large pool of shitty contacts to do it. The more you thought about it, the more you actually didn’t care. Revenge wasn’t your thing, maybe if Lena wasn’t in the picture it would be, but getting even and proving a point couldn’t outweigh the responsibility of raising this little girl. She didn’t ask to be here, to be in this family. You owed it to her to show her a decent life. And a decent life didn’t include revenge. 

“Yea, they are. I’m sorry, kid.” You looked at her, searching her face for anything. 

“Where am I going to live?” Another question, this one you didn’t have an answer for. 

“I’m not sure about where yet, but I’m going to talk with some grown up people so you can live with me at my place or maybe I’ll move into your dad’s place,” you said. 

“I want to stay with you and Uncle Pope,” Lena’s voice got excited. 

Those words brought you back to a time when Deran had voiced those same words to you. Baz was running a job, Smurf had asked Deran to go with him and he fought against it. Begged and begged to stay with you and Pope at the house. It made sense, you were in the process of making rice krispy treats, showing them a semblance of attention they craved from their own mother. You asked him about it later, when he got back from helping out Baz, and he said that you and Pope didn’t make things feel worse. You had to wonder if that’s how Lena felt. 

 “Alright, well, I’ll let Uncle Pope know that. I think we can arrange for him to stay over tonight,” you weren’t going to promise forever because well, that was something you were battling with for years. A forever with Pope. 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:34PM

Dinner was scattered all over the table, dishes, food scraps, empty glasses of soda. You were in the kitchen, Lena standing on the island, dancing to the music that was blasting through the TV. Your hands were on her waist, a safety precaution in case she stumbled, you’d be able to catch her. Her laughs filled you with a joy that was unexplainable. Lena had picked a fun playlist and currently Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls. The concert music video was on the TV and you were quick to grab Lena and bring her to stand on the couch, you standing in the spot next to her. “Alright Lena-love, I’m gonna introduce you to The Spice Girls, this is like the ultimate girl-power group and we’re gonna dance just like them in this video,okay?” You started moving on the couch and she copied you, swaying around, you stepped down and turned to her, grabbing her hands and showing her the dance moves, you’d seen the movie a million times, they were somehow embedded into your brain. Lena’s smile was as wide as it could go, her laughs were loud and as the beat dropped you picked her up. Slam it to the left, If you're havin' a good time, Shake it to the right. You moved her and dipped her in both directions and then twirled her around. Now it was your turn to laugh, you were almost out of breath when you placed her back on the couch and pointed her attention to the TV and moved to the kitchen to grab some water. 

Pope’s eyes were on both of you until you moved, then they stayed on you. As you closed the fridge, and chugged half of a cold bottle of water, you looked at him and chuckled with a shake to your head. 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you have this much fun since we were kids,” he shrugged. 

“I loved the Spice Girls,” you took another sip. 

“Oh I know, you used to watch the movie when we were teenagers all the time,” his eyebrows raised. 

“Movie?!” Lena turned around, moving her hands like the Spice Girls were. 

You almost spit up your water but managed to keep it down. “We’ll watch it sometime soon, kid. Keep having fun.” 

Plopping down on the chair next to Pope at the breakfast bar, you still felt his eyes on you, but you kept yours on Lena. 

“Uncle Pope, come dance with me!” Lena called out as the song changed to ABBA. 

“You can’t say no to her, you know you can’t,” you smirked. 

While Pope got up, he didn’t do much but stand there and hold his hands out for Lena to use as a steadyment to jump up and down to, but you’d be lying if hearing Dancing Queen while Pope twirled Lena around wasn’t making your heart sing. 

After a few more songs, Lena had eventually passed out in Pope’s arms, his swaying back and forth was enough to lull her into a sleep even with the music still being so loud. 

You moved to the remote and lowered the volume, then rested your hand on the back of Lena, moving her long brown hair out of her face just to see how peaceful she was snoozing. 

“I think we did a good job keeping her mind off things tonight,” you whispered. 

Pope whispered back to you,“I’m gonna put her in her bed.” 

You followed him, standing in the doorway you saw how gently he placed her in her bed, the way he moved her hair and tucked the blanket over her. As he turned around, he froze for a minute when he saw you watching. All you did was bring one finger up to your lips and let out a silent shush. He tip-toed towards you, closing the door behind him while you just scaled the frame so you were on the opposite side of it. He was next to you, maybe 6 inches from you, the music was still at a low hum in the background, the lights were dim, the ocean waves could be heard from the open windows now, the breeze coming in from the same place. 

Pope gave you a nod. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve kind of been avoiding thinking about anything.” You shrugged, your hands resting on the frame behind you. 

“Do you want to think about it now?” Pope asked the question, his voice searching for an answer. 

“I don’t think I ever want to think about it,” you let out a scoff that was mixed with a laugh. But even as you said that, you didn’t really mean it. You wanted answers, you just weren’t sure how. “I don’t want Lucy anywhere near this fucking house, that I could tell you.” Your voice changed, anger laced in every word. 

“Lucy isn’t coming here,” Pope spoke so effortlessly. 

“She isn’t getting custody of Lena,” you spat that out just as fast. 

“She isn’t getting custody of Lena.” Pope repeated what you said to confirm it as well. 

“She wants to live with you and me,” you let your voice soften, a smile growing at your lips. 

“You and me?” Pope frowned. 

“You and me.” You confirmed, looking up from the ground your eyes met his and you saw how confused he was. “She asked me where she was going to live and I told her I wasn’t sure, maybe my place, maybe I’d move here. But I was going to talk to the grown ups to make sure she’d stay with me, and I think her exact response to that was I want to stay with you and Uncle Pope.” 

“I can stay here,” he shrugged like it was no big deal, “or your place if that’s where you want her,” he paused and caught your eyes, “if you’re okay with that.” 

“I’m okay with that,” you nodded. It was not the time to read into emotions, it really wasn’t. But you were looking to cling to anything that wasn’t sad right now, anything that wasn’t a reminder of your dead brother. And this? Pope living with you? You raising Lena together? Your mind clung to that, so did your heart. You felt butterflies, butterflies. On the day of your brother's death, and here you were feeling happy. 

If you want to play fucking house with Pope be my guest, but don’t do it with my kid.

Baz’s words echoed in your brain and you’d do anything to get them out. 

That’s why you reached your hand out and let your finger run down Pope’s arm. Instinctively, you looked down at him, his body was closer to you than his face, even if he was standing there almost motionless. His chest was moving up and down, and despite your eyes trailing down him, he stayed on your face, your eyes. 

You moved just an inch closer to him, your finger lightly brushing against the hem of his button up. His breath felt like a glass of water to your face, waking you up from everything. It gave you the edge you needed, instead of pulling away, you brought your hand up his forearm, brushing your fingers slightly up his exposed skin. His goosebumps gave you your own but you just used them as fuel to move closer to him, your chest against his now. He moved his head against yours and that’s when you felt his hands move up to grip your face. That was all the action you needed to move your lips to his. 

This was different from the first time you kissed Pope. This was slow, intimate, sensual. The first time was instinctual, physical, no romantic tension to be found. 

It’s why you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle right now, or maybe they did and he just held you up so strongly with his grip on you. 

You had waited years for this. After that one night years ago, where he took you on the floor of your house’s bedroom, it was all you could think about. How amazing it was but how amazing it could have been if you both really let your guards down. 

This would be the first time you’d both do it knowing what it meant for both of you.

You felt your entire body sing, the serotonin mixed with the adrenaline coursing through your veins made you get a little sloppy in how you guided his lips on yours, the dancing of your mouths became a bit more like a drunken makeout but you didn’t care. This was the closest to drunk you ever wanted to be ever again. Pope’s lips on yours and his hands gripping you like you belonged to him. Your hands went to his buttons, undoing a few of the bottom ones before trailing your hands up to the top ones and undoing a few of those. Your knuckles brushed against his adam's apple while you unbuttoned the top button. It sent a rush down your body and his. As you pulled away to gasp for air from the rush of it all, that’s when Pope shook his head and took a step back. 

“No, we can’t do this.” 

Then it all shattered. 

“What’s wrong?” You whispered it so low you weren’t even sure if he heard you. 

“Us, we— you’re Baz’s sister, you’re not—we’re not supposed to do this.” He was getting caught on his words, stuck in his thoughts that weren’t able to come out as a string of conscious words at the moment. 

“We could have a normal life,” you whispered it again, you felt everything in you change. You weren’t able to pull any of this back in. The tension that had built up between you two for decades had been sliced wide open, everything was gushing, pooling at the ground, there was no more hiding anything. And because of that, you were going to say or do anything to get this, you’d beg, you’d let every fucking thought, every feeling, everything out in this moment. 

“What’s normal?” Pope’s voice cracked. 

“This!” You raised your voice now, not in a yell but in a plea of desperation. “Coming home, eating dinner, dancing in the fucking kitchen,putting Lena to bed, trying to stay quiet in the bedroom as you love me, sitting on the porch afterwards and watching the waves, driving for ice cream at 2AM, heating up milk on the stove if Lena wakes up, a normal fucking life, Pope.” You didn’t realize you had started to cry. 

“Nothing is normal, my family is the farthest thing from normal, we are the farthest thing from normal.” Pope’s voice was cracking, his own cries clawing at his throat. 

He had to be repeating some sentiment from Smurf, you saw how he looked at you, how he watched you, how he cared for you. 

“Smurf never wanted us together because she knew I’d take you away. She knew she’d lose you to me. She made sure you saw Catherine and then that Catherine saw Baz. Every good thing that came into our lives that you gravitated towards..you craved it—craved it Pope. You longed for it. And Smurf took that and ruined it for you. Ruining every chance to leave this fucked up life behind you.” You stepped closer to him, grabbing his hand in yours. “But I’m here, with that little girl and we’re begging you, come start a good life with us.” 

That must’ve done something because he just stood silent, his tears lightly falling, not sobbing just racking his brain around your words. His hands gripped around yours and you did the one thing you’d regret. You said it. It was the last card to play, although you weren’t playing a game at all, you were just hopeful that this would go how you’d always imagined it. He’d kiss you, he’d take you, he’d be yours. He’d say it back. 

Wrong. 

“I love you.” 

“I can’t love you how you want me to.” 

Everything stopped. Your ears did that thing, not a ringing, but just made everything silent around you. Desperation filled you. The despairing cry in your throat came out first, the sound of a broken heart, the sound of everything crumbling. Instead of taking it with stride, you did everything but drop to your knees in prayer.

“You already do!” You yelled, despite Lena sleeping in the room right next to you. “Do you not see it, Pope? You see me, you look for me in a room full of people, you know my favorite things, you stand up for me, you protect me, I don’t even say anything and you know what I’m thinking—what I’m feeling. For God sakes Pope, we’ve loved each other since we were kids!” 

“How can you love me?” He was genuinely asking. Just when you thought your heart couldn’t break more, he hit you with that line and it shattered into a million pieces. 

“I just do, it’s the easiest thing to me, it’s like breathing, I just do.” Your answer came just as easy as loving him was. 

“Love isn’t easy.” He argued that point with you. 

“Not in the way you think, the love you know is conditional. Based on performance, and loyalty, the love I have for you is unconditional, Pope. Always. No matter what. It always has been.” There it was, the plea, but you already knew how this ended. It’s how everything you loved ended. Your career, your brother, now Pope. You should’ve known better. 

 “Of all the things we have to be scared of and we choose love.” You laughed, almost in disbelief, taking a step back now, your hand dropping out of his. 

“I can’t do this Pope,” you shook your head and wiped your tears. “Baz picked and chose when he wanted to be there and I can’t have someone else pick and choose. Not anymore. If you can’t realize what’s in front of you then I can’t do this, I can’t be in this fucking limbo anymore just waiting and hoping for you to touch me, to kiss me, to love me. If you won’t choose me then I choose me.” 

“Don’t—don’t do that.” Pope’s mouth scrunched up, the frustration turning into anger. 

“Do you remember the night before you got arrested for the bank robbery? I had walked to the skatepark and you were the only one there, we sat on the top of the ramp and talked for a bit,” You wiped the tears again, you weren’t sure why, they just kept coming. “I asked you why can’t we do what makes us happy.” You let out a laugh. “However many years later and I’m asking myself the same question.” You ran your hand over the crown of your head. “You should go,” you shook your head. 

Pope said your name, his own pleading cry. 

You didn’t say anything else, just turned to retreat to the back of the house. There was a part of you, the last part of you that was holding onto the hope that Pope would follow you, he’d stop talking and let his actions show you his words meant nothing. But there was nothing. Just silence. You let your back slide down the back door as you brought your legs up to your chest and sat on the floor, hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, your eyes squeezed shut like you could will yourself into a sleep and wake up from this entire nightmare of a day. 

When you heard the front door open and close, you let the cry come out as audible. The crack in your throat as the final piece of you broke, you fell over on the ground, gripping your hand to your chest as the sobs released. It was a mix of everything. 

The loss of Pope. Everything you kept to yourself in fear of rejection, in fear of losing him now all out in the open with the one result you dreaded. While you spent years keeping everything at bay, the possibility was always there. It’s what made everything bearable. It was a possibility. But now you grieved that possibility. The idea of you sharing a home, having a life. You got a taste of it tonight, maybe that’s why it hurt this bad, like someone stuck their hand in your chest and twisted your heart before pulling it out and stepping on it. 

You sobbed on the floor, the cries aching in your body didn’t make you feel numb like you wished they did, they just made you feel everything. You wailed, it wasn’t loud, it was almost silent if anything. There couldn’t be a place lower than this. 

Dockie. 

You felt like you heard your brother. Your cries paused, your eyes opening and before you could think, you were standing up, moving through the house, using the walls and door frames as balance, your head spun from sobbing on the floor and getting up so fast. 

“Baz?!” Your swollen eyes searched for him, your tone hopeful like you knew he’d be there.  

As you stood in the empty living room, the grief punched you in the gut. There was no response, no answer to your cry. Just you. 

 The loss of your brother. There was no fixing your relationship, no closure, no last words. You’d never hear him call you Dockie again. The thing you hated since you were a kid, suddenly you held an ache in your soul for it. He’d never place a peck on the side of your face again, or remind you of something you tried so desperately to forget. He’d never yell at you, never argue with you, never make you feel small. Everything you couldn’t stand, and yet here you were missing it. Wishing for one last moment to experience it. Then there were the good things, when you’d laugh. He’d just catch your gaze from across the room and you’d burst into laughter over some inside joke–sibling same brain thought. When you’d finish a job and he’d jump on your back like he was a kid and scream like a maniac. The times he’d whisper to Lena to go tell you that you were her favorite Aunt. 

It was sudden, like a flip of a switch, you stopped crying. Your face went neutral, this time when you wiped your face it was the last of the tears you’d wipe away. Quickly, you moved to the bathroom, tossed water on your face and pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Suddenly, with a dial, you called the last person you thought you’d call tonight. 

“Hey, do you wanna come over?” 

2009 - Moving In  

When you bought your house, you didn’t hire movers, you bamboozled your brother and the Cody boys to do all the heavy lifting. You didn’t even pack much from Smurf’s. You bought all new stuff, a new bed, a new dresser, a couch, but they were the ones building and moving things where you wanted. It had been a long day. At this point, Craig had broken a lamp, thrown a wrench out of frustration as he built your coffee table, and was now sitting on stool, eating the pizza you bought. Deran had unpacked about 15 boxes for you, asked you why you had certain things almost double that amount of times, and was currently walking in from grabbing a 24 pack of beer for your fridge. Baz had been the least helpful, he had brought in a few boxes, made some judgement slights as he walked through the place and then just leaned against one of your walls as kept a watchful eye. Currently, he was probably back at his place, far away from the unpacked mess of this house. Pope, well Pope was redoing the furniture Craig built and getting a jump start on other ones. He kept to himself, organizing things and just being a huge help. While you were in the kitchen with Craig and now Deran, Pope was still working, putting things together. 

“Doc, beer is the first thing you buy when you buy a house, it’s a luck thing, c’mon.” Deran lifted the case and pushed it into the bottom rack of the fridge. 

“24-pack?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“That’s enough for me and Deran, what will you drink?” Craig laughed, his hand wrapped around the slice of pizza. 

“I got her that boxed wine shit,” Deran laughed, his other hand showing the small box of red wine. 

“The place looks good,” Craig was looking around the house. “I just don’t get why you don’t wanna paint the outside, the turquoise is a choice.” 

“I didn’t realize you were an interior decorator,” you moved to grab a beer from the case Deran just bought, one for you and one for Craig since Deran had already grabbed for himself.

“I’m not,” he let out a laugh, “exterior,” he thought the joke was hilarious since he had been referring to the outside of your house. 

“I think the teal’s got charm, it’s very Doc.” Deran jumped up on the counter while you moved to continue to unpack the kitchen boxes. 

“Pope!” You yelled out to him, “Come eat!” Turning back to the other Cody’s you shook your head. “The exterior paint stays, you two go.” 

“Hey!” Craig lifted his hands up while Deran just laughed. 

“I love you both, thank you for helping me, finish eating, take beers with you to go and I’ll see you here tomorrow, I’m tired, after Pope eats I’m going to bed.” You explained why you were kicking them out. 

Pope didn’t come out by the time Deran and Craig left, it's why you found yourself arm crossed and leaning against the doorway. “I see that your hands work but your ears don’t.” 

“I wanted to finish putting your bed together so you had a place to sleep tonight,” he didn’t bother looking up from what he was doing. Tossing the mattress onto the bed frame he built, putting the sheets on for you. 

“I can make a bed, Pope.” You smiled and he paused to look at you. 

“You’re tired,” he saw the droop in your eyes immediately.

“I am, but that’s not why I’m telling you to stop, I want you to eat something, you’ve been non stop all day,” you were already out of the doorway and moving to the kitchen. You came back with the box of pizza, two beers and a roll of paper towels. “Eat.” 

You both sat crisscrossed on the floor, the pizza box open and now practically empty, the box wine had made its way in the room too, you were about 5 glasses in at this point, Pope had his empty beer glasses lined up next to him in an orderly line. 

“It’s a nice house,” Pope wasn’t looking around when he said it, just directly at you. 

“I hope to make it a home,” you pulled your legs up. 

“You will.” Pope nodded. 

“You just saying that?” You were looking around the room. 

“I don’t just say anything,” Pope said. “You always made your space feel…welcome,” he nodded as he searched for the word. 

“You saying that means more to me than you realize,” you finished the cup of wine. 

He nodded again, this time slow. “I realize.” 

There was a comfort in the air, the kind that only came from being in a space with someone that didn’t call for anything. There was no need to entertain, fill the silences, or be anything other than yourselves. You placed your cup down and then laid your back against the floor, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

“Do you remember that place Baz moved into when Smurf kicked him out of the place on The Strand?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. 

“The one that had the pipe that would leak on the couch.” Pope remembered it well. “I used to crash there when I’d fight with Smurf.” 

“I remember, because we’d share that nasty ass couch. You’d take the side that would drip.” You turned your head and realized he was now laying down next to you, your feet were in the opposite direction, but your heads were next to each other. 

“You said it had character,” Pope turned his head to look back at you. 

“I lied.” Your nostrils flared and you laughed. “Baz was one negative thought from jumping off a ledge, I had to keep him grounded.” 

“You keep all of us grounded.” Pope still kept his eyes on you. 

“Everyone but me,” you let out a soft exhale, your eyes training up to the ceiling. 

Pope didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift in the air, or maybe it was just in your head. You felt the heat in your face from the wine, the long day, the high of the fact you were finally out of Smurf’s. 

Turning your head back down from the ceiling and to Pope, you realized he hadn’t stopped looking at you. 

“You’re staring.” 

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “I should go,” he didn’t move when he said those words. “Call me if you need me to come over.” 

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, you had a bunch of notifications from the hospital you worked at, but it was your week off so you ignored them. All you did was go to your contacts and hit Pope’s name and brought the phone to your ear. 

Pope frowned as his phone vibrated in his pocket, he answered it and brought it up to his ear, both of you still looking at each other. 

“Hey, do you wanna come over?” 

The joke landed, his smirk twitched up before he hung up. 

“It’s good to see you like this,” Pope nodded.

“Like what?”

“Happy,” he responded. 

“You want to see me happier?” You let the wine talk with that line. 

Pope didn’t say anything, just nodded. It was then that you leaned closer, you brought your lips on his. It was a quick peck at first, but when he leaned more into it you felt yourself let down every physical guard you had built up. You grabbed his shirt, bringing him closer to you, tossing your leg over his before you were on top of him, grinding your body onto his. He gripped your legs, moving you against him, his mouth opening as he gasped slightly. 

He sat up, bringing you up with him, his arms moving around your torso, pulling your shirt off as he did. You eagerly undid his pants just enough so that you could hold him in your hand, he pulled your shorts to the side and within seconds he was inside you. Both of you inhaling at the sensation. Your head fell back and you moaned in pleasure. He pumped in and out of you, his eyes never leaving you as he did. 

“Look at me,” he demanded in such a soft voice. 

Your eyes connected with his and it was like the feeling of him in you got ten times more sensitive. You felt a lump in the back of your throat, the emotion of years of pining coming to you right now. This wasn’t romantic, you couldn’t afford it to be. It was instinctual, it was safe. 

He pressed his mouth against your chest, his eyes still connected with yours. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled again and let your head fall back despite wanting to get lost in his eyes. 

As your head fell back, he moved to be on top of you, resting you gently against the floor of your room so he could pump into you. His arms were toned and your eyes caught the flex and release of his muscles as he gripped you and steadied himself on the floor. Your legs wrapped around him and your breath hitched with every movement in you. 

“Do I feel good?” you asked him because you knew his response would send you over the edge.

“You know how good you fucking feel,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “You feel amazing.” 

“Oh my god,” you closed your eyes and felt yourself hit your climax, each movement sending you a little further over the edge than before. “Keep going,” you felt yourself coming undone, your voice thready and messy. 

Your screams echoed against the empty walls of your apartment, along with you begging for Pope not to stop. 

“Flip over,” he mumbled into your ear and you obliged without any hesitation or fight, he brought your hips in his hands and continued to bring you back against him, one hand moving down your front to catch your clit in his hand. 

“If you do that, I’m gonna cum again,” your voice was still breathy. 

“Good,” he said it without any emotion, not like he was proud, not like he was needy, just content with the idea of it. 

As he thrusted in you you felt the release again, Pope pumping you through it. As your body went a little loose, he carefully exited you and let you lay on your back. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, sitting up on your elbows. 

“You’re tired,” he looked like he was going to get dressed. 

“You didn’t finish,” your brows furrowed. This had never happened to you before. 

“But you did, twice.” Even though he didn’t say it like he was proud, you could tell he was. 

“Cum in me,” you didn’t want this to get emotional, but you didn’t want this to end yet. “I get the shot, I can’t get pregnant.” 

“Are you–” Pope went to ask, not about you getting pregnant but about keeping this up.

“Yes, you feel good too, you know.” 

And with that, he reentered you and his hand gripped your neck to bring you down completely on him. He moved so deliberate and calculated, like he knew each spot he hit inside you in the order he did would unlock another climax out of you. You felt dizzy, your head was spinning in the best way possible, you never wanted this to end, but you couldn’t say that, wouldn’t say that. So you just enjoyed every second of him in you.

“Three times,” you whispered it since you felt the moan in the back of your throat. 

“Look at me,” his voice was low too, and you realized you were both about to release. 

He held you after, your head was against his chest and in all honestly you ached for this. Which is why you pulled your head up after a few minutes, any longer and you wouldn’t have been able to separate this from romance anymore. 

“We didn’t even test the bed you built,” you joked as you sat on your knees to collect your clothes. 

Pope didn’t say anything, just watched you. 

“Well I guess that was bound to happen, right?” You let the joke fall off your tongue as you grabbed your shirt. 

“Guess so,” Pope’s jaw tensed. 

“Not gonna be weird right?” You were trying to keep this together, make sure there were no fraying edges or fallout from this. 

“I’m not weird,” Pope looked at you now. 

That got you to chuckle. “You are, but I know you won’t be about this.” 

He twitched his mouth too. 

“I was serious before, call me if you need someone to come over. I know how lonely living alone can be.” Pope was fully dressed now. He didn’t mean for sex, he meant genuinely for company. You knew that without needing him to clarify.  

“Same goes for you. You can call me if you need to get out of the house, I know how lonely living in a house full of people can be.” You stood up and walked Pope to your front door. 

There were no more words exchanged between you, he just occasionally looked over his shoulder at you as he walked down your driveway, jacket in hand, swagger in his step. 

As you closed the door, you leaned against it and let yourself slide down so you were sitting on the ground, knees to your chest and hands in your scalp. 

You couldn’t let that happen again. Not unless it was for real. For good. 

Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 1:34AM

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Travis’ voice was smug, almost grossly. 

He was pulling his shirt back on his body as he stepped out of the shower while you continued to wash yourself off from the ick, washing your hair and your body. 

When he came over, you didn’t let him talk, you grabbed him into the shower that sat outdoors, it was still private, fully walled and closed in from wandering eyes outside, but it was a surfer’s shower, the place you went to clean off from the beach. It didn’t feel right to bring him in the house. It didn’t feel right to have him here at all, but you needed to do something to feel anything but the grief in you. 

You didn’t let him look at you, he stood behind you the whole time, you told him to shut the fuck up a few times too. It wasn’t worth it. That thought went through your brain as it was happening but you did make the most of it. 

“Told you it’s better not to be alone,” He was drying his hair off while you rinsed the shampoo and soap off your body. 

“You should go,” they were the same words you spoke to Pope, that wasn’t lost on you, but as you grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body, you had no other desire right now than to be alone. 

Nothing made sense anymore. And you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. 

You walked into the house, Travis behind you still. As you walked into Baz’s room, you realized you had no clothes here. With a sigh, you opened his dresser, grabbed a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, it was a UCSD one that you bought him when you went to school. Tossing both on, you looked at Travis who was watching you from the bed. 

“Travis I’m serious, you should go, I have Lena tonight and I have to take her to school in the morning and I don’t really have it in me to explain anything else to her right now,” you moved to the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of water from the faucet. 

“I can sleep on the couch, you shouldn’t be alone, I mean your brother was shot here probably like this time last night,” he followed you and those words haunted you as he stood behind you. 

The slam of the faucet wasn't enough of a context clue for him. So when you turned around, eyes closed, you took a large gulp from the cup and nodded. “Leave through the back door, the front door will wake Lena.” You moved to her bedroom, the one place you knew he wouldn’t follow you. As you shut the door, you stood at the opposite side of the sticker covered door and looked down at your niece who was sound asleep. At first you just squatted down and watched her, occasionally sipping from your water glass. After about an hour, where you successfully thought of nothing but her peaceful snores, you decided to crawl in the bed with her, you didn’t dare try to cuddle with her, afraid it’d wake her up, but being there with her, felt like the only thing you ever needed again. And from how tonight went, it was safe to say it was probably the only good thing you’d ever have again. 

2010 - The Day Lena Was Born 

Pacing in the hospital was not how you expected this night to go. You were in a dress, the only one you really owned at this point of your life. It was the one you wore to graduation, the one you wore for your residency interview at the hospital, and now it was the one you wore at your brother’s wedding. And apparently his daughter’s birth, too. 

The courthouse was packed with people, apparently it was the day for weddings, there had to be about 20 other couples in the municipal building along with Catherine and Baz. And that wasn’t including their witnesses which was almost double that number. Pope was next to you, his leg bouncing up and down a bit as he sat straight up on the wooden bench. Both of you were the witnesses for Baz and Cath, he had on a button up shirt, black jeans, his hands resting on his knees. You placed your hand on his. 

“What’s going on in your head?” 

“I’ve never been to a wedding before.” Pope stopped moving his leg. 

“Me either,” you thought about it. 

“What do we do?” Pope asked. 

“This is a pretty straightforward wedding, I think we just sit and watch them, maybe sign something.” You looked around, seeing multiple couples get ushered in at once. 

“I think we get brought in with a group, we’ll probably be able to see what we need to do,” you pointed to the next group being brought in. 

“Alright,” he nodded. 

“It’s kind of nice, celebrating love.” You looked at the other couples around, all happy, close together, laughing and cuddling. 

“It doesn’t feel like us,” Pope was taking in the couples now. The wide smiles, the connecting arms, the heads resting on shoulders. 

“What doesn’t?”

“All of it, the flowers, the pressed clothes, the happiness…” Pope trailed off, almost disgusted as he looked around. 

“You iron your clothes,” you pushed your lips in a straight line, you knew what Pope meant, but you couldn’t help but tease him. Sometimes you felt like you were the only one he let get away with it.

“You know what I mean,” Pope didn’t look at you but nodded his head as he slightly turned it at you. 

Leaning back against the wooden bench along the back wall of the courthouse, your eyes fell on the back of Pope. 

“You don’t believe in it? Marriage?” You asked. 

“It’s nice,” the way he said it was like he was convincing himself of the words he was saying. “For other people.” 

“But not for you?” You didn’t mean to hammer him with questions, you were just curious what was going on in his brain. 

Pope didn’t answer, his eyes just fell down to your hands that were fidgeting in your lap. He rarely saw you dressed like this, he rarely saw you fidget either. 

“I believe in it for other people, too.” You spoke as you looked down at your hands. “But for people like us, it’s just out of place. But the notion is nice right? A partner who chooses you day in and day out, sees your flaws and still loves you, someone to go through life with.” 

“Sure, it’s a nice notion.” Pope agreed. 

“All we have are moments. Happiness… people say it’s a state of mind but in reality it’s just little moments in time that we pocket for later. For when we’re sad.” You knew it sounded crazy. 

Pope looked over at Baz and Cath, they were standing at the registrar’s desk, Baz had just leaned over and whispered in her ear, saying something that made her laugh. 

It was then that they called your group number, a few other people stood up too. Baz and Cath had already moved to the door, Pope stood up and straightened his collar and pressed down his shirt. You followed his movements and pressed the skirt of your dress down as you stood. 

“You ready?” You moved your arm to him so he could link his with yours. 

“For the wedding?” He placed his arm in a way so you had to link yours to his. 

“For the moment,” you whispered and playful brought him over to the line. 

The wedding was quick, but as you pulled up to the restaurant that they were holding their reception dinner at, Cath’s water broke before she even made it 5 steps in the parking lot. 

That’s how you ended up pacing in the hospital now. 

“You should sit down,” Pope was clearly anxious. 

You plopped down next to him, your breath exhaling dramatically. 

“I don’t like hospitals,” you said it through frustrated breath. 

That got Pope to look at you with a twisted face. 

“I don’t like waiting in hospitals, working them is different, I’m in control,” you explained, your leg shaking. 

“You want a coffee or something?” He thought of different ways to give you something to do. 

That earned him the same face he had recently made to you. 

“Decaf,” he corrected himself. 

“No, I’m fine. I just need to wait.” You sighed again. 

In a little over 15 minutes, you rested your head on Pope’s shoulder, your arms linked in his and your snores quietly brushed against his collar bones over his shirt. He didn’t move, he stayed frozen so as to not wake you up, but he’d occasionally try and sneak a glance at you. If not directly down at you then at the reflection in the glass window in front of him. 

It reminded him of all the couples he’d seen at the courthouse not that long ago. The ones that were happy. That didn’t feel like you guys. But suddenly held a pretty close resemblance to you. 

He stayed that way for 2 hours until Baz came out in the blue gown and gloves. “It’s a girl,” he whispered so he didn’t wake you up. “Do you want to meet her?” Baz asked Pope. His eyes immediately fluttered to you. 

“Yea, let me wake her up and we’ll meet you down in the nursery,” Pope nodded and tapped Baz’s side. 

“Hey,” Pope whispered to you. “Hey, hey,” a couple more times along with a shake and you were waking up. “It’s a girl, Baz said we can go meet her.” 

“A girl? Oh good, we need a girl.” You spoke through a raspy voice. 

“We need a girl?” Pope questioned your words. 

“We always need a girl, we’re outnumbered by you Cody boys.” You smiled, and brought Pope up with your arm still interlocked with his. 

You walked that way with him until you got to the nursery. Baz had a baby girl in his arms and you could have cried at the sight of it. “And this Lena, is your Auntie Dockie and your Uncle Pope,” Baz lifted his arm up so that the baby was easier for you to see. 

“Oh my gosh, she’s so beautiful,” you couldn’t take your eyes off her. “How’s Cath?” 

“She’s good, she’s tired,” Baz kept his eyes on Lena. “You wanna hold her?” Baz looked at you. 

All you did was nod, as he placed her in your arms, you felt your entire body shift. Those moments you mentioned earlier? The ones of happiness that you hold onto forever, this would be one of those moments for you. 

“Lena-love,” you cooed, today was a day that started out celebrating love and it only felt right to commemorate it with the love of someone that would bring you joy forever. “She’s perfect,” your voice cracked. 

Pope couldn’t take his eyes off you, if he thought seeing those couples earlier panged in his heart, this was even stronger. Seeing you hold a baby, a baby that you so clearly loved, that he so clearly loved and he only knew her for a few seconds. 

“You’re going to be so loved,” you cooed again. 

Baz had moved to sit down in the chair in the nursery, his eyes heavy as he watched his baby sister hold his baby. Pope stood close to you, looking over your shoulder at Lena. 

The baby bubbled her mouth, her saliva dripping from her mouth made you smile. “This is the moment, Pope.” You spoke slowly to him while keeping your eyes on Lena. “This is the moment we pocket.” 

Pope nodded, even though you didn’t see it. In his head, though, he already pocketed a lot of moments from today. This was just the cherry on top. 

Lena felt like the only thing you ever needed. The only thing either of you ever needed. 

Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 6:03AM

Pope didn’t bother knocking, he used his key to let himself in through Baz’s front door. It was still early, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake, that’s why he brought breakfast and coffee, knowing there probably wasn’t anything of note in Baz’s fridge. 

To his surprise, that fridge was currently being raided by who he immediately could tell was a cop. It didn’t take long for it to click in his head that it was Travis Callahan. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Oh shit, hey Pope.” The man turned around startled. “Didn’t they tell you to never scare a cop,” he laughed as he placed the orange juice down on the table, opening the carton and not bothering to get a glass just sipping direct from the open spout. 

Pope didn’t laugh, just glared in disgust. “No.” 

“Oh nice, you brought breakfast,” Travis pointed to the brown bag in Pope’s hand. 

“For Doc and Lena.” Pope clarified.

“Oh yea, I think they’re still asleep,” Travis pointed to Lena’s room. 

“You slept here?” The question fired off rapidly from Pope.

“On the couch, I don’t think she wanted to be alone,” the man had turned to grab one of the boxes of cereal on the counter. 

“The couch?” Pope didn’t understand. 

“Yea, I think Doc’s in Lena’s room. Haven’t checked. But I didn’t check the bedroom either.” Travis wasn’t looking at Pope anymore.

Pope didn’t give this conversation any more attention, he just walked down the hall to the back bedroom where he saw the bed was untouched, still made and unslept in. As he turned around he saw the discarded clothes that trailed from the bathroom to the outdoor shower and that told him all he needed to know. With a few more steps, he was in Lena’s room. Immediately seeing her body cuddled into yours as both of you let out heavy breaths that were bordering snores. 

He stared at you for a few minutes, wishing that he could have just lived in that moment forever, nothing else. No memories of before and no idea of memories to come, just both you and Lena at peace. 

But he knew it couldn’t last, he leaned over and placed his hand on your shoulder to shake you awake. You startled, grabbing his forearm harshly, ready to fight, but when you weren’t met with force, you loosened your grip. 

“Scared the hell out of me.” You groggily cleaned your eyes and carefully climbed over Lena. Pope recognized your clothes, he hated to admit a slight feeling of relief that they didn’t belong to the asshole in the kitchen. It made whatever happened between you and the cop feel calculated and not special.  “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought breakfast,” Pope responded.

“I’m gonna let her sleep in a little bit, I don’t think she should go to school today, maybe in a couple days.” You were pointing towards her other door, the one littered in stickers that would open into the living room and kitchen versus the hallway. Pope walked out first, his eyes connecting with Officer Dickhead again as he waited for you to realize. 

“Um, look about last night,” you started to say when you heard Travis’s voice clear. 

“Yea about it,” he had the orange juice carton gripped in his hand again. 

Your head shot over to him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I didn’t think you should be alone, who knows who killed your brother, and if they’d come back here and try and take you or Lena out next.” It was so disturbing how he’d just blurt things out without thought.

“Travis, I told you to leave last night.” You didn’t care about his reasoning for being here.

“Relax, I slept on the couch, I recorded Dexter’s Lab this morning too while I was watching it, for Lena.” He pointed to the TV. 

“You hear that? He recorded a cartoon for her.” Pope was getting some twisted form of enjoyment out of this.  

“Travis, get out.” You moved toward him now, grabbing the orange juice for him forcefully. 

“Hey come on, I had fun last night, don’t be like this.” He lifted his arms up. 

“Travis, leave.” You threw the carton into the sink, your way of trying to prove you weren’t in the mood for his grovelling.

“Come on, Dockie.” He pleased.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” It took everything in you not to punch his smug face. “Look, let’s not make this more than what it is, please just leave.” You took a breath trying to remain as calm as you could. 

Pope just stood there watching, waiting for it to escalate so he could intervene but knowing based on the three of yours conversation yesterday he would let you give him the okay to step in. 

“Alright, I’ll call you later.” Travis was leaving and while you wanted to tell him not to bother, you were ultimately winning since he was leaving. 

As you locked the door behind him, you turned back to the kitchen and started straightening up. Tossing the dry cereal Officer Asshole poured into the garbage, along with the orange juice. Wiping down the counters, organizing the area. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked Pope as you moved around the kitchen. 

“You told me that Lena wanted to stay with both of us,” Pope answered. The sentence didn’t have a lot of context. But it clicked in your head he was trying to keep the appearance that he stayed over for Lena.

“We should talk about how we’re going to do this, after last night I don’t know if you sleeping here or my place makes sense. I don’t want to confuse her,” that wasn’t what you meant, you didn’t want to confuse you. 

“Yea, we can figure it out.” Pope nodded, being entirely too gracious about everything right now. 

“I’ve run out of ways to fix this, Pope.” You slammed your hands on the tiled breakfast bar. 

“Fix what? What is there to fix?” Pope questioned. 

“Us!” Your voice hitched. 

“What about us?” Pope stepped closer, the counter between both of you. His question was probably misunderstood by you but the fact he couldn’t pick up on the fact that yours and his relationship just completely altered last night did something to your feelings. 

“You know what, just forget it.” You changed your tone and shook your head. 

“Forget what?” Another question you probably misunderstood but this one you couldn’t hide your reaction. 

“Jesus Christ, the questions, the questions!” You raised your hands. “Forget everything! Forget everything that happened we’ll just go back to whatever the fuck it was before this. You stare, I say nothing. Forget I said anything.” You gave him the answer you thought he wanted. 

“You said you loved me.” Pope didn’t change his tone. 

“What do you want?” Your voice practically shrieked. “You say you can’t love me the way I want, and now you can’t forget what I said, fine then here hold this line, I thought I loved you but I don’t. I don’t love you. I hate you. I hate what you fucking do to me. I hate what you make me feel because it's pointless. It's useless. It’s for nothing. And it’s not even your fault, this was my fate from the beginning. Baz wasn’t supposed to make it through Ray’s beatings. He was supposed to die a lot earlier, I was always meant to be alone. This—this is just fate catching up to me. Loneliness is seeped into my fucking DNA, it’s imprinted into my genetic fucking code. I’ll raise Lena and she’ll come drop off boxed fucking wine for me and cat food while I sit on a fucking couch too drunk off my ass to care. Baz gets death while I get to have everything in me die inside while I’m still alive.” 

The words echoed in you, Pope’s eyes gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You stood there, staring at him. Both of you staying silent, and yet it got too loud for you. You didn’t bother staying in the kitchen, you barreled past him and plopped down on the steps on the front porch. As you did, you were reminded of the last time you talked to your brother. 

2017 - 2 Days Before Baz’s Death

Sometimes, sitting alone at your place got loud in a really quiet way. It’d make you open the windows, fill the nothingness with something. White noise, the sounds of people laughing outside as they walked by, the waves, maybe a dog barking or a kid laughing. Anything but silence. Sometimes that wasn’t enough, you’d sit on your back porch, which arguably made it worse. It was fully fenced, you couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear much either. Something so many people would kill for and the irony was that it was killing you. That’d leave you to talk a walk along The Strand. You’d bring a pack of cigarettes, maybe a glass of wine if you knew you’d be out for a while. Tonight, the walk was long, you ended up walking down to Baz’s. You weren’t sure if the looks you got as you strolled were because your face was beaten to shit, bruised and battered but healing from getting attacked by Javi and his crew a little over a week ago, or because you had a full glass of wine in your hand. The thing with recovering from the injuries you had, it started to look a lot worse before it looked better. Hence the alcohol. 

Baz’s front porch was arguably one of your favorite places. It had everything. The noise, the people, the waves. You plopped down on the steps, glass now pretty empty as you did. You mindlessly played with the strings of your hoodie as you watched it all, picking up pieces of conversations of the people that passed. 

Someone talking about their weekend dinner plans, a group of girls talking about one of their exes, another group singing a song together, a group of guys betting on some sports thing on their phone. 

You heard the door open behind you but didn’t bother looking, you knew it’d be someone familiar. 

As you felt someone sit down next to you, you then heard the sound of your wine glass being filled. Looking up, Baz had plopped down next to you, the UCSD hoodie you gave him on and a glass of red wine tipped as he poured the remainder of it into your glass. Following that, he brought his beer towards the rim of your glass and clinked them together. 

At the sound you both pulled away and brought the glasses up to sip from. 

The two of you sat there, people watching. 

Some conversations were tough, a woman on the phone with her sister talking about hospice care for their mother, a couple who had been arguing about something a lot bigger than both of them, two young siblings calling each other stupid. But then there were the others, the parents who pulled those same siblings apart and made them apologize immediately. The siblings were skipping down the sidewalk in seconds like nothing happened. Then there was the couple who had just gotten engaged, an older gentleman who was linked arm and arm with someone close to his age and said he had a really good first date with her. 

“You ever think about what life should’ve been?” Baz’s voice cut through all of it. 

You didn’t answer right away, you thought about his question for a bit. 

“I do,” you nodded, taking a sip of the wine. “Do you?” 

“Never used to, I think I was so used to just trying to survive the day.” He let out a sigh. 

“But now?” Your eyes jumped over to him. 

“I think life should’ve been a lot different.” He smirked. 

“I think if life had it’s way we’d be rotting in a double wide right now,” you scoffed. 

“I should’ve gotten us out earlier.” Baz had never been this sentimental before and it made you weary. 

“Why are you saying this?” The frown on your face mixed with you straightening your back was enough to show Baz you were concerned. 

“Relax, I’m not jumping off any buildings,” he let out a chuckle. “I just mean, I should have found a different way for us, bringing us to Smurf’s, it was the worst thing I could have done.” 

“We were kids Baz, anything was better than getting beaten to pulp,” you tried to brush him off. 

“She’s been keeping money from us,” Baz admitted. 

“From you,” you corrected him. “I get my percentage and keep it pushing.” It was true, maybe that was the only benefit of your deal with Smurf, you didn’t feel like there was anything being hidden, you had a deal that worked and stuck with it. 

“I’m leaving for Mexico, with Lena and Lucy.” There was the real thing he had been trying to get at this whole time. 

“To see what some of that should’ve been life has for you?” You let your eyes train back on the horizon. 

“Something like that,” he shrugged, finishing his beer now. “I’m sorry about the hospital job.” 

Those were words that you never expected to hear from your brother, so when your head snapped to see if he was just being a dick, your eyes went wide to be met with a beyond serious Baz. 

His eyes were already on you when he spoke the apology, they were low, almost disappointed in himself. 

“Smurf wanted to bring you in, but I told her no, that I didn’t want to fuck up what you had. I wasn’t supposed to use your badge. I was in the breakroom, I was talking to that nurse that always talks about her parakeets and thought I was grabbing her badge but I guess you left your jacket in there.” 

“I gave her my sweatshirt that morning and didn’t realize I didn’t take off my ID, I was charting for the rest of the day so I never noticed,” you gave him context.

“By the time I realized it was yours, it was too late,” Baz was still looking at you. “I didn’t mean to fuck up your should’ve been.” 

You felt your throat get tense, your eyes got heavy as well. “My should’ve been was always fucked.” 

“Come to Mexico with us,” Baz asked like he had been waiting for the right time for the opportunity to ask you to come up. 

With a deep sigh, a little laugh as well, you looked back at the horizon. “I—I don’t know.” 

“You could get your license down there, I looked it up. Lena would be happy to have you close. You could meet someone, get married, have a kid,” he shrugged. 

“You got it all figured out, huh?” You held back a smile as you looked back at him. It was incredibly nice that he looked into it, that he thought about you. But there was a lot holding you back from that too. Well, maybe not a lot. But one thing that you held onto, that always felt like a possibility. 

“Maybe Pope would move down after he’s off probation,” Baz could read your mind sometimes. 

“I don’t know if Pope is apart of my should’ve been,” you answered. 

Baz let out a light laugh. “Pope is the biggest should’ve been in your life next to being a doctor.” 

You just gave him a look. 

“You and him are written in the stars. He doesn’t just watch you, Dockie. He looks for you. When you walk into a room I feel like I can hear his heart practically jump through his skin.” Baz was now looking out at the horizon. “And you well, you’ve pined after him for years.”

You stayed silent, not really sure what to say to that. 

“You two are so different and yet so fucking similar.” He laughed. “If you don’t want to come to Mexico, I get it. But either way, you should leave. Go do something for you for once.” 

You handed him your now empty wine glass and stood up, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt up over your head. “Thanks for the wine.” 

“Anytime.” He stayed sitting on the stairs. 

You leaned down, placing a quick peck on his temple, it was usually what he did to you, and the action made him audibly laugh. 

Turning, you skipped down the steps, opened the gate and took a few steps down the sidewalk before turning around and looking at him. 

“I’ll think about Mexico,” you nodded. “I just need some time to think about my should’ve been.” 

Baz nodded. 

“And thanks, for the apology,” you waved your hand awkwardly. 

“Love you, Dockie.” Baz was standing up to go back inside his house. 

Nodding, you continued to take a few steps, this time backwards. “Love you too, big brother.” 

That was the last conversation you had with Baz. He was shot two days later.

 Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 6:45AM

It got too loud inside and all you and Pope were doing was staring at each other for minutes. But the windows had been closed, the sliding door was latched and locked, most of the curtains were pulled down too, and those caught a lot of the noise pollution too. It was so silent that your head felt like it was in the middle of a 500 person crowd. Without a second thought, you made a run for the front door. Plopping down on the steps of the porch, you ran your hands over your face. Every thought, every mocking voice you had on repeat in your head suddenly disappeared. The waves filled the background, it was morning so The Strand was busy. There were surfers talking about their morning waves. Kids with backpacks making their way to school, you were able to pick up a few pieces of gossip. Hailey was sleeping with Mike, Ben had gotten a decent weed plug. There was the neighbor who talked to her daffodils. All of it brought you a comfort that you had been craving. 

You heard the footsteps before hearing the door. You knew his steps better than anyones. He was next to you in a matter of seconds, a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand that he was handing over as he sat down next to you. 

“You ever think about what life should’ve been?” The question rolled off your tongue before you even took a sip. 

Pope didn’t answer. 

“I do. Well, I have been. Lately.” You answered it in hopes Pope would eventually give you his answer. 

“I used to imagine what life could’ve been like for us. To help me sleep.” Pope was looking down at his hands. 

“For you and Julia?” You lifted your head to look over at him. 

“For me and Julia, for you and Baz, for Deran and Craig, for you and me,” Pope answered. 

“Could’ve and should’ve are different.” You were trying to make a point. 

“Yeah,” he let that one word hang in the air a bit before continuing, “they’re different.” He rubbed the back of his knuckles like he was trying to erase something only he could see. 

You waited for more, knowing it was highly unlikely he’d give that to you. But to your shock, he looked up from his hands, not exactly at you, but past you. Like he was watching the past crawl back onto this porch with you. 

“But it should’ve been different.” 

“It can be different.” There you were again. Pleading with him. While he was dredging up the past you were pulling for your future.

“If there’s a version of our lives where we got away from this, from Smurf… I don’t think I ever made it there. Not even in my head.” Pope’s eyes were filled with tears and suddenly you got it. 

He was punishing himself. 

You were collateral damage in that. Or maybe, you made yourself collateral damage. 

“In my head, our should’ve been exists. It’s here, in front of us–a reality now. A real possibility. And when you’re ready I’ll be here,” your waterline pooled with water, tears didn’t fall but they were close to it. 

Pope kept quiet, the silence stretching between you two. It was weighted, similar to the tension that built between you both for years, except that was weighted in what could’ve been. This? This was weighted in what should’ve been. 

Your words hurt more than they healed. He nodded almost subtly, like he wasn’t agreeing or disagreeing with you, just acknowledging that he heard you. Then, he stood up, his body casting a shadow over you, he moved quickly, like he knew it was wrong in his head but this was something he needed to do. He placed a kiss on the left side of your face, a quick peck but you felt the linger of it even as he pulled away. 

And despite the quick movement of that, as he walked away he did that slowly, gradually, as if not to crack the fragile thing you had hanging between you still. 

He got to the opposite side of the gate before pausing and looking just slightly over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know how to live in that version.” He awkwardly moved his neck, like the next words were hard for him to admit to. “But I wish I did.”

Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire ♥️ 🍺 Animal Kingdom Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @princesssunderworld  (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

[eggrollforyou]

Wait For Me

Zoro x F!reader x Law

Summary: you, a fellow Straw Hat, and the crew are separated at Sabaody. Saved by Law, you have to decide if you’ll accept his help or cut your losses and handle things on your own until your crew reunites.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, slow burn, Canon divergent, eventual smut, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, hidden baby trope (kinda? Not by choice lol), descriptions of violence, blood, and vomit, pregnant reader, self doubt

This chapter: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, slow burn, Canon divergent, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, smut, possessive sex, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie

A/N: We're heeeere! This is the final chapter of this series. Thank you all for sticking around and sharing. I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. Be sure to check out the poll at the end of the story! As usual, not proofread

Series masterlist : Previous chapter

Chapter 6

“Wh-what do you mean, my daughter?” he blinks at you in confusion. How could he not see it?! She’s clearly a spitting image of him. “W-when, The Heart Pirates saved me during our battle with the Pacafistas…..I was pregnant..” your voice trembled under his gaze. Before you had an opportunity to finish your thought, “And you knew?!” his voice raising slightly. He immediately regretted his reaction, seeing you wince, your body going rigid and beginning to pull back at his outburst.

He cleared his throat, “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “No, Zoro….I didn’t know. I found out after Law triaged my injuries,” you meekly stated. “I…I know this throws your plans into disarray…I-I..I couldn’t NOT have her, though,” you peer up through wet lashes, your tears threatening to spill.  Your anxiety is heightened. A fireball sitting in your chest, your stomach nervous, as you await his response. Wiping your clammy hands on your pants, you reach over to Shakky and take Ayumi into your arms. Holding her on your hip. “She’s our daughter, Zoro. She and I wouldn’t be here without Law and the Heart Pirates. They saved us and they made me stronger…for Luffy…for you.”

Zoro’s expression changed from surprised to his stoic, unreadable stare. He glances at you and looks over at Ayumi currently playing with your hair, using it as a curtain to hide herself while giggling. You wish you could steal some of her innocence and obliviousness to the situation you found yourself in, under Zoro’s scrutinizing gaze. You waited with bated breath, his silence only a couple minutes, but felt like an eternity as your thoughts spiraled out of your control. This is it. This is where he tells me there’s no room for us in his life. He has to focus on other things that won’t slow down his or Luffy’s goals. Maybe I can ask Luffy to drop us off on an island where we’ll be safe. I’ll have to do this alone. 

Zoro can see your worry, as if your thoughts are being broadcast to anyone within a five mile radius. His silence continues to add to your anxiety, each second feeling like an added stone on a scale forcing it to fall lower and lower, threatening to topple and spill your worry for the world to see, shattering your heart in the process. 

His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist. It’s warm, his callouses feel rough on your skin as he tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around you and Ayumi. He closes his eyes as he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in. Your heart feels like it’s going to pound out of your chest, each thump climbing higher and higher into your throat as it tries to jump out of your body. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, “I guess I have another member of the crew to protect,” he whispers. His voice is low and gravely serious. 

And suddenly, the walls you attempted to put up to save yourself from the heartbreak topple. The tears threatening to spill finally fall as you catch your breath, pressing your face into his shoulder. Ayumi, confronting the scene unfolding before her, reaches out to get your attention, “Mama, sad?” she asks. Looking at you and then at Zoro with concern. She gives him his her signature scowl. His eyes widen when he’s confronted with a toddler death glare. 

The corner of his lip turns up as he smirks at her, which only adds fuel to her toddler rage. “Mama, mean man!” she attempts to push away from Zoro. You laugh, wiping the tear streaks from your face. “No, baby. This is your Dada. He’s not mean, I promise,” you assure her through your chuckle. She looks at you in disbelief and then back at him. “Dada?” she asks. The word is as foreign to her as Zoro is. Zoro pulls his head back to look at the both of you, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect everyone… to protect you,” regret flashes across his face. “But I’m here now, and I promise, nothing will ever happen to you again,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead.  

Zoro releases you both from his grip, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “Alright! Let’s go get Ayumi a training sword,” he grins. “WHAT!?” you laugh. “She’s WAY too young, Zoro.”

“Tch, says you! How else is she going to surpass her old man,” he winks as you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “What have I done, Ayumi?” you look at her dramatically. “I gave him a clone.” She looks at you and then at Zoro who raises his arms to flex his biceps, wiggling his eyebrow at her and she laughs as she points at him. “Dada, silly.”

“Dada!?” Sanji yells, “Wh-wha-” he stumbles, his cigarette falls from between his lips as he sees the three of you standing together. Your head whips around as your eyes fall on the shell shocked cook. “Sanji! “ You shout, as you walk toward him to give him a hug. He returns your embrace, though clearly shaken, “My sweet, Y/N-chan. How, how could you let that brute put his beastly hands on you,” he gasps. “HEY! Shut it cook!” Zoro shouts from behind you, forcing another eyeroll from you. Already. It doesn’t stop with these two.

Ayumi watches curiously as she sees Zoro and Sanji arguing. Scrunching her face she looks at you and back at them, “I know, ‘Yumi….get used to it,” you mumble. “No!” she shrieks, “No fight!” Immediately they stop, Zoro’s fist releasing the handful of Sanji’s shirt from his grip. They look over at the two of you, both holding a judging scowl. Sanji leans back, fixes his tie and leans forward, “Please forgive me little lady,” he apologizes to Ayumi. “And who might this darling be?” he questions. “This is Ayumi. Turns out, the last time we were here, I was pregnant,” you smile as you look at her. “‘Yumi, this is Sanji.  He’s our family.” 

She looks at you and then back at Sanji quietly, processing yet another new face. Suddenly, Usopp and Nami storm in, breaking Sanji’s attention from you. Immediately he melts at the sight of Nami, fawning and proclaiming his undying love and devotion, blood threatening to trickle from his nostril with damn near hearts in his eyes. Ayumi giggles at his exaggerations. As the rest of the crew slowly pour into the bar, they’re met with shock as they see you standing with a mini-Zoro.

Shi-shi-shi-shi Luffy laughs, sitting on the floor, as he plays with Ayumi. “Hey, Y/N, baby Zoro is great!” he shouts, making you deadpan. “For the last time, her name is Ayumi, Luffy,” you groan. “Alright everyone, we’ve got one more night here, so please, keep a low profile. No inciting an Admiral back to Sabaody like last time. We’ve got the New World to explore!” Nami barks at everyone as she stares Luffy and Zoro down. Usopp and Franky are already planning on how to make the Sunny safer for more fun for Ayumi. As your eyes scan the room your heart for the first time in a long time feels so full. You found comfort with the Heart Pirates, but they weren’t your home.

The Heart Pirates…Law flashes across your thoughts and you feel a twist in your gut. I’ve got to talk to Zoro about what happened…but I’m fucking terrified. What is he going to say? Zoro can sense your shift in mood and he peers over at you. Reaching his hand out to grab your pink finger in an attempt to ground you. You snap out of your thoughts and make eye contact with him. Shoving a small forced smile on your face as he raises an eyebrow at you, silently questioning whether you’re okay or not.

With Ayumi occupied and being spoiled by Nami and Robin, you move your head toward the door signaling Zoro to go outside. He nods in agreement. Your hands are near trembling from nerves as you stand up, fixing your shirt and pushing away any lines in the fabric to give them something to do. You walk outside with him following closely. 

Walking out into the quiet, deserted grove. Zoro watches as you bring your arms up, crossing them over your chest in a poor attempt to soothe yourself. Picking the skin on your elbow, he pulls your arms down and holds your hands low stopping in front of you, “Talk to me, Y/N. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” You look up at him, his intense gaze attempting to cover the concern underneath his expression making your heart nearly stop. 

You take a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you before we go further,” you pause, biting your lip. “In my time with the Heart Pirates, I got close to Law,” Zoro remains expressionless, but stops rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. “I felt so lost for so long. I didn’t know at first if I would ever see everyone again. I didn’t know how you would take the news of fatherhood being thrust on you so suddenly. Law helped me with Ayumi- through all the late nights, the screaming and crying, and he comforted me on the nights I felt like I was going insane.” You close your eyes and take another deep breath to steady your trembling voice, “And I started to feel confused about what I was doing, about…everything. I started to…like him…and in a moment of vulnerability, I kissed him.”

Your vision goes blurry from tears that start to roll down your cheek and you begin to spiral. “I-I’m sorry, Zoro. I’ve been terrified of this moment. There’s nothing to excuse it, but I felt so overwhelmed, and alone, and terrified that I would have to do this alone with Ayumi and he offered comfort that I wanted from YOU and it just happened and, and…” you trail off as you begin to cry harder. “P-please, Zo’, please don’t hate me. I don’t want to do this with him, I need it with you.”

Zoro doesn’t move, his expression doesn’t change. He stands there watching you try to recompose yourself, your hands still in his. He lets them go and holds the sides of your face, using his thumbs to wipe your tears as he forces your gaze up at him. “P-please…say something,” you plead as you sniffle. He stares at you more intensely, and presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. Letting out a sharp breath through his nose, “I…I don’t hate you, Y/N. You don’t have to keep explaining. I get it. You’ve been through a lot, and you were forced to do it alone. I still have your heart, right?” Your lip trembles as you look back at him, “Y-yes. My heart is yours Zoro, as long as you’ll have it.” 

“Then that’s all I need to hear,” he whispers as he pulls you into a tight embrace. Your nerves finally settle after months of being on edge, feeling like they can finally begin to heal after being rubbed raw. “ You’re not alone, you and Ayumi. I will be here.” You pull him down into a kiss. It’s hungry and desperate like you’re fighting on borrowed time and if you stop now, you’ll never get the opportunity. Zoro returns the fervor, pulling you so close there is no space between you. He walks you back and presses you against one of the mangrove trees.

You gasp as he pushes one of his knees between your thighs, pressing his leg into your heat. His tongue slides between your lips, tasting you, your tongues rolling against each other matching the others rhythm and he groans in need. Your fingers find purchase in his green hair, tugging slightly, pulling him even closer if that were possible. He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, nipping lightly at the top of your shoulders, “Zo’, I need you, please,” you beg between ragged breaths. 

“You don’t ever have to beg,” he mumbles between open mouthed kisses he litters on your neck and collarbone. He presses his thigh up harder, making you jump for a moment and watches as you furrow your brow in need, grinding on his leg to chase your high. As his hands roam your body, gripping your hips tightly, sliding them up your sides and finding your breasts, kneading and squishing them together. 

He continues to kiss down your chest, pulling your shirt down to expose your breasts. He pushes them up and takes one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipple, making you gasp as he nibbles gently while groping the other. Your back arches leaning into it. He pulls back, “God I missed you,” he whispers into your ear as he bites your earlobe. 

You both rush to remove your clothing, peering around quickly to ensure the grove was truly empty. Zoro picks you up again and you wrap your legs around his waist as he positions his throbbing cock at your entrance. Rubbing the tip in your slick, pressing it on your clit. “Mnh!” You cry out and in one fell swoop, he presses in, stretching you nearly to your limit. “F-fuuuhhhck” he whispers as he stops at the hilt, giving you a few seconds to adjust. 

You pant into his ear, losing yourself in the sensation of him filling you, the delicious stretch you missed so badly. He pulls back slowly and thrusts into you, shifting you up as he presses your back into the tree. 

Your grip around his neck tightens as he pounds up into you, holding you tightly against him. Each stroke punctuated with his tip hitting that spot that makes you melt into him. “M’close, Zo’ don't stop,” you cry out breathily. Your nails scraping against his shoulders. 

You're lost in the sensations. Your skin feels electric as that tightening sensation in your gut grows, ready to snap. He adjusts, rolling his hips just so to change the angle and with a rough thrust he pushes you over the edge. You cum hard, crying out your pleasure as your walls clench and flutter around his cock.

“Fuck, yes- give it to me,” he growls as he fucks you through your high. He pulls out of you and turns you around groping your ass and possessively pulling your back to his chest, his hand reaching across your chest grabbing your breast, “I'm all yours…and you're mine,” he says, deep and gravelly. He likes himself up and pushes in, to the hilt again. Your words are caught in your throat and all you can manage is a nod in agreement.

He thrusts into you again, desperately rutting into you as if being buried in your warmth is a fever dream. His pace becomes erratic as he chases his high. The sinful sounds of skin hitting skin fill the area as he groans at the grip you have on him. “Maybe we can try this again, give ‘Yumi a little brother or sister,” he whispers darkly in your ear. Your walls clench at his words, “Mmmf- f-fuck,” you cry out. And with a final thrust, he spills into you, groaning with each pulse as he fills you, slowing his thrusts to a near stop.

Your face and hands are pressed on the side of the tree, both of you catching your breath, as he rests the side of his cheek on your head. He turns slightly and presses a long kiss in your hair. “I love you Zoro,” you pant, your voice laced with exhaustion. “I love you too, Y/N.”

Law stands at the dock next to the Polar Tang as the last bit of supplies are loaded onto the ship. “Captain, we're ready to leave on your command. The course has been set for our next stop,” Bepo calls out as he approaches Law. He checks the time. I guess things worked out for her if she's not back by now. 

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Alright everyone, let's get going. Our business here is done.” 

“Wh-what about Y/N? Is she really gone?” Bepo asks, missing the nerve of evident irritation on Law’s forehead. Penguin and Shachi behind Law trying to signal to Bepo to stop talking. “It’s what we came here to do, Bepo. She’s back with her crew, time for us to move on to our mission,” as he briskly walks past the Mink. “Oh…” he lowers his head, “I’m gonna miss her AND little Ayumi. It’ll be really quiet without them here,” he laments, his ears tucked. I’ll miss her more than you know, Bepo. “There’s bigger things to worry about,” Law barks, trying to mask his heavy heart. 

“Bepo!” Ayumi’s little shriek rings out across the dock as she sees him. She does her best to run, arms wide open to give him a hug as she approaches. His eyes light up as he turns around, catching her as he stumbles, “Ayumi!” he laughs. Law turns around in surprise to see the Straw Hat crew approaching him. Luffy leading with you and Zoro following with the rest of the crew. “Traffy!” Luffy calls out, holding his signature hat to his head as he animatedly waves his other arm, “We wanted to see you off. And I wanted to say thank you. For helping Y/N and Ayumi.”

“Tch,” Law sucks his teeth in annoyance, “We’re not friends, Straw Hat. We’re rivals. We don’t need a sendoff,” he grumbles. Looking up quickly, he sees you smiling with a small wave and Zoro standing next to you. He crosses his arms as he watches the conversation unfold. With a serious expression, he gives Law a curt nod in acknowledgement with Luffy’s sentiment. 

“Shi-shi-shi-shi. Ok, well I say we’re friends now, maybe we’ll run into you guys again out there,” Luffy points out to the sea with his thumb. Law shakes his head, completely frazzled by the chaos that is the Straw Hats. Law looks over everyone and briefly stops at you, nodding slightly, which you return with a warm smile as you reach out for Zoro’s arm. Locking yours into his. “Let’s go Ayumi. You got to say goodbye to Bepo. We have to go too, baby.” you reach out to her as Bepo sets her down carefully, wiping a tear from his eye. “Bye, ‘Yumi,” he sniffles, “See you next time,” he cries. “Next time.” you repeat as Law and the crew walk onto their ship and close the door behind them, disappearing into the water. 

Zoro grabs Ayumi and puts her up high on his shoulders, grabbing your hand and squeezing, he breaks your attention. “Let’s get going, yea? We still have to get ‘Yumi a training sword before we leave,” he says as he brings your hand up to his lips to press a light kiss on your knuckles. You roll your eyes, “Let’s go…but we’re NOT getting her a real blade Zoro, she’s not even TWO!” You both continue to playfully argue as you walk off into the grove back toward the Sunny, ready to set on your next adventure.

WOOOO! We're finally here. Thank you again to everyone that's joined me on this fic's journey. At one point, I couldn't decide on the ending. Do you all want the alternate ending??

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @guridoodles @ibuch7 @praline357 @chaixsherlock @lunafrisk303999 @starchild-unnamed @windblownwinston @hopelesslover06 @lunamoonbby

MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

Heart banner by @saradika-graphics

[moonqz4now]

WHAT DO YOU WANT? :; Kwon Jiyong x Reader

GD&TOP WRITING EVENT

pairing : Kwon Jiyong x idol!fem!reader

genre : fluff

warnings / contents :

description : Two idols from YG entertainment, one a member of BIGBANG and the other, 2NE1. When years of playful flirting on and off stage, blur into the lines of real romance, the question ‘What do you want’ appears at the YG family concert.

this is my oneshot for the GD&TOP writing event i’m doing, which involves some of my favourite writers, they have all been so kind, and they are incredibly talented, please support them 🤍 so grateful to do this event alongside them all - to them writers who have joined and helped me, thank you so much my loves <3

The first time Y/N heard him say her name, he’d dragged it out like a secret he wasn’t sure he should be telling.

“Y/N-ah,” he’d teased, leaning against the studio doorframe like he had nowhere else to be. Her name fell from his lips so simplistically, like they had known each other for years and he said it everyday.

“That’s pretty” He would casually comment

She was nineteen then. Nervous. New. Still measuring her worth in how tightly she could hold a mic and how little she stumbled over dance steps. He, on the other hand, was already Kwon Jiyong. Already gold chains and platinum hair and lyrics that hit like poetry when no one was looking.

So she just blinked up at him from her spot on the practice room floor, towel draped around her neck, half-winded and unsure if he was serious.

“I like your voice,” he added plainly, and then walked away.

Years later, she still remembered that moment. How the air had felt too warm after he left, how her heart had thudded all the way down to her sneakers.

It had never been anything too obvious between them. Not really. Just a string of “joking” flirts that never quite untangled.

Like the time he’d draped his arm around her during the YG Family photoshoot in 2013, whispering something so dumb—“Smile bigger, you’ll thank me when you’re forty” that it made her laugh right as the camera flashed. She kept that photo tucked in the back of her phone case for years. It’s still there now. A little faded, only slightly ruined. But it was perfect.

Or the way he always seemed to end up on the couch next to her at afterparties, legs pressed just close enough to touch.

“You look tired,” he’d murmur, and she’d roll her eyes because of course she was tired.

But then he’d place a warm can of coffee in her hands without asking.

Times where the two groups would collab, and Jiyong purposefully put his and Y/M’s verses layering over the other, melodically, easily.

For example, when the two groups were working on a collab stage together and were in the dance room practising, light sweat clinging to the back of their necks, and everyone’s hair slightly flattened.

Jiyong would hand her a bottle of water during a break, with Daesung’s voice calling out throughout the room, in his spot sitting next to y/n, “Hyung! Why didn’t you get me water too?” the man would playfully speak.

“Because she needed it more”

Joking, over dramatic winks were passed between the two, with Chaelins gave contorting into a grimace and an ‘ew’ which only encouraged Jiyong to do more, pretending to pepper even more dramatic kisses across her face, his lips never actually touching her skin, until she backed away, pushing him off with a laugh.

Other times where they would be backstage and he would take her water, chug half of it before handing it back to her. Or where they would ‘jokingly’ flirt in front of their friends like it was normal.

Like it was completely innocent, no feeling behind it accept two close friends.

Years of it.

Years of off-stage teasing and quiet studio check-ins, of Jiyong pulling her in for impromptu dance moments during YG collab stages, always a beat too long, always with a wink he never gave to anyone else.

Lingered hands on her waist when they would hug, fingers too gently running through her hair when it needed fixing quickly before going back on stage.

Nothing ever happened. Not really.

He was always too much, and she was always too cautious.

Dancers blurred into fleeting images backstage at the YG family concert. Where all idols connected, collaborated, invented.

BIGBANG covered 2NE1’s songs iconically bad. Their teasing attempt at being a girl group such as the girls themselves, was laughable, and they pulled it off, as they always do, with shit eating grins, and vocals so hypnotising, even when they were trying to sound somewhat bad.

Of course, Jiyong pretended to be y/n. Covering her verses, Copying her now famous movements she would do at every concert. Like the slight head tilt when singing, and the way she would hold the microphone with her pinky out, subconsciously.

The cameras rolled around the group, occasionally drifting to where 2NE1 themselves were watching their friends dance and sing to some of their most cherished songs.

The lights dimmed and the boys, ever the performers, stood in all their glory, soaking up the way the girls were sidestage, mouths covered by their hands in an attempt to hide their laughter, eyes crinkled slightly. Of course the camera zoomed in on G-Dragon at the exact moment he blew a kiss to Y/N.

A seemingly innocent interaction. A mocking, a teasing, something they did all the time.

Only the people who really observed could see the way his eyes softened slightly in almost awe when y/n pretended to grimace in response to the action.

The real 2NE1 appeared shortly after, conquering the stage with a calm yet intense feeling passing through the entire audience. And he was there of course. Watching from a difference, his chain loose around his neck, one she had gotten him for a birthday a couple years back.

He watched her perform with a gentleness in his eyes that you can’t explain. Ignoring Taeyang’s comments throughout the girls set, before claiming he was just immersed in the music.

And then came the final dance. A collab with all the idols that were there that night. All of the labels biggest stars, together on a stage where they all pushed through the exhaustion, the years and years of non stop practising, working, creating.

But when it came to the final bow, BIGBANG and 2NE1 stood side by side, with Jiyong next to Y/N, who’s feet were milling from the heels her stylist made them all wear.

Her foot stumbled slightly, causing her to almost fall in a sheet of panic, and humiliation. But quickly, too quickly to even be considered human, his hand was around her waist, holding her up until she balanced again. It wasn’t noticeable to anyone else surrounding. His grip on her waist wasn’t a foreign sight to the media. But it felt different. When his hand didn’t leave until they all had to move off the stage, the girls heart pattered strongly in her chest.

But she would say it was just the adrenaline of the night.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in her ears as she stepped offstage after the last dance of the night, the heat of the spotlights still clinging to her skin. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and she blinked against the rush of confetti that still danced behind her eyes.

Backstage was utter chaos. Staff yelling into earpieces, stylists tugging at sleeves and wiping sweat, idols hugging, laughing, congratulating each other through adrenaline-drunk smiles. y/n offered a few tired high-fives, her hands still buzzing from the energy of the night.

She wanted to find her members. CL was probably already demanding champagne, but her legs carried her the opposite way, down a quieter hallway. Somewhere dimmer. Somewhere the noise couldn’t follow.

She reached the corner near the old makeup room, the one with the flickering lights and the slightly scratched mirror, and leaned against the wall, letting the silence settle around her like a second skin.

And then she heard it: the soft squeak of sneakers. A presence behind her.

“You always disappear after stages,” came his voice. Gentle. Knowing.

She didn’t turn around, but her lips curved just slightly. “I’m not disappearing. I’m recharging.”

Jiyong chuckled. “Still pretending you’re not exhausted even though you nearly tripped during the group bow?”

“I did not trip.”

“You stumbled. Like a newborn deer.” he teased, before adding “It’s a good thing my hand was there to catch you”

She laughed. quiet, breathless, real.

He came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers. Neither of them moved. The hallway buzzed faintly with fluorescent light. From the distance, the echo of fans chanting still lingered like a dream slowly fading.

For a moment, they said nothing.

Just stood there.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, nor was it ever. It was full of everything they’d never said. Years of glances that lasted too long. Inside jokes that stopped being jokes. Coffee cups left outside studio doors and text messages typed and deleted more times than she could count.

And then, softly, so softly she almost missed it, he asked:

“y/n..what do you want?”

Her breath caught.

She turned to look at him.

But he wasn’t smiling now. He wasn’t wearing that gummy smile of his that she barely pretended to hate. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers with a quiet intensity. No teasing. No smirk.

Just a question.

She swallowed.

Of all the things he could’ve said. You did well tonight. Let’s grab food. I missed this. This was the one she hadn’t prepared for.

Because it wasn’t about the concert.

It wasn’t about music. It wasn’t for the cameras, the fans, the label.

It was for her.

And suddenly, she was nineteen again, holding banana milk in an all too-bright practice room. She was twenty-one, her pinky tangled in his loosely, just before a stage. She was twenty-five, reading his note tucked into a CD case. She was every version of herself that had ever wanted him and been too scared to say so.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I think I used to.”

“And now?”

She looked up at him—really looked. His eyes were softer now. Waiting. Willing to wait forever, if she needed him to.

“I think I want…” she paused, then exhaled. Her voice was smaller than she meant it to be. “You.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d known all along. Of course he had. Anyone could’ve guessed. But he was waiting for her to admit it.

Like he just needed to hear her say it.

And then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek, tracing the edge of a smile he didn’t realize he’d missed.

His touch felt different to any other instance they had found themselves tangled in over the years. Like the weight of the situation dawned on them two with a mixture of relief and fear.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, “for a long time.”

With that, Jiyong leaned in slightly, his nose brushing gently against hers before she stopped him.

“Not here, there’s cameras everywhere”

His laugh was breathy, quiet, his eyes crinkling under the light of the room. And his forehead pressed against hers.

“When have I ever cared for that?”

Then his lips were against hers. His hand once treading carefully on her cheek, now using it to keep himself grounded, his other hand tangling itself in the girls hair.

This is where he belonged. All those years of half-assed denials, avoidance. And now. They couldn’t brush it off anymore. No more, ‘we’re just friends’ with a heavy heart. No more, ‘don’t be stupid, we don’t like each other like that’.

He was drowning in her, and he didn’t want to learn how to swim.

tag list : @raynamorono23 @szonyix6277 @mintymuse @millytugby 🤍

[acknowledge-reigns]

Sundress Season | Jey Uso x Black Reader | SMUT! 18+

Description: Jey Uso is a big fan of sundress season.

Warnings: Public teasing, semi public play, petnames, oral (fem receiving), degradation, dirty talk, spit, p in v, rough sex, mild choking, cream pie, daddy kink, mirror sex, spanking.

My masterlists can be found here.

Jey is surrounded by reporters, answering questions with his usual charismatic smile and goofy personality. He'd been doing press at the arena for an upcoming PLE. You sat nearby, watching him with a playful smirk.

It'd been hot as fuck outside, so you'd opted to wear a cute sundress. In edition to staying cool in the scorching Florida weather, you know sundress season drives your man feral. You not so casually cross your leg, giving him an intoxicating view of your bare thigh.

Jey struggles to keep his composure. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.

The reporter asks him another question about his current title reign and you take the opportunity to rest your hand on his leg.

Jey shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the interview while your hand continues its teasing exploration. His breathing becomes slightly uneven as you move lower.

"Yeah, uh... the title's definitely a big responsibility," he answers the reporter, his voice slightly strained.

Your hand wanders under the black table cloth, finding it's prize and cupping it. Jey still maintained his cool on the outside. The reporter notices his slight distraction but continues with their questions.

"The fans have been amazing, really showing out at every show," he manages to say, his focus on point.

You can see the tension building in his shoulders as you continue your teasing. The reporter finally wraps up the interview, and Jey stands up abruptly.

"Aight, that's enough for today," he says firmly, turning to face you with a heated look in his eyes. "Let's go."

Jey grabs your wrist and leads you away from the crowd, his grip firm and possessive. He leads you to a secluded bathroom backstage in the arena, closing the door and locking it behind you both.

He pins you against the wall, his body pressed against yours as he looks down at you with a mix of frustration and desire.

"You think you're funny, huh? Teasing me in front of everyone like that?" he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

You smirk up at him, pretending to be innocent.

"I don't know what you mean, Jey. I was just trying to support my World Champion."

He presses his thigh between your legs, applying pressure as he leans in closer.

"Ion know who you think you're playing with, baby.." Jey says warningly.

He pushes your hand away from his chest, his eyes darkening with lust as he looks down at you.

"You wanted me to lose my cool in front of everyone? To show them what a tease you are?" His knee rubs against your core through your dress, making you gasp.

You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure despite the growing heat between your legs.

"Maybe I did... maybe I wanted to see how far I could push you, baby." You said.

Jey drops to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly.

"Bet. I'm not holding back no more, Ma." He buries his face between your thighs, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His tongue licks through your panties.

Jey pulls your panties aside and starts sucking and licking your clit aggressively, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

He continues his relentless assault, his tongue swirling and flicking over your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers dig into your skin.

Your knees buckle as pleasure courses through your body, but Jey holds you up firmly, his mouth working you closer to the edge.

He pulls back slightly, his lips and beard glistening with your arousal as he looks up at you with a smirk.

"You so wet for me, baby. Is this what you wanted? To be taken right here in the arena bathroom?"

Jey stands up abruptly, spinning you around to face the mirror and dropping his sweats and boxers. He positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he slides his cock inside you.

"Look at yourself, princess. Look how desperate you are for my cock. You're a nasty lil slut who can't even wait until we get home."

He starts thrusting into you roughly, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. His hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head back so he can spit into your mouth.

You moan loudly, your hands gripping the sink tightly as he fucks you hard and fast. His other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight circles.

"Swallow it, princess. Show me how much you love being my nasty slut."

You obey, swallowing his spit while watching him in the mirror. Your pussy clenches around him as you get closer to your orgasm. "Please, Daddy... I'm gonna cum..."

He increases his pace, his grip on your throat tightening slightly as he growls in your ear.

"Cum for me then, princess. Cum all over my cock like the dirty girl you are."

Your body trembles as you reach your climax, your juices coating his cock as you cry out his name. He doesn't stop though, continuing to pound into you mercilessly as he covers your mouth to muffle the sounds of orgasmic bliss.

Jey's thrusts become more erratic as he chases his own release, his breath hot against your ear.

"Fuck... I'm gonna fill you up, princess. Make you walk around with my cum dripping down your legs for the rest of the night."

With a final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and groans loudly, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot cum. He holds you against him, both of you panting heavily as you recover from your intense orgasms.

Jey pulls out slowly, watching as his cum leaks out of you. He spins you around again and kisses you deeply, his hands roaming over your body possessively and griping your ass.

He helps you fix your dress and hair, making sure you look presentable again before opening the bathroom door.

Jey gives you one last smack on the ass before letting you step out first, his eyes following you with a lustful gleam as you walk back to the locker room.

As you walk, you can feel his cum still inside you, a constant reminder of what just happened. Jey follows closely behind, his presence a mix of possessiveness and satisfaction. How in the fuck was he supposed focus on wrestling tonight with your taste still coating his lips? "Damn" He hums to himself again.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Glimpse of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

previous part | masterlist | next part

Chapter VIII

They don’t stop him from visiting.

Maybe it’s pity. Maybe it’s because Haymitch told them not to interfere. Maybe it’s because no one knows what else to do with him.

But no one says anything when Finnick shows up. Every day, from the moment he wakes up, he’s there.

The Recovery Wing is quieter than any other place in District 13. Too clean. Sterile. The air smells like antiseptic, but it’s the kind of sterile silence that doesn’t offer any peace. It clings to the back of his throat like saltwater that won’t wash away.

And then, there you are.

Always in the same place. Curled up on the thin hospital bed, your body buried under oversized blankets and clothes. They dressed you in the standard gray uniform, the same as everyone else, but it doesn’t fit right—too big, too loose. The fabric hangs off you like it doesn’t belong, like it’s swallowing you whole.

You’re awake sometimes. But even when your eyes flicker open, it’s like you’re not really here. Like your mind is miles away, and your body just hasn’t caught up yet.

Sometimes you sit up by yourself. Sometimes you let the nurses help you. But Finnick knows. He can tell when you’re too weak, too distant to care. And every single time his shadow crosses the threshold, you flinch. Every time his voice brushes against the air, your whole body tenses, like you’re waiting for something. Like you’re bracing for pain.

It’s that reaction that eats away at him. That’s the part that’s almost unbearable.

He spends most mornings in the chair by the wall, just out of reach. Close enough to watch your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, but far enough that you won’t notice him too much. Sometimes, he wonders if you even know he’s there at all.

He watches the rhythm of your breathing like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

In his lap, his hands work through knots. Tiny, shaky loops. His fingers ache, cramped from twisting the rope too tight, too fast. But it’s the only thing that helps him hold on to something.

Sometimes, he talks. Softly. So softly that he’s not even sure you can hear him.

He likes to believe you can. Even if he can’t see it in your eyes.

“Hey, Angel,” he whispers one afternoon, his voice barely rising above the silence in the room. “It’s morning again. The sun’s probably rising over Four right now, you know?”

His eyes drop to his hands, moving mechanically over the rope, watching it twist. “Mags would’ve made you tea by now. Annie would’ve shown up with one of those seashell bracelets she’s always making. You used to love those. You loved when she gave them to you. You wore them everywhere cause you said it was like having a piece of the ocean with you all the time. ”

He smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His throat tightens when he thinks of it. “You always said the mornings there smelled like salt and cold sand. Like the ocean was always just a breath away, even when we were indoors.”

Nothing.

His fingers tighten around the rope, pulling, twisting, knotting. He doesn’t even feel the burn in his muscles anymore.

“You hated it when I made fun of you for using too much sugar in your tea,” he adds, his voice so small, so fragile now, like it’s breaking with every word. But it’s the last thing he can remember—those mornings. That laughter. The warmth of it.

Still, there’s nothing.

The room stays as still as a tomb. The only sound is the faint, quiet echo of Finnick’s own voice in his ears, the only thing that feels real anymore.

The quiet is unbearable.

Every word he speaks seems to get lost in the air. It hangs there like smoke, slowly drifting away, just out of reach.

Finnick’s hands keep moving, the rope slipping through his fingers like time itself—too fast, too slow, a tangle of memories he can’t untie. He pulls tighter. Over, under, through, over, under, through. He does it until his fingers start to sting and the knots are so tight they almost seem to bite back.

He wants to speak more. He wants to remind you of everything. He wants to be the one to make it all come rushing back. But how do you remember someone when you don’t even remember yourself?

He glances at you again, his breath catching in his throat. There you are, lying there, eyes closed, but the softness in your face doesn’t reach your eyes. You look like you’re sleeping, but Finnick knows better. You’re not resting. You’re trapped in a place he can’t reach.

And that’s what kills him most of all.

It isn’t just that you’ve forgotten him. It’s that you’re still in there somewhere, lost. Somewhere inside that broken mind, there’s a part of you trying to claw your way back to the world, to him.

But it’s so far gone, buried under layers of pain, and Finnick doesn’t know how to bring you back to him.

He tries again.

“Do you remember...?” His voice is quiet, hesitant. He can’t bring himself to finish the question, the one that’s been gnawing at him for days. Do you remember us?

His throat tightens as he swallows the words, choking on them before they leave his mouth. He doesn’t know why he asked. Of course, you don’t remember. How could you?

Instead, he says something else. Something safer. “I remember when we first met. We didn’t talk much. Just shared a look. You were too shy, and scared—obviously. But you warmed up pretty quick."

He smiles bitterly at the memory. He remembers the way you’d shyly glance at him, your eyes full of questions you didn’t want to ask. The way you’d laugh under your breath when he’d say something under his breath about Lyssandra.

“Do you remember when I taught you to tie knots for the first time?” Finnick’s voice breaks, but he doesn’t stop. “It was after your games, I knew that your brain was probably think of a million things at one time. I wanted to give you something to do with your hands so you could turn your mind off for a little bit.”

He looks at you again. This time, you’re not sleeping. Your eyes are open, unfocused, staring off into some distant space. There’s no recognition. Just that vacant look he knows too well.

His heart clenches, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe.

You flinch when he shifts in his chair, and he recoils in kind, like he’s the one who’s been struck. His heart aches in a way he didn’t know it could. It feels like all the air has been sucked from his chest.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but silence again.

Then, you speak.

It’s quiet. A whisper that barely cuts through the weight of the room.

“I’m sorry...” Your voice cracks, so faint he almost doesn’t hear it. “I don’t... I don’t remember.”

Finnick closes his eyes, but the tears still slip through. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t know how to be.

“I know,” he whispers back, his voice thick with emotion. “I know you don’t.”

He doesn’t know how long he sits there after that. The room stretches on forever, stretching his pain with it, making everything feel endless.

Eventually, he stands. It feels like moving through mud, like he’s dragging his own body forward. Every step is harder than the last, each one heavier than before.

Before he leaves, he glances back at you one last time.

You’re still lying there. Your eyes have drifted closed again, but the stillness in the room makes Finnick feel like he’s suffocating.

And as he steps out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him, he finally lets the tears fall.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

The days blur together after that.

Finnick doesn’t know how many times he’s sat in that chair, or how many times he’s spoken to you. His words hang in the air like a forgotten song, like an echo fading before it’s even begun.

Every morning, he wakes up with a new sense of purpose, but by the time the day ends, it feels like he’s only ever going in circles. Around and around, through the same old routines, the same old words that lead to the same place: the chair by your bed, the silence, and the aching emptiness in his chest.

Some days are worse than others. Some days, the silence feels suffocating—like there’s a weight pressing against his chest, making it harder to breathe. Other days, there’s a flicker of hope, a sliver of light. The small moments where he swears he sees something in your eyes, some fragment of recognition, a spark that shouldn’t be there but is.

But every time he gets close, it vanishes. Just like everything else.

It’s the waiting that’s killing him. The waiting, and the feeling that he’s not allowed to be anything more than an observer in your life. He can’t reach you. He can’t save you. And every time he’s faced with that harsh reality, it feels like a part of him shatters all over again.

One afternoon, he finds himself standing by the window, staring out at the cold, gray wall. The weight of everything feels unbearable, like it’s pressing in from all sides, and Finnick knows that if he doesn’t find something to hold on to soon, he might just break.

His fingers drift toward the knot of rope in his pocket. It’s worn now, the edges fraying from all the hours he’s spent twisting it between his fingers, but it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded. The only thing that keeps him tethered to the world when everything else seems so far out of reach.

He pulls it out and begins to work the rope, his hands moving quickly, expertly. The knots are familiar now, automatic, like breathing. Over, under, through, over, under, through.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

But even as his fingers work the rope, his mind drifts back to you. To the way you looked at him when he spoke, the way you flinched, like he was a stranger.

The memory claws at him.

Finnick exhales slowly, the air leaving his lungs in a broken, jagged breath. The tears are close now, but he swallows them back. He won’t let himself cry. Not yet. Not when he hasn’t even begun to figure out how to fix this.

He turns away from the window, eyes lingering on the door to your room. There’s a pull, an ache in his chest, and for a second, he’s sure he’s going to walk right back to you, sit in that chair again, and say the same words he always says. The same words that don’t reach you.

But then, he hears a voice in the hallway. A familiar voice.

“Finnick.”

He stiffens, his heart racing for a moment, before he recognizes it.

He turns, watching as Haymitch approaches, his expression unreadable. There’s a silence between them, thick and heavy, as if neither of them quite knows where to begin.

“You’ve been at it for days,” Haymitch says, his tone sharp but not unkind. “I’m not going to tell you what you’re doing is wrong, but it isn’t helping her either.”

Finnick opens his mouth to argue, but the words get caught in his throat. The truth stings too much.

“I’m not giving up on her,” he finally says, his voice hoarse.

Haymitch eyes him carefully, studying him. “I never thought you would.”

For a long moment, Finnick doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, the rope still clenched in his hands, his fingers stiff and aching from all the twisting and pulling. The words he wants to say don’t come. Not now, not yet.

“I just...I don’t know what to do,” Finnick mutters, his voice quiet, almost lost in the air between them. “Every time I think I might get through to her, it’s like...she’s still so far away.”

Haymitch nods slowly, his face softening just a little. “You’ve got to let her find her way back to you. And maybe it won’t be the way you want. But you can’t force it, Finnick. Not when she’s so broken. Not when everything is so...fragile.”

Finnick looks down at the knot in his hands, the tension in his chest growing tighter with every word.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. But I’m afraid...that if I don’t keep trying, she won’t ever remember me. That she’ll forget what we had.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything for a long time, and when he finally does, it’s just one quiet sentence.

“She’s not the only one who’s lost something.”

Finnick’s chest tightens at that. He looks at Haymitch, seeing something deeper in his eyes. Something that resonates with him in a way that nothing else has.

Haymitch’s words settle heavily around him, a reminder of everything Finnick has lost in the chaos of the war, of the Games, of the Capitol. Of the person he’s been before. Before the weight of his memories started to slip away, too.

Before he started losing parts of himself.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

Finnick doesn’t go back to his room that night.

Instead, he finds himself pacing the hallways, the silence of 13 pressing down on him like a weight he can’t shake off. His mind is a storm of conflicting thoughts, a thousand questions he can’t answer. What if she never remembers? What if all he’s doing is making things worse?

Everywhere he goes, he’s haunted by the echo of his own voice. By the quiet gap between the words he speaks to you and the silence you give back. It feels like a loss too big to understand, like a void that swallows him whole every time he thinks about it.

The walls seem to close in as he walks, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not yet.

He’s at the end of the hall when he hears it—soft footsteps behind him.

This time he doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Finnick,” Haymitch says again, his voice low, the kind of voice that speaks without words. The kind that understands what’s happening without needing to say it.

Finnick doesn’t respond. He just keeps walking, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I know you’re struggling,” Haymitch continues, his voice gruff but not without care. “But there’s a line, you know? You’re going to drive yourself mad if you don’t start thinking about something else.”

Finnick stops, but only for a moment, his body stiff with the weight of Haymitch’s words. He presses his forehead against the cold wall, trying to steady himself.

“What do you want me to do, Haymitch?” His voice cracks, rough with the tension he can’t shake. “She’s in there, and she doesn’t even remember me. I don’t know how to fix this. How do I... how do I make her see me again?”

“You don’t.” Haymitch’s voice cuts through the quiet, harsh and direct. “Not all at once. You don’t get to make it happen. You have to let her come to you when she’s ready. She’s not the only one who’s broken here. You’ve got to remember that.”

Finnick turns, finally meeting Haymitch’s eyes. The older man looks as tired as he feels, his face worn down by everything they’ve been through. But there’s something else there—something that gives Finnick pause.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Finnick whispers, his chest aching with the weight of all his unanswered questions. “I’m not stupid, Haymitch. I know what’s happening. But every time I see her... I know she’s in there. I just can’t reach her. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

Haymitch steps closer, his face softening slightly. He places a hand on Finnick’s shoulder, giving him a rare moment of grounding.

“Then stop trying to be the one who saves her,” he says quietly. “You can’t fix everything. Not this time. Sometimes the only thing you can do is wait. Just... wait.”

Finnick swallows hard, his throat tight. For a long moment, he stands there, his hand gripping the rope in his pocket like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.

Finally, he nods.

“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll wait.”

But as he steps away from Haymitch and walks back down the hall, a small part of him wonders how much longer he can keep this up. How much longer he can wait for a love that might never come back.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

The next morning, he’s back at your room, back in the same chair, watching you sleep—watching for any sign of movement, any hint that you might remember. He talks to you again, just like the day before, just like every day since they brought you back.

“Hey, Angel,” he whispers softly. “It’s me again. I know you probably don’t remember...but I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shift a little in the bed, your eyes fluttering open. You blink at him, and for the briefest second, there’s something there. Something that flickers in your gaze, like a spark. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and Finnick feels his heart sink again.

You’re not ready. Not yet.

He exhales a shaky breath and shifts in the chair, the knot of rope still in his hands. He runs his fingers over it absently, wishing it could anchor him to something solid, something real.

But it doesn’t.

“Do you remember...the beaches back home?” Finnick asks, voice barely above a whisper. “We would go all the time before...before everything happened. You loved the sound of the waves crashing. You said it felt like the world was breathing.”

Nothing.

“I still remember it,” he continues, his voice breaking on the words. “I still remember how your hair smelled like salt and the wind, how you smiled when I tried to teach you to fish.”

Your eyes don’t even flicker at the words. They stay blank. Vacant.

And for a moment, Finnick wonders if he’ll ever be enough. If he’ll ever be the one to bring you back from the dark.

But then—just as the silence settles back around them, thick and suffocating—he sees it.

Your hand shifts slightly, your fingers brushing against the edge of the blanket.

It’s so small, so faint, but it’s there.

For a second, Finnick dares to hope.

Maybe you’re not as far away as he thought.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your way back to him.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

The days stretch on, but Finnick is still there. Still waiting. Still speaking to you.

It’s almost like a ritual now—the mornings, the chair by your bed, the endless string of memories he whispers into the quiet. He talks to you like you can hear him, like you can understand. Like everything will fall back into place if he just keeps reminding you.

But it never works.

Not yet.

He shifts in his chair again, his hands shaking slightly as he touches the rope in his lap. The knots are tight, small, perfect. Each one he ties feels like a silent plea. Every twist of the rope is an attempt to anchor himself to something—anything—besides the ache that is becoming unbearable.

“Do you remember,” he asks gently, his voice trembling, “the first time we ever went to the beach?”

You blink slowly, not responding. Your gaze drifts past him, unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the room. But Finnick doesn’t give up. He leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like it’s the only thing holding him together. His eyes never leave you.

“We went down to the water... you were wearing that white dress you loved so much.” He swallows, trying to steady his voice. “You remember that, don’t you? The one with the flowers? The one you always said made you feel like you could breathe again?”

He watches your face, looking for any sign—anything—of recognition.

But there’s nothing.

He tries again, pushing the words out like they’re his last chance. “You said it reminded you of the sea. That you’d never seen anything more beautiful than the way the waves shimmered in the sun. You said it was like the ocean was speaking to you, telling you secrets no one else could hear.”

He pauses, the silence swallowing him whole. It’s unbearable, and his heart aches with the weight of it.

“You always said,” he continues softly, his voice cracking as he forces the words out, “that you could hear the ocean calling your name.”

For a moment, he swears he sees something shift in your eyes. A flicker. A small change, but it’s there, almost imperceptible. Finnick’s heart skips.

He leans in closer, his breath catching in his throat.

“Do you remember?” he whispers urgently. “Do you remember that day? Do you remember us?”

But then, just as quickly as it comes, the spark fades. Your expression goes blank again, like a veil has descended, and Finnick’s hope crashes down, heavy and cold.

He leans back in the chair, his chest tight with the weight of disappointment. The knot in his hands trembles with the same frustration. He’s trying so hard. Harder than he’s ever tried for anything in his life, and yet it’s never enough.

The silence is deafening, and he feels like he’s drowning in it.

And then—before he can say anything else, before he can beg you to remember—the world shifts around him.

The air in the room seems to change, like the walls are closing in on him. The chair under him feels like it’s pulling him downward, and for a moment, he swears he’s falling into the past.

His fingers slip from the rope, and suddenly—just as the room begins to fade away—the sound of waves fills his ears.

The world around him softens, and he’s not in the sterile, white Recovery Wing anymore.

He’s back on the beach.

***

The air smells like salt and the earth, the waves crashing gently against the shore in a rhythm Finnick knows all too well. The sound wraps around him like a blanket, the familiar scent of the sea filling his lungs, grounding him in a time that feels both distant and close, like a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

He’s standing on the beach, the sand cool beneath his bare feet, and the sun is still low on the horizon—casting everything in a golden haze. It’s the perfect morning. Quiet. Peaceful. Just the sound of the waves and the distant calls of seagulls. No worries. No Capitol. No war. Just the two of them.

You’re there beside him, standing at the water’s edge, the hem of your white dress fluttering in the wind. Your hair is tangled by the breeze, but you don’t mind. You never do. You’re smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that fills him with a warmth he can’t explain. The kind of smile that makes him think, This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

The sun catches the edge of your dress, the pale fabric dancing in the wind, and he can’t help but smile as he watches you. You’ve always had that way of moving, like the world was a little bit more beautiful when you were in it.

“You know,” you say, your voice light and teasing as you glance back at him, “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stand here. The waves keep pulling at my feet.”

Finnick chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer to you, the sand soft beneath his feet. He can hear the laughter in your voice, the sound that always brings him a sense of peace.

“You’re always complaining about the waves,” he says, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “But you never stop coming back to them.”

You tilt your head, looking out at the ocean with a faraway look in your eyes, the salt of the air catching on your lips. “I think the ocean speaks to me,” you murmur softly, almost as if the waves are the ones you’re talking to and not him. “It tells me things. Secrets no one else can hear.”

Finnick looks at you, his heart skipping a beat as he takes in the sincerity in your expression. You’ve always been like that, so deeply connected to the world around you. He wonders if you even realize how beautiful you are when you’re lost in your thoughts.

“Secrets?” he asks, a grin tugging at his lips. “What kind of secrets?”

You turn to face him fully now, your eyes sparkling with something he can’t quite place. The wind tugs at the edges of your dress, and for a moment, you look like you’re floating on air.

“The kind that make me feel like I belong here,” you say, your voice quiet but certain. “Like I belong with the ocean. With the sky. Like I’m part of something bigger than just... me.”

Finnick’s breath catches in his chest. The weight of your words settles over him like a quiet understanding, something deeper than just a passing moment. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly everything feels clearer. Like this moment is the one that’s been waiting for him all along.

He steps closer to you, his hand brushing against yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything. The world feels still. The sea. The sky. The sand beneath your feet. All of it is just... you. Just the two of you, lost in this moment, caught between time and space, with nothing else to worry about.

“You know,” Finnick says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper against the wind, “I don’t think I’ll ever hear the ocean the same way again. Not without thinking of you.”

You smile at him, that same soft, knowing smile that always made him feel like you held all the answers. “You’ll always hear it, Finnick. Even when we’re not here, when we’re not together. The ocean will always call your name.”

And then, as if by instinct, you reach for him. Your hand slides into his, fingers curling together with ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The waves crash at your feet, the sound so familiar it feels like home. You close your eyes for a moment, and he can’t help but pull you just a little closer, the warmth of your body against his, the salt of the sea lingering in the air.

Everything feels perfect. Unbreakable. Just for a moment, you are everything to him. The ocean. The sky. His entire world.

And in that instant, he knows with all his heart that he will never let you go.

***

The sound of the waves faded slowly, and suddenly the air in the room grows heavy once more. Finnick blinks, his vision blurring for a moment as the beach begins to slip away, replaced by the sterile white walls of the Recovery Wing.

His heart pounds in his chest as he comes back to the present, his fingers still trembling from the memory that lingers so clearly in his mind.

But it’s gone. It’s only a memory now.

He opens his eyes, and there you are—still lying in the same spot. The same hospital bed. The same quiet room.

And yet, somehow, he feels like he’s closer to you than he was before.

The memory lingers in Finnick’s chest like a weight he can’t shake off. The taste of salt on his lips, the feeling of your hand in his, the sound of your voice—soft and sure. All of it clings to him like an anchor, grounding him even when everything else feels adrift.

But as the last echoes of the waves fade away, Finnick’s heart aches with the knowledge that it’s just a memory. A moment in time that he can never fully reclaim.

He blinks a few times, the stark, sterile white walls of the Recovery Wing pulling him back into the present. The noise of the machines and the soft hum of the air vents return, and with them comes the crushing weight of everything he’s lost.

His fingers curl into fists around the rope in his lap, the knots still tight and perfect, but now they feel like shackles, tying him to the pain of the present.

You’re still there. Still lying in that bed, so close and yet so far away. His heart clenches, and for a moment, he wonders if the memory will ever be enough to bring you back to him.

He stands, his legs shaky as he moves towards your bed. His heart beats faster, thumping painfully against his ribs as he watches you, as he gets closer.

Your eyes are closed, but there’s a soft rise and fall to your chest. The air feels thick, heavy with the silence between you two. Finnick swallows hard, his throat tight with the words he can’t seem to say, the things he’s been holding onto for so long. He takes a shaky breath, forcing his hands to stay steady.

“I miss you,” he whispers softly, barely more than a breath. The words come unbidden, spilling out before he can stop them. “I miss you so much. I miss the way you looked at me, the way you smiled. I miss hearing you laugh.”

His fingers brush the edge of your blanket, but he doesn’t dare touch you. Not yet. Not until he knows if you’ll flinch away from him again.

“Please... I just need you to remember,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as the words catch in his throat. “I need you to come back. I can’t do this without you.”

The silence in the room feels suffocating, like it’s pressing in from all sides. He takes another step closer, but before he can say anything else, he hears it.

A soft sound. A faint shift from the bed.

His breath catches in his throat.

You stir, your eyelids fluttering, and for a moment, Finnick dares to hope.

And then, your eyes slowly open.

There’s a pause—just a beat—but it feels like eternity.

You blink up at him, and Finnick’s heart skips, his pulse racing as he watches you. For a second, just a second, he sees it. A flicker of recognition in your gaze. Something familiar, something so small, but so important.

He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t dare move, his whole world narrowing down to the look in your eyes.

You blink again, your brow furrowing as you take him in.

And then, softly, so softly, you whisper, “You’re still here.”

The world holds its breath.

The words aren’t enough to bring everything back. They aren’t the words he’s been waiting for, the ones that will bring you back to him completely. But they’re something. They’re a sign.

Finnick’s heart cracks open, but there’s something else, too—something that feels like hope. He leans forward, holding onto that thread with everything he has, because you’re still here. You remember him. You remember something.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice steadier now, stronger. “I’m right here. I'll always be right here.”

And this time, he doesn’t wait for you to respond. He just stays, watching you, holding onto that spark.

Finnick doesn’t leave right away.

He stays, even when the silence grows thick between you both. His heart still beats faster, the pulse in his ears louder than the quiet hum of the room. You’re still here. You spoke. You remembered something. Even if it wasn’t enough, it’s more than he had a few minutes ago.

But it isn’t enough.

Not yet.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. His legs ache from the stillness, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t dare. The small, fragile thread of hope that you’re still in there, somewhere, is enough to keep him tethered to the moment.

“Do you remember when we used to sit on the beach?” he says after a long while, his voice low, soft. It’s almost like he’s trying to speak to himself more than you, but he says it anyway. “You used to say the ocean called your name. You’d stand there with your feet in the water, your hands stretched out like you could catch the wind itself.”

He doesn’t know if you’re listening. He doesn’t know if you even care to hear the words. But he says them anyway, because they’re all he has.

“I still remember it,” he murmurs. “I remember the way the wind felt, the way the sun warmed your skin, the way you smiled when I asked you what the ocean was saying. I remember everything. I don’t care if you can’t yet. I’ll hold onto it for both of us.”

There’s a flicker in your eyes again. Maybe it’s just his wishful thinking, or maybe it’s the fading edge of some distant memory. But Finnick latches onto it, the small glimmer of hope growing brighter. It’s enough to make his heart ache and swell at the same time.

He leans forward, his hand reaching for the edge of your blanket, hovering there, but not touching. He doesn’t want to push you again. He’s learned that much.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

His fingers curl into the fabric, and for a moment, his mind drifts back to that day on the beach. The warmth of the sun, the sound of the waves. You, standing there like you could command the world with a single step.

It’s a memory he’ll never let go of. And as he watches you, as he waits for you to say something—anything—he realizes just how deep his feelings go. How deeply he’s willing to wait.

For you. For the person you used to be. For the person you’ll become again.

The silence stretches on, but it’s different now. It doesn’t feel suffocating. Not anymore. It’s a silence filled with possibility, with a fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—you’ll find your way back to him.

Finnick leans back in the chair, exhausted, but for the first time since he found you, he feels like he can breathe again. Even if it’s just a little bit.

And as he watches you, still so far away, he knows this is only the beginning. This is just the first step in what’s going to be a long, difficult road.

But he’ll walk it. He’ll walk it for you. And he won’t give up.

Not now. Not ever.

A/N: okay it's out everyone pls come back.

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd @amara-mars @lovemyself-m-k @goosy-goose @potao-o @womenkisser05 @arsonistlizard @iguanagwen @lover-rep-fanfic@tatumrileyslover  @kimarii-00 @shuri-my-love @saleyeniu @succulent-ruler6 @aphxdea @humongousrunawaytiger @herbal-tea-and-manga @1i1winter @echoingrainydays @technicallyspookymoon @smthabsolutelyunhinged @yeah-idk-either @moon-zoons @shutendoji22 @thatoneamericanblonde @syd649 @curryexpress @harrypotterlovers-things @wonubby @212-apricity @anyaslittlepeanut @momoriii-i @milfslover2 @pluto-plutonium @xmochiloverx @wowlani @eyantice @suneaterscape @hanjelia @winx333-blog @lisaoligy

if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

[the-autistic-vulcan]

Talking is the Best Medicine (Thunderbolts x Schizophrenic!GN!Reader Headcanons)

Request: heya 😈 soo like you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to btw! I would really like to see one with a schizophrenic teen reader with the thunderbolts. headcanons maybe? I don’t really mind, you can choose. Make sure to look after yourself 😋❤️ - Anonymous

Description: Being a member of the Thunderbolts and being diagnosed with Schizophrenia

a/n: as said previously, research was conducted and the utmost respect is given, reader's age is between 18 - 21, supportive fluff

gif credit: @unearthlydust, @like-sunshine-and-gunpowder

Discerning reality from the amalgamations of your brain had become more difficult as you got older - talking to people who were not there, misty or blurred memory or thinking, social detachment, upon other things

Those were just a few of the things that hindered you, thus you felt unworthy of becoming a legitimate part of the team, but they try their best to understand and help - even if it becomes difficult

Bucky knows a thing or two about hallucinations and blurred memory - he spent so much time in Hydra's 'care' that he sometimes can't discern reality from fake images

He knows he can't compare to what you're going through, but he tries to help by making sure you take any medication you are prescribed and even goes to your therapy appointments for extra support

Contrary to popular belief, Alexei actually knows how to deal with this sort of thing - not that he necessarily experienced it, but whilst in solitary confinement for years, it left him a lot of time to read - and with Yelena's help, the two of them offer a more familial support system

Alexei and Yelena read that common symptoms were being more susceptible to insomnia and social withdrawal - thus the two of them offer any company you may need

Whether it's company to go to sleep, or simply to socialize, the two of them try to communicate the worries that brew in them about you and your wellbeing

John and Bob are emergency contact - not for any particular reason - but Bucky thought it would be a good idea to pair the two of them up to help them bond better

But even if they can be absolute sass, they also take pride for caring for you, but respecting the days you can handle yourself

The two of them even enlist Ava's help sometimes in crisis situations

Sometimes, you suffer with acute psychosis, convinced that what you see in front of you is not real or too real to be fake

Bob pulls you away from the area to sit you on the couch to calm you

John struggles a bit with comfort, so he offers an empathetic hand to your shoulder, squeezing it to gently ground you as Bob does some of the heavy lifting

After the worst is over, Ava then offers to take over, phasing you with her to a quieter place in the tower to get yourself back to some normalcy

No matter the case, the severity or the withdrawal, the team offer some good and well needed support

Anything you need, the team would happily give it to you

A/N: Yall i am so sorry this is short, I have been so busy IRL that I completely forgot I had to publish this - enjoy!

Like, Comment and Reblog! Any ideas? Drop them in my inbox!

[solarstranger]

CHAPTER 1 | I HOPE YOU SEE (RIGHT THROUGH ME)

w.c. 1.2k

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (23), some cussing (it's not bakugou's internal monologue if there aren't any), suicide-related deaths (see series synopsis for more details), discussions of suicide, canon-typical descriptions of violence

a/n. welcome to another series by yours truly!!!! i know i still have that body swap one in the queue, and while i am planning on working on that, this series' premise just spoke to me and i was emboldened to write it as soon as i could. i'm writing this as i go, though, so the posting schedule is likely gonna be erratic, but i promise i'll try to write this consistently. anyway, i'd absolutely love to hear what you think throughout the process, so please don't be a stranger and talk to me!

links. masterlist, ao3

Somehow, he’s wound up in the emergency room of Musutafu’s highly renowned Central Hospital.

Which, if he had the energy left to really think about it, is not particularly an unusual occurrence. He’s been here—and other similar hospitals—enough to have a general blueprint of the corridors etched in his mind, as well as the basic rules they shared and protocols that were strictly followed. Stuff like how phone calls are prohibited, fatigued doctors specializing in emergency medicine are perpetually present, and how—for a place supposedly and rightfully dubbed with the ‘emergency’ title—the staff sure don’t seem to have a whole lot of sense of urgency.

Although he supposes he’d rather have that than be in a room teeming with frantic energy. Maybe they’re doing it on purpose, actually, for the sake of the patients who get rolled in.

Except right now, he was not a patient.

He was technically not a guardian, either, though the disheveled-looking middle-aged man blatantly staring at him from a few rows up front is most definitely thinking otherwise.

Well, then.

Acutely aware of the unwanted attention, Bakugou shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wincing ever so slightly when the connected metal chairs to his right creak loudly with the motion. It doesn’t help that he’s still in his hero clothes—although he’s aware there’s no point in mulling over it now; after all, he didn’t exactly have the time to do a costume change with all the shit that went down.

Not that he’s exactly sure what that ‘shit’ even was.

It all happened too fast.

One minute, he was walking down his regular patrol route down Shizuoka’s famous tallest bridge—cursing the unbearable summer heat and the dehydration-induced headaches that it brought with it; the next, he was jumping off of it.

He even boosted himself with his quirk to aid gravity in his free fall, but to no avail.

Your body had already collided with the ground by the time he could grab your wrist.

The moments that passed after that are even more of a blur now. He doesn’t know how he did it, but after what seemed like an eternity of merely staring at your limp, bloody body, Bakugou was able to pull out his phone and call 119. The medics arrived shortly after, maybe in a span of five minutes, but to him it felt like more.

It took everything within him not to just haul your body and propel you to the nearest hospital.

Because if someone died under his watch…

“Mr. Dynamight?”

Bakugou startles, looking up from where he was blankly staring at his intertwined, scarred hands. At the sight of a white coat-clad woman, the pro-hero immediately stands up, nodding, turning to face the brunette with his full attention.

“Hi,” the doctor greets, “It’s come to my understanding that you’re the one who called in regarding Patient—” she trails off, looking down at her clipboard to double-check, before saying your name in a question. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Bakugou rasps roughly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Uh, yes, doc.”

The doctor nods. “Were you on patrol when you found her?”

Close, the voice in Bakugou’s head retorts without missing a beat. I saw her fucking jump.

Instead of saying all that out loud, however, the ash-blonde only nods wordlessly.

The woman hums. “Okay, then. Well, her parents are still on the way here, and normally we’d let them know first, but given the nature of your involvement and your occupation, I might as well inform you.”

Instantly, Bakugou finds himself bracing for what’s next.

The doctor presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, shaking her head solemnly. “She didn’t make it.”

Dead on arrival.

You were dead on arrival.

At least, that’s what the doctors told him when he pressed them for more. He couldn’t tell if they were hesitant about divulging further information about you aside from the basics or just simply in the dark themselves, seeing as how they only had your wallet that they found on your person to go from. Either way, Bakugou decided it didn’t matter as soon as an older couple burst through the doors of the emergency room—a good half hour later—whom he immediately identified as your parents.

Needless to say, he hightailed it out of there.

The last thing he needed was to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news, or worse, be recognized as the reason why their daughter is currently lying lifeless in one of the hospital’s private rooms.

After that, he couldn’t remember much of his actions, only that he somehow decided to head to the agency. The entire flight down to his office, he stuck his good ear out for any signs of ringing from his phone, which surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—didn’t come.

Which makes sense.

He’s heard stories before. Exchanged in hushed whispers back in the UA dormitory, and uttered in low voices in the agencies he worked at as a sidekick. About how suicide cases in the country are criminally underreported—not just because of the stigma surrounding the act, but because the police allegedly make it a point to conceal such cases, away from the media’s prying eyes and before it gets blown out of proportion by the public.

Hakamada told him it was most likely to prevent the occurrence of suicide clusters, to which Bakugou scoffed instinctively, granting him a reprimanding look from his mentor.

But really, could anyone blame him?

The idea seemed stupid then.

If he killed himself for whatever reason, he sure didn’t want his death to be treated as some sort of curse, talked about only when people think no one’s watching.

There’s nothing more pitiful than fading away without leaving a single trace, after all.

But now, as he sits in the quiet dark of his agency’s office—the building silent if not for the gentle whirring of his air conditioner—Bakugou finds himself oddly grateful.

Because…

Because.

He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to face the press about what just happened.

He’s not sure how long he sat spaced out in his office, but by the time he’s inserting his lone copy of his key into the door knob, it’s already two hours past midnight, and the exhaustion from the day’s events has finally made itself known in the form of muscle aches and a throbbing migraine.

Bakugou doesn’t try to fight the sigh of relief that wracks his body the second he hears the lock click, his movements automatic as he pushes the door open with his side, left hand reaching out in the dark until it lands on and presses against the switch.

As if on cue, light floods the living room slash kitchen of Bakugou’s apartment unit, a sight so mundanely familiar that he doesn’t even blink at first.

Just—drags his aching feet towards the foyer where he toes off his sneakers and drops his duffel bag, which he swears he’ll collect the first thing tomorrow morning.

But then that’s when it happens.

Bakugou barely catches it—the movement at the corner of his eye—but he does.

And when he does—glance to look at it—he blanches.

Because sitting on his sofa is no other than a ghost.

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