#refuse to spend another second on the thing

[croquettish]

Okay but

This is just wishful thinking, but I hope that, in an eventual KCD3, you'd be able to romance Hans even if you didn't in the second game

If I remember correctly, Vávra mentioned that the romance scene happened then and there mainly because the situation was desperate. So I do wonder, if Henry chickened out last moment (for example romancing Hans but not going through it with the final scene) or was an oblivious mess (not romancing him at all) and considering Hans falls for Henry anyway, how would their relationship suffer from it?

Would Hans somehow "distance" himself and continue pining on his own with 0 hopes? Would there have to be another moment like Suchdol for it to happen?

Personally, I think the wedding might cause his claustrophobia to spark back a little and have him try to spend most of his time away from the castle and more with Henry/going on adventure. In that case, would that be less about the desperation of the moment and more about comfort? Would Hans be able to allow himself to try and have something with Henry?

Don't know if any of this makes sense I slept 4 hours and I'm currently functioning on pure willpower 🫡

Ah, Vávra... I have such mixed feelings on that man. That said, I do see where he's coming from and will grant him that this does make sense. I agree with him (said through clenched teeth) that this was absolutely how it needed to happen. It really is a now-or-never sort of thing.

So with that in mind, let's consider the possibilities you presented, as I do think those are the two interesting ones. There's the third option of him simply not being interested, but that's a moot point.

Except that... I think Hans would react the same way to that as he would to an oblivious Henry. He'd just forge on and pretend his feelings didn't exist. There's a good chance he wouldn't even manage to acknowledge them in himself to begin with. Remember, he comes off as a lot less resistant to the whole getting married thing in that instance compared to if the romance does happen.

As it's been said before, and as I argued in my post about Hans falling in love regardless, the romance is really just about Hans feeling comfortable confessing his feelings. Does Henry cultivate a space where Hans feels he can be open about things. With that in mind, I think a Henry that chickened out would really render the chance of it happening at all a second time next to nonexistent unless Henry initiated it himself. Hans can overthink himself into a pretzel any day of the week and even though he might have come to terms with his feelings as per his conquering his fear of his feelings, that doesn't mean that Henry has at that point provided him with enough proof to risk initiating anything himself.

I don't think it would be quite as dire as what would happen if Henry did walk out that door after Hans kisses him. That would truly, sincerely, fuck Hans up, and even there I would argue that Henry would have to be the one who would have to initiate anything.

Like, I'll be honest with you. Unless they actually get together, I think Hans will be pining for Henry forever no matter what happens. Even if there's no hope for his love, he's going to be in love with Henry no matter what.

I have to admit, my claustrophobia meta does complicate your ideas a bit there. Would his claustrophobia return... if Henry actively rejected him, maybe. In light of my meta, it would only return if he himself became unable to accept his feelings for Henry. And I don't think that unless he was rejected by Henry outright that that would happen. But the wedding does endanger his freedom, so I do see what you're saying, and I do think he'd enjoy, uh, getting away from that, but idk if it would necessarily mark a return of his claustrophobia. That said, what could be interesting is if he suddenly becomes more of a shut-in. Not wanting to lose the feelings he's suddenly become so attached to, he refuses to leave his room, and Henry has to seek him out there. To enter the space of queer refuge himself, so to speak, and to do so willingly to meet Hans where he's at.

As for what it would take for a second Suchdol to happen, that's a good question. I do think if they were in another life or death situation then Hans might find it in himself to try something again, but outside of that it would have to be Henry making a move. Recall that Suchdol had them in a state of, well, Hunger and Despair. Starving not only for food but for each other in the way that they're meant to be together. Add to that the threat of losing each other forever and you end up with the perfect cocktail to get us some gay love confessions. That's especially true for Hans, given that, by kissing Henry, he's actively putting him in so much more danger than he's putting himself. Another reason why it would be easier if Henry initiated.

So then, what might it require for Henry to initiate? Honestly, I think it depends on Hans' emotional state. If he's really devastated about the wedding and says just the right things to lead Henry to believe that he'd rather be with Henry, that might be enough. If Hans absconds somewhere with Henry and starts talking about how they should just run away, start a new life together somewhere else where no one knows them and where it could be just the two of them, together forever, that might also tip him off. Alcohol could also be a great conduit here tbh!!

ALL THAT SAID, I don't think that will really be a thing in KCD3. I think that while that would be unbelievably cool, it would also be unbelievably difficult to execute and would take an absurd amount of time for the devs. I think it'll be one or the other, either they're already together or they aren't. I want to say one is more likely than the other, but you never know.

[glafifo]

Oops!

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[moeblob]

Right's right. She does want to see it (but they refuse to tell her what it is because Right thinks it's best left a surprise).

[ozzgin]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader

Listen, I woke up in cold sweat at 4am with a vision: you and your stereotypically unavailable gamer boyfriend have moved into a new house. You find out very soon it's not as empty as you had assumed, but your worries fall on deaf ears. The tentacle monster lurking in dark corners just wants to make sure you're not lonely.

[Second Part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance (mildly NSFW)

You didn't notice anything strange at first. Maybe it was considering its prey. You'd found a cheap, old house available for rent, and your boyfriend couldn't refuse the extra space for his mancave.

Oh, you poor thing. It watched your lonely evenings, your empty bed at night, your futile attempts to spend more time with your beloved partner. It had originally planned to devour your souls and await the next foolish mortals to enter its realm, but seeing your pitiful state prompted a change of heart. Metaphorical heart, of course.

It started gradually: testing the waters, or what you'd call a courting attempt. Doors opening by themselves, disembodied eyes lovingly gazing at you from the nearby walls. Dark tendrils making their way out of the shadows, just to announce its presence.

"I think this place might be cursed", you told your boyfriend one evening. "I've been stalked by amorphous silhouettes of blight and terror, and they whisper ancient blasphemies to me at night." He let out a worried shout and slapped the desk. "That's cool, babe. I'm kind of losing right now, though, so perhaps give me a minute?"

One night you were awakened from your slumber by a warm touch sliding across your body. You smiled into your pillow as the cheeky hands made their way down, fondling your curves and hungrily searching for your sensitive areas. You let out a soft moan, enjoying the moment, until you heard your boyfriend yell from the other room. Your eyes shot open.

The hands lewdly groping your privates were, in fact, tentacles. Your first reaction was to gasp, but you were quickly silenced by another slippery appendage pressing against your lips. Shh, shh. Allow the creature to do its thing, dear. Surely enough, within minutes you were a drooling mess, holding onto the sheets for dear life.

"You've been in a good mood lately", you boyfriend remarks, idly scrolling on his phone and crunching on his breakfast cereal. You ponder if you should tell him you've been fucked relentlessly by a monstrous creature inhabiting your new home. You glance at the counter and smirk, remembering how you just had to wipe your wet mess from it a few hours ago. "Keep it that way, hun, I could get used to not being pestered every hour", the man jokes with a laugh.

Does it count as cheating if your affair partner isn't really human? Although, you have to wonder if you're still dating to begin with. From the corner of your eye, you can discern faint movement above the young man, a shadow looming menacingly. The eldritch monster would not hesitate to tear your poor boyfriend apart if he tried to mess with its belonging.

[nochepsicodelica]

"Doll," Toji calls, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your bodies remain bare after your love making session, your lower bodies still tangled up in the sheets.

"Toji," you respond, a lazy smile curling on your lips as he presses a couple more rapid, chaste kisses on the same spot. "What, baby?" You ask, your voice entirely soft on his ears.

"Love you," he murmurs. "I'm gonna crush you. Just let me... let me do this, first," he hums, pulling your body into his overly tight embrace. He's almost suffocating you, but you expected it, knowing how he gets after spending hours tangled up with you. "Aren't you gonna say it back?" He mumbles, his voice somewhat muffled by your hair.

A soft laugh is expelled as a breath through your nose. "Love you so much, my sweet, kind bear. And before you say anything, yes, you're still tough and scary to everyone else."

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar to your ears. You know him so well.

"What about you? Am I tough and scary to you?" He asks, planting another kiss on the top of your head, his lips curling when a twinkle of your laughter reaches his ears.

"You're very tough, as for the other thing... I can pretend to be scared if you want."

"Boo," he tests, his voice as calm and gentle as its been this whole time. There was no actual attempt to make your heart drop with fear, but seeing the way you kept your word of acting scared lured a soft chuckle out of him. You let out a dramatic gasp and you jolted, but really there isn't an ounce of fear in your body. If anything, you feel even more calm, knowing that you're in the arms of your safe space. You trust, wholeheartedly, that he will always be that for you.

"Did I scare you?" He asks, a lazy grin gracing his lips. His fingertips trace the invisible line of your spine, up and down, before his hand settles on your shoulder blade.

"Maybe a little bit," you mumble, leaning forward to leave a kiss on his collarbone. Your lips trail upward towards his neck, soft kisses on his warm skin and rosy blots blossoming in their wake.

"Keep kissing me like that, see what happens," he almost purrs, and you do keep kissing him like that, because you do want to see what happens. You press little butterfly kisses on his face—on his chin, his cheek, the tip of his nose. Everywhere but his lips.

"Last chance, pretty," he warns. You don't stop, though. Your lips continue to caress patches of his skin, leaving evidence behind, carelessly. You hum as you trace his face and the side of his neck all over again, and though time is ticking for Toji to give you the consequence for your actions, he doesn't want it to stop just yet, and every second that passes serves as more of a delay.

"My baby," you murmur softly, a barrage of kisses landing on the corner of his lips, after. "Love you sooo much."

And he snaps. The second his lips are on yours, he begins the process of taking all the kisses you "refused" to give him on the lips. You giggle when he flips both of you and settles between your legs. His hands glide over your sides, collecting your arms and bringing them up above your head.

"Ba--" you're interrupted by his continued, seemingly endless wave of kisses. "B--" you laugh at your inability to get the term of endearment out. One more time. "Bab--" Nope.

"I warned you, ba-by," he over-enunciates, mocking you. "But you wanted to find out, didn't you?" He murmurs against your lips. "You wanted to know what would happen, huh?"

He loves that your amusement never dies, even when you've been in this same room together for hours, now. Giggles and squeals flow freely, your hearty reactions to him returning your affection—doubling it.

"You didn't like my kisses?" You ask, unable to hold back a laugh when his lips graze along your jaw.

"Liked them a little too much... Can't get enough of you," he murmurs between wet little kisses on your cheek. "And I warned you, sweetness. Now, you're gonna get tired of me."

"Will not," you deny, as he nears your lips. His grip tightens around your wrists, luring a soft smile from you.

"Say it again," he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours.

"I'll never get tired of you," you say—a promise forged right before him. "'Cause I can't get enough of you either, baby," you respond, before welcoming the all consuming kisses he gives you. His grip does not loosen one bit throughout his mission to steal your breath. It's as if he's trying to keep you steady, unmoving, so he can take as much from your sweet lips as he wants. He takes kiss after kiss, like it's an endless fountain of affection, and you only prove it to be true when you push your lungs to their limits.

"I need you," he murmurs, something desperate and utterly debilitating in the low timbre of his voice. The hold he has on your wrists is finally released, returning the freedom of your hands' mobility.

"I'm right here," you assure, instantly making use of your hands by tenderly cupping his cheeks. "I'm yours," you vow.

"Yours," he returns, before picking up where you and him left off a little while ago.

Gentleness and intimacy conquered the bed and wrinkled sheets you both laid on, and the outside world was shut out, only able to reach you through moonlight.

[prlssprfctn]

Every time another joke about Batman/Bruce Wayne passes by me, I can't help but imagine that the whole rumour about these two dating was originally (and probably accidentally) created by Bruce himself.

Just imagine, a teen Bruce, still only starting with his vigilante career, makes a crucial mistake - he pays with his own credit card in front of people, while being Batman. A stupid, absolutely instinctive mistake, but in his defence he wasn't sleeping normally for a week, and had an open wound in his stomach that day, so. Whoops.

And then someone asks Bruce Wayne about it, in front of a thousand cameras. And he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

Reporter: So, mister Wayne, recently citizens had reported that they saw Batman paying for the damage in the city... with your credit card. Care to explain details behind this?

Bruce, smiling stupidly: Oh, he is my ex. I sometimes sponsor him.

The crowd: (goes wild)

Alfred, starting at the interview back in the Batcave: ...We are never going to get rid of this, are we?

And guess what? They don't!

Bruce thinks that with time passing, with his love interests switching and new rumours spawning in the world, they might forget about it. He was young, he was stupid - he fucked up, alright?

But decades pass. He has a whole football team of kids. Everyone still ship Bruce and Batman.

And when this stupid video accidentally gets resurfaced on the internet again, his family goes insane. They start creating even more stupid rumours on galas.

Reporter: Mister Wayne... For years now, the crowds are speculating... Who is exactly your mother, and where is she now?

Damian, sighing pitifully: My father and my mother don't enjoy contacting each other, sadly. My mom says that their relationship was just a rebound; father desperately tries to forget Batman... Still, to this day.

Bruce, gripping the glass of champagne: ...

Talia, watching this interview with Ra's: Now, that's my son right there.

Dick: Oh, why I was screaming at Batman in the middle of the street a few days ago? Oh, this bastard- I mean, this respectable vigilante, he dared to get in the argument with Bruce. He can't really leave him alone, really! They are so insane about each other... So toxic, but so, uh, captivating... But you know, Bruce! He has such a fragile heart...

Gotham: Aw-w, poor mister Wayne!

Bruce, sighing: Jesus Christ.

Tim, shaking his head to the camera: I hate Red Robin, really. Did you know that his existence is just a direct offence to my father? Yeah, actually, Batman took this kid under his wing with another man - I am not going to tell who - to make dad jealous. This is disgusting!

Jason, who returned from the death by pretending that all this time he was under the child protection system after becoming an accidental witness of the second Robin's death: Oh, yeah, it was tough... Poor kid exploded in front of my eyes! Reporter: But, mister Todd-Wayne, what were you doing in that warehouse?

Jason, wiping fake tears: They were like my divorced parents, you know... Batman and Bruce. Batman really tried to mend things with dad back then, and wanted me to like him... We just wanted to spend some time together with him, and that Robin kid... God, it was terrible... Batman refuses to contact me now. I miss my second dad...

Bruce, back in the Batcave, watching as Batman's reputation goes lower and lower: ........................... Alfred: Well, master Bruce... Bruce: Not a word. Al. Please.

[sparrows4bats]

Damian Wayne is actually pretty confident in romantic relationships in the comics. He flirts, he commits hard, and he adores his partners.

If he and Jon got together, it would be full throttle down the aisle. They are obsessed with each other. Damian is planning the wedding after the second date and calling his mom to get the traditional wedding rings out of storage.

The funny thing is that he forgot to tell Jon, and it's only after Damian refers to him as his intended or something (they get attacked by Talias men as a way to ascertain if Jon is good enough for her baby) that Jon realises they are even dating.

It hits him like a train. All the gifts, dinners, and physical affection mean Damian likes him back, Loves him back. Jon takes a breath, takes another, and goes with it.

He loves Damian, always has, in so many ways it is hard to imagine a world where they don't spend the rest of their lives together one way or another.

And God did Damian grow up to be pretty.

And as this all occurs to him as they stand over the bodies of unconscious Assassin's, in front of a satisfied Talia. He decides he is going to marry this ridiculous man.

And he has so much to catch up on.

He can't let Damian win at romance, he refuses. If they are going to do this Jon is going to shower Damian with all of the affection he has spent years holding back.

Thus commences Jon's mission of being the very best partner ever.

He learns Ma Kent's recipes, and then after he gets her number, Talias recipes from Damians childhood. He brings coffee when Damian is getting off shift at the hospital. He learns what makes Damian blush and stutter. He learns how to kiss him in a way that makes them both breathless. (He gets addicted to being able to incite reactions in Damian, making him melt under his hands or flush such pretty colours with names like darling, sweetheart, or pretty boy.)

He asks Talia, Bruce, and Dick for permission to marry Damian. They all have different reactions. (Talias smiles as she threatens him, Bruce quizzes him on his intentions, and Dick cries but still instils a fear so intense he now understands why Nightwing can handle the entire city of Bludhaven by himself)

He and Lois pick out the ring together. A pretty gold band with sapphire and emeralds.

He ties the ring onto Titus collar and waits for Damian outside the hospital with all of his co-workers filming. It has to be the most romantic proposal in history, and Damian cries happy tears. Even if he is upset, he couldn't officially ask Jon first. The real issue is this all happened within six weeks of dating. No one really noticed and thought they had been together for years at that point.

As a married couple, they are Gomez and Morticia levels of obsessed with each other but with more competitiveness.

[damselneedssaving]

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

[limerlove]

─── ·˚͙͘͡★ ❝ I KNOW SUNSHINE ❞

dykematch represents. exwife!abby x yearning!reader

sum. dr. anderson, a heartthrob to many, but at one point to you, she was only a broke college athlete with a soul that cared too much. now, she's your ex-wife that you just can't kick. an old friend's wedding brings you together. for one final time, can you finally bid the love of your life c'est la vie?

content warning. eighteen+, wc 10k. wedding!au, surgeon!abby, some college abby thrown in for fun, smut, strapsex, angst, fluff, grab your tissue babes.

here's my latest baby! on the real, i have been feeling very burned out in the writing community. especially tlou. but had to remind myself that writing can be fun when bitches aren't making it not so fun! this was honestly a very personal piece in some areas so, here's another chunk of my heart. hopefully i'll be back soon, mwah. and happy almost pride!

August, 2025. 

Greenery sprouts from around the bouquet, each vine hand-picked, every flower meticulously placed. An arrangement of lilies, pearly-white roses, and a sprinkle of tulips in your hand as you find the bride. The venue is something you wished didn’t make you think of your own. You kept reminding yourself today isn’t about you. 

Lola. 

Lola and Chris. 

You’d seen glimpses of her at the rehearsal dinner. Highlights  of blonde eclipsing your vision just for the moment but the sun seeping through the tall windows made its presence known instead. There was too much to do, too much to say to her, and none of it would come out right. 

What’s in the past is done. Right? 

You take a moment to take Lola in. After all, this is what it’s all about. True love. Never have you seen two people so perfect, standing the test of time. Through four years of college, and another four after, here she is. 

Ready to say forever in front of all her family and friends, their loved ones ready to synchronize the joyous cries in harmony. Lola and Chris. The love of their lives. 

They are the focus, until the last speech of the night, this is all you focus on. Even though Abby is a part of their wedding party. Desperately, you make an attempt to remain your composure when you’re walking down the aisle with Abby. You ignore the navy blue tie illuminating her eyes, or the arm she offers in silence as you wait for the wedding planner to give you your cue. 

There are thoughts. Pestering ones. Reminding you of four years ago, the two of you high on love, a wedding band around Abby’s finger, her hands barely able to stay off of you more than a second. When she used to look at you with unwavering devotion. 

Neither of you had been scorned by life yet. 

And you hoped Lola and Chris would be so lucky to never feel the burn. 

─── 

The second? The fourth? Wait, no, this has to be the third…right? 

In the echoes of your lonely chambers, party for two. A glass of whiskey and some sorrows to drown in. Locked in her admiring gaze, you watch as she dances with your five-year old niece. A gracious heart leads Abby to let the little bundle of joy  dance on top of her feet. 

There’s a twinkle, blinding as a new-born star, and it reminds you of what it feels like to be a constellation she chases. One fleeting star desperately attempts to connect to the closest neighbor twinkling in the midnight sky. Always wondering if the newest will shine as much as the last. 

Ellie will momentarily start making gagging noises to your left. Right on cue, she snaps her fingers in front of your face, bursting your fantasies. 

Reality is brutal. 

“How long?” Ellie questions you, ivy-green eyes watching you like a hawk. 

“Still the same — a year.” 

Then Abby’s laughing with your mom, leaning into her warmth. Even after Christmas passes, another thanksgiving drifts from the calendar, and you wonder if she’s alone. One too many Valentines you should be spending with her, you can’t help but wonder if things could be different. 

The girlfriend you refused to bring leaves a stain in your mouth, the fight the two of you had before, it’s all so fucking cliche. Another wasted relationship to forget the horror you’re living in. Another breakup you’ll pretend didn’t happen at the sake of your dignity. She can’t know you’re single, again. 

It’s too obvious to anyone who’s watching, divorced for three years, separated for four and it's only been a year since the last time you were together. A year since she’s been gone, radio silence engulfing you the second she left town. 

The well-renowned heart surgeon, Dr. Anderson is called all across the globe. Her two feet are never on the ground enough to call any place a home. Her speciality didn’t always have her chasing both ends of the globe, fleeing to where she’s needed at a moment notice. 

She was leagues above her peers and even her superiors. Abby running circles around them. Putting them in a continuous loop. Until she kept moving to the next big thing. Something had to give and it wasn’t her career. 

The final dagger in your cracking marriage was when she missed your anniversary for the second year in a row. Your birthday before that. And the wilted flowers you couldn’t bring yourself to discard months before that even. 

But neither of you were able to quit each other. Long after the ink dried with every dotted line signed and you still found a way to crawl into her sheets. There wasn’t anyone else who compared to her but you were still trying to find it. 

The moment you truly fall in love, when it’s undeniable and it consumes you, where you finally feel peace with their comfort surrounding every worry you’ve had. 

But maybe lightning only strikes once. A bolt of love with only her initials carved in by the magic of gods, each promise she’d broken forged into a blossom that ends — painfully does it linger — like a spring begging to kiss summer. 

“You’re breaking it tonight.” Ellie shakes her head. You can’t take your eyes off of Abby for more than one second. “Neither of you can help it.” 

“I have a girlfriend, Els.” A vicious burn chokes your throat as the whiskey burns and settles disparagingly in your stomach. The lie smothers you all the same.  “A smart, beautiful girlfriend.” 

“Listen, I love you. You know that but none of your relationships are ever going to work when you still look at Abby like this.” She finds it necessary to emphasize the bright light in a shadow of green. “All of these years and you’re still not over her.” Ellie swiveles in the bar stool to face you. “Plus, we both know she’s not as innocent as she looks.” 

There’s silence for a bit, downing the rest of your drink, hoping the burn coating your throat travels to your heart, dimensioning all hope beating for the woman you’ve never been able to shake. 

Everyone expects you to. Like it’s easy. As if you didn’t think vows are forever. Life has never been so unkind to you. You’re more fortunate than most. 

“Do you really need it explained?” 

“No.” You speak as if you’re wounded but all she did was point out the obvious. Abby is a glaring truth you tuck underneath your seat, the missing raspberry-chapstick in the bottom of your purse. A trinket. Better off hidden than searching for something that is no longer intact. 

“I can make this work. Abby doesn’t always have to be the person I run back to. I can move on and heal or whatever the fuck it is normal people do. I can do this.” It’s a mantra to convince yourself, but not even Ellie is convinced. 

Ellie smirks as Abby makes her way over to you but you’re too caught up in ordering another whiskey to stop yourself from doing something idiotic. A brainless action that would only bring your gratification for a moment, before your hands would be coated in your lovers’ blood the second it’s over. 

She’ll always be a phenomenon, the dime of a dozen. A bundle of your highest dreams wrapped in the warmest blanket. Fine lines deepening the apple of her cheeks, not to mention the wrinkles when she furrows those maddening eyebrows. There is no denying how much you’ve always loved her. 

You’re truly doomed. 

───

“Old fashioned, please.”

An open bar was the best decision of the night. Everyone was buzzing, congratulating the happy couple, nursing their favorite drink in hand. Everlasting love for the blessed ones or a vice of your choice for the insufferable. The ones who had already ventured down the aisle and couldn’t make it on the other side. 

It’s why you couldn’t stand the particularly young bartender eyeing up Abby like she’s a piece of meat. Before you never had felt the weed of jealousy wrap around your throat, suffocating the joy right out of you, but they might as well be thorns protruding through your sternum for every second her eyes linger on Abby.  

Silky locks of midnight-blue and hazel eyes taunt you as she stutters and drops the glass she’s been holding right in front of Abby. As of the mere sight of her warrants for precious glass to be broken. She just laughs it off as the woman who makes Abby’s drink blooms a deep shade of pink. 

“Let me guess…The Macallan?” Abby gestures to the glass of whiskey you’re nursing. 

“Maybe.” A glimmer in your eyes, tightly pursing your lips in attempts to keep at least one thing closed tonight. But she leans forward, her nose sniffing above the rim. 

With her eyes beaming up at you, blonde-eyelashes curling to kiss her sandy freckles, she smiles. A sparkle. Another flame so warm it matches the shade of blue in her eyes, cursing you with the love she once felt. Almost making you believe it could happen again. 

“That’s definitely Macallan. Your favorite. How could I ever forget?” Abby offers a question as her cologne isn’t so invasive, there’s space for you to breathe, but with her close you doubt there’s enough oxygen to spare. 

“It’s only because of New York. I’m not sure I could ever forget it.” 

“We went through, I don’t know—” Abby tries to recall, but you don’t need to be told. You’re fully aware of what happened. 

The first time Abby whisked you away on a spontaneous trip before life got so hectic. Labored gust of her minty-fresh breath kiss your neck as she sinks herself into your warmth, a blank canvas for her lips to mark. Abby does it quietly, the summer sun raining light on your silky skin, and she decides to shower you with more of her love.

Out of habit as if she’s said it a million times before. But it’s the first. Naively, she whispers those three little words. Lips of subtlety rest against your ear as they are released. A moment of confusion has you turning around, eyes squinting against the light of the sun, making you think twice if you heard her right. 

And you did. 

The memory suffocates, morphs into a dream, and then you find yourself lucky enough to barely remember it. A blatant lie, but if you believe it hard enough, it could be the truth. 

“Three bottles in one night and then you held my hair when I puked my guts five minutes later that morning and told me it made you love me even more.” Your face scrunches up and Abby knocks her shoulder with yours. 

“Do you remember later that night when you let me do that thing with my t—” 

“I’m still right here!” Childishly, Ellie throws her hands up on the hair before she takes another swing from her beer. 

“Williams, I sure have missed the shriek of your voice.” Abby leans over, throwing her arm over the backrest of your chair, making herself comfortable. 

As if no time has passed, the three of you slip into easy conversation. You wished for this. A glimpse into the life you once had. For a time, little moments just like these only existed in your dreams. Even when the two of you were still living under the same roof — in your cruel reality it still felt like a fantasy — one that was entirely too unattainable. 

It makes you think of when it all started. When life felt easier. 

───

The College Years: University of Seattle 

Ellie had been the first to set your sights on you, well, before Abby at the very least. Pining only ran so deep and your consistent rejection became a heavy cross for her to bear. Over your first semester, Ellie became a confidant, and her crush melted in friendship. 

She’s the first person you’d ever trusted with your harboring secret. A sophomore in college and you finally felt yourself settling in. Your first year, you only allowed yourself to drown in your studies. A strict regimen. The only real friend you did make was Ellie and only because she couldn’t land herself in your sheets. 

But regardless of how the situation had started, her presence in your life became concrete. A month into the semester of your second year, Ellie thinks it’s a great idea to start dragging you into parties. Like that’s the most obvious choice in the world. Yet, you’re still warming up to the idea. 

Cheap beer, frat boys trying to make their presence known to any girl who walks by, whatever pop song they deemed necessary to funnel them to the next raunchy beat. None of it really had ever been your scene. Ellie thrived in it when she chose to. When she didn’t feel like it, the two of you would silently read books in your insanely small dorm room. 

You agreed to go to one this week. Even if it pains every bone in your body. Ellie flips through the pages of a book you recommended to her as you emerge from the bathroom, practically done. For the past hour, you envied Ellie’s nonchalant red converse and navy-blue flannel attire. It must be nice to not have to do yourself up to the nines to feel comfortable. 

You craved it. 

For a moment, you contemplated an outfit change but then there was a disturbance at the door. A loud one, too. 

Ellie shrugs her shoulders as if to say — this is your dorm, not mine — and she’s right but it doesn’t make it any less nerve wracking. 

Maybe Dina has someone stopping by and she double booked? You take a moment to glance at her made bed before opening the door. 

“Lola, would you please—” The snarky blonde who is in the middle of an eye roll, stops in her tracks. Freckled and pale cheeks coated in a bashful crimson. “Oh, right, you’re not Lola.” 

“Am I supposed to be?” There’s a confidence in your tone, enough where Ellie puts her book down to watch. 

“It’s Chris’ girlfriend, she’s always going about me taking a long time to get—” The woman pauses realizing you have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. “And…….you don’t know Chris. Wow, really making an ass out of myself, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

Ellie laughs, a bit too loudly, and it’s enough to warrant her attention as she sneaks a peek into your dorm. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude on you and your girlfriend—” She sighs, hiding the bag she had in her hand behind her back. “Lola is probably just fucking with me and sent me the wrong room on purpose. She says I’m overly confident and I apparently need to be humbled, desperately. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, believe it or not.” 

“So, are you?” 

“Am I what?” She questions, a smirk etching its way into her full cheeks. A bright-glint in her eyes personified to tease you. 

“Overly-confident?”��

“Me? Never, sunshine.” As if she’s looking for a sign. 

You give yourself permission to look at her and there’s a lot to be confident about. Her staturing height, golden waves of blonde, piercing-blue eyes creating round edges around your soul. There’s a sincerity there. You wonder if she’s even aware of it. 

She looks simple enough, a white button down loose and opened, even slightly wrinkled. A pair of vintage denim shorts, a wash of pale-blue fitting loosely on her thighs with a graphic tee that brings out her eyes even more. 

She’s tan, clearly athletic, and definitely a flirt by the looks of it. The interaction is too overwhelming and she’s too warm. You don’t even know her name. Nor do you have any intention to. She’s terrifyingly self-assured, batting her blonde eyelashes at you as if she’s waiting for you to paint her golden. 

“Well, I hope you find Lola and Chris.” The beautiful woman in front of you, equally as muscular as you’ve seen from anyone on campus, blushes. But you’re too in your head to notice. “Have a good night—” 

“Abigail. But you can call me Abby.” 

The next couple weeks blend together. All of it is more or less the same. A string of classes you’re trying to keep up with, caffeine you’re pumping your body with, and a mysteriously confident girl who won’t leave your mind. 

Ellie waits until it’s been three weeks to torment you with it. You’re surprised she even found the patience. 

“You know who that girl was, right?” 

“What girl?” The two of you are walking back from the cafe, headed back to your dorm room before the both of you call it a night. Ellie insisted she make sure you get home safely which you appreciate. 

“Don’t give me that. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” 

To be fair, you did. But you didn’t want to make it obvious. 

“I’ve seen her around, yeah. I don’t know who she is and it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I’m going to see her again. She’s just someone who knocked on the wrong door.” 

“So, the captain of the rugby team, every lesbian’s dream girl is going around campus asking about you and you’re not going to even bite?” 

“What?” You take a beat, trying to process the information. “She is not—” 

Ellie shrugs her shoulders, as if it’s a fact you have to stomach. A truth that should be sweet to swallow. To you, it feels more than overwhelming. It’s an unbearable weight. The last thing you’ve ever wanted was attention. With Abby dialed into you, for whatever reason, is too much for you to carry. 

“Well tell her you’re my girlfriend. She already thinks so, there’s no harm in—” 

“She totally doesn’t.” 

Her response crosses you with confusion. “But why wouldn’t she when I never corrected her?” 

“Because she asked me and I said you weren’t.” Ellie mischievously smiles. 

You think about punching her in the lip, but decide against it. 

It's nearly two months before you see Abby again. For a while, you thought you would never have to see her again. The more you gave yourself time to think about it, the more of a distraction she felt. This is exactly what you had been so strictly against. 

You didn’t have time for that. A budding romance. No matter how tempting her pretty muscles and pink lips seem to be — it’s not like you’re even interested. She's just a jock with a pension for something she can’t have. It didn’t necessarily help that she wouldn’t stop asking Ellie about you. 

Every time, Els would come back to you with her eyes shimmering in a vibrant-green. A smile nearly revealing itself in the light. A new question about you, a new interest in something you like. Abby loves asking about you. Ellie makes sure you know it too. 

“If she’s so fond of me, why can’t she be bothered to talk to me?” 

“Because she would scare you off. You need time to warm up. Something where you don’t feel so much pressure.” 

The truth nips at her skin like the prickly ends of a cactus. Abby would scare her off. The popularity she carries is enough to make her run sixty miles in the other direction. Let alone everything else about her that makes you nervous. The first encounter was a hail-mary. In the comfort of your own room, there was an extension of yourself to latch onto. 

Outside of it, there was nothing warm and comforting, just cold heartless feins threatening to suck your discipline dry. 

“I hate that you know me so well.” 

“I know.” Ellie nudges your shoulder with hers. 

The local pub is quiet, you’re nursing a beer Ellie had been able to score with her fake id. Suddenly, the discussion of Abby being brought up made you question the size of this table. And before you could say a word, a couple of unnamed faces funneled in with the woman of the hour.

You wonder if the couple clinging onto each is Lola and Chris. Dina follows right behind them as she ends a phone call. 

“Ellie, you did not—” 

“Oh, I so did. You need to get fucked by a b—”

“Hi, Sunshine.” 

Abby’s voice tugs at your heart, so badly you have to physically put your hand over your chest. Lola and Chris introduce themselves as they delve into a conversation with Dina and Ellie, like they knew each other. 

Like everyone knows everyone but you. The whole night Abby is persistent. An open book, she wants to talk about anything. Everything. All of this seems to be so easy for her. A couple times, you find yourself getting distracted with her toned-arms, they’re even larger than Chris’ slimed arms. 

Abby asks you questions and involves you when she gets looped into conversation with Ellie or Lola. You like it when she always asks your opinion, giving you her undivided attention when others go off to the next topic. The golden signet ring on her pinky shines in the dually-light bar. Catching against the reflection of the mirror adjacent to the oak-stained wall. 

“You wanna pick a song? I think I might have some cash on me. Or some coins, something of currency.” Abby steps off the stool, lending you a hand even if it’s a short step for you, and you still take her guidance. 

“Uh, sure. I don’t see why not.” 

“Is that almost excitement I’m hearing, sunshine?” 

When your face sulks back into something moppy and annoyed, Abby laughs as bright as the sun. 

“C’mon, don’t let my optimism put you off. I’m not nearly as bright as I seem. You just have that effect on me.” She says what you’re thinking. Kiss her, run away, hit Ellie for making you painfully aware of the beautifully-golden girl who holds some type of affection for you. 

Abby stands behind you as you sift through the music on the jukebox. A collection of classics from the eighties and nineties. Even some lingering songs from the seventies have made its way. You’re not even paying attention, not really. You’re not sure if Abby wants to torture you, but she stand behind you, a fraction off to the side as she extends her arm across to the right, leaning into even more. 

“You pick. I can’t decide.” 

“Okay, but on one condition.” 

“Why do I have a feeling I’m not gonna like this.” Abby just smiles, whispering in your ear that you have nothing to worry about. 

“Just a dance, one song.” 

“Abby, you should know I—” 

“What? You don’t like girls?” You can tell she’s joking. The small joke even makes you laugh. The two of you both knew how much you’ve been ogling, not really letting her out of your sight, even if it’s for a minute long. 

“Abby.” You warned and then she dials back her flirting, telling you to go on, as she scrolls through the list of songs to choose from. 

“Go on, sunshine. Tell me the devastating news.” 

“I don’t date. I don’t want to. It’s not something I want to focus on.” Abby chooses a song before twirling you in her arms. It gives you no option but to latch onto her, arms thrown around her neck once the two of you settle into each other. 

“And how firm do you feel right now in that decision?” There’s no teasing, she’s genuinely asking as she holds you, in a bar full of staring people, she couldn’t care less. If you’re not careful, you might fall in love with her this very fateful second. 

“Pretty good.” You meet her eyes, as she inches forward, her chest pressed against yours and Abby leans her foreheads against yours. A breath full of mint kissing your luscious lips, a strawberry-balm coating them a deep tint of red. 

“And what about now?” She wants you to lean in. To give into the selfish devil on your shoulder, or the angelic soul whispering in your ear, whatever brings you closer to her. 

The song is over but the two of you haven’t even struck the first chord. 

───

You think of your almost first kiss with Abby. How deeply you felt for her even before you knew her as intimately as you do now. Even when the years apart sever you, the nerve endings binding you together barely holding on, you’ll always have that moment. 

An almost. It’s laughable how relevant all of those moments feel just as you are now. Almost a lifetime later. It makes you think of the life you once had, the one you never took for granted, but you soon would learn she would. 

Abby was never some dumb jock who was careless and reckless. There’s naivety that blooms in your youth, and somewhere along the way, you grow up. The leaves of your knowledge become weathered, the colors change, and suddenly what made you so green turns into a numbing-brown. Until you fall into something new. 

Even now, you still cling to the memories of her. The novel acts of love and the ones forgotten that made your blood run cold. 

Late nights watching your favorite horror movies while Abby cooks a dish she knows you love. Or when she stops on her way home to get you a bottle of your preferred white wine. The little things she used to do for you suddenly fell into acts of service that never happened until it was just you and the bottom of the bottle each night, wishing Abby was there with you. 

No one truly knew how this worked. How you and Abby are so amicable, so kind to one another after the divorce was finalized. It’s easier when the two of you are still in love, circumstances pulling the two of you in different directions but there’s still so much love. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed the cocky jock everyone fawned over.” Ellie jokes, “But truly, it’s good to see you. Even if it’s for these two crazy love birds. Lola and Chris, god she’s such a saint.” 

“If that ain’t the fucking truth.” Abby and Ellie ding their glasses together. 

It’s nice to see the two of them together but you know Ellie. She’s up before you have time to blink. She’s always been the biggest supporter for you and Abby. And she so badly wants the two of you to work. Whether the pressure feels good or it doesn’t, she places it there. 

The words she spoke to you junior year of college still ring in your ear. 

One day, I’m going to find the love Abby and you have. I want someone to look at me like that. So full of love. Of faith. Like there’s a testimony waiting to be written in her eyes. That’s how Abby looks at you. I want to believe love exists like that for everyone. Even for someone like me. I haven’t forgotten you rejected me by the way. 

Classic Ellie. 

Without so much as a word, she excuses herself when Dina pleads for a dance and she so freely gives it — you wish it could’ve been this easy for you. Like she believed it would be. 

A love full of faith and promise. Now you just had a badgered testimony. 

“Where is she?” Abby asks the moment Ellie is gone, it’s the first thing she wanted to ask but she waits until the two of you are alone. She won't say her name, not when she still feels the burn. The ache in her stomach when Iris hard launched the both of you online. 

“Home.” It stings more than Abby expects it too but she takes it on the chin. There's still silence as the two of you sit comfortably, leaning your head against her supportive shoulder. 

You cared for her. You hated that it felt good to see the jealousy rage in her eyes. For once, she didn’t hide what she felt behind her impenetrable mask, one that was built over time, but it was short lived. 

“I’m sorry, Abby. If I had known I would have never—I never would have gone there.” 

It all comes flooding back like ivory wine before it spoils into crimson. A year ago when it all blew up in your face. Even if you didn’t know Abby so well, an imbecile would know it’s why she disappeared. Never coming home after, ignoring your texts with a dryness you hadn’t experienced in years. 

If you could take it all back, you would. Abby tells you it’s fine but she forgives a lot when she loves you. It’s another slice to your heart; you’ll never stop bleeding. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” There’s a wall in front of her eyes, keeping you from knowing a thing. It hadn’t been much different when the two of you were married. Always so much to hide, very little room for you to be let in. 

You loved the girl who was an open book, somehow the both of you had lost her. 

“No, we don’t have to talk.” Abby smirks as she talks a sip of her drink. 

“You’re such a cheeky shit.” You nudge your knee against hers as you lean closer to her, thick and muscled thighs shifting towards you, sandwiching your legs between hers. “I guess some of us don’t really change.” 

“I’ve changed plenty—” Abby places her hand on your thigh, playing with the flimsy material of your dress, enjoying the slit in your dress exposing smooth skin in the beeline of her vision. 

“Yeah, totally.” 

“I have.” Dragging her fingers along your thigh as she tests the waters and she rises higher, rubbing soothing circles into your skin as she recites every inch of surface from memory. “A lot of things have changed for me recently.” 

“Like what?” You’re the definition of pathetic, fawning over her every word as if she’s the first to say each one. 

“Different things, my life, my um—” She pauses for a moment before she bites her lip, a heavy sigh leaving her lips but it’s one of relief. “My job.” 

There’s some disposition in your heart, how it feels to be lost back in a past memory. Eternally, a glimpse of your pleading meets a moment you keep under lock and key. 

But you don’t ask. Anxiously you gulp down the rest of your drink. You’re not a fan of how it burns but it’s better than giving into what she wants. Giving her the satisfaction of being enamoured with the possibility of her being home. It’s what you dreamed of four years ago. 

You wanted to believe the well has dried up — she’s too late. Even the idea planted in your mind sounds falsified. There’s an abundance of desperation threatening to make home, torturing the life out of you with the greediness rooted in fresh soil. 

It begs for a chance to blossom. 

“You can ask me. I won’t bite, promise.” 

With cheeks, rosing red like cherries, you wonder what else finds itself blossoming beneath the surface. 

You take the safer route. “What country are you going to this time?” The sorrow in your voice is palpable. 

Abby ignores you. 

“You know that green and white house in the countryside, the fields so open you could get lost in them, the one we always talked about. Do you remember it?” 

“Abby, I hope you have a point to all of this or perhaps you’re just feeling particularly cruel.” 

Of course you remember it. The amount of times you’ve come into town and passed by it. At one point, it’s what the both of you wanted until your needs and hers got lost in the shuffle. Two hearts of the same beat drifting from one another in tragic harmony. 

“I bought it. I’m flying to England to do one last surgery that my assistant already had scheduled last month and I’m coming home. Opening a private practice here. I’m done flying out. If patients want to see me, they can come here.” 

“W-What, um—” You stutter out, trying to think of a reasonable response, anything but kissing her or crying. It’s not fair. It’s not right. This is all you had wanted. 

Four years ago. 

─── 

April, 2024. 

“A-Abby, oh god—” 

She’s smirking like a goddamn idiot. All meat and muscle. The strong v-line that made you wanna slap it right off of her. No one should ever look this good. It’s such a punishment. A curse. Devil’s karma on a double-edge sword but somehow you’re eating both ends. 

“Mhm, that good? I know you’ve always been loud, baby, but you’re singing like a perfect angel.” Abby grunts as she thrust upwards, watching you squirm as your full-seated on the baby-blue strap she’s fucking you with. “Those pretty girls that keep posting you not enough?” 

“Are you jealous?” Lifting an eyebrow but she doesn’t respond. Thrusting into you at a slow pace, watching you slowly crumble before her haunting eyes, never straying for even a moment. 

“Jealous of what exactly? It’s not like they hold a fucking candle to me. I’ll snuff them out before they have a chance to light the match.” With a gentle hand, she guides you closer to her, your forehead pressed against hers, meeting her deep thrusts with a slow grind. 

Her coaxing arm wraps around your waist, tickling your spine as she does so, searing your lips to hers. It coats your entire body with a heat, blossoming at your heart before it spreads into every inch of your body. Laying waste to any part of you trying to go anywhere but here. 

“I’m not as easy as you think, Abby.” 

“Never said you were. For everyone else, I'm sure it’s very difficult…if you aren’t me.” Abby does the thing. Lips touching but despite the desire, she enjoys watching you chase. You want her, every piece of her. Each part she’s shown you, you cling onto it like a lifeline, hoping she’ll unravel another momentum for you to hold onto. 

Abby will leave and the time spent with you is all you have left. Trying to think of anything else, you slip into the role she wants you to play. It’s all you can do. 

“God, you’re so full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re kind of full of me at the moment.” Planting her feet on the bed she pushes a few thrusts that shut you up, gasping as your lips brush against her she doesn’t take the bare. 

Abby is perfectly content with watching you fall apart, a speciality she hasn’t had the opportunity of exercising while she’s been away. You fall into the crook in her neck, lips kissing at the exposed flesh as you take what she gives. 

“I know, babygirl, you love my cock too much to stay away. I can hear how wet you are for me. Singing to me with your pussy like the pretty angel you are.” Abby moans when your teeth sink in, sucking at the flesh until you’re satisfied with the marks you’re leaving behind. 

“Please— A-Abby, you love to talk so much shit, would you just make me come?” 

“Then work for it, baby.” That’s all it takes before you’re bouncing on her cock, riding as deep as Abby will allow. Lazily, she props herself on her elbows as she takes a look at the show. The double A’s on your left hip are still inked and Abby smooths her thumb over it. 

A smile she can’t help but show. 

“God, Abby would you just—” 

“Still a brat.” Abby chuckles, slapping your ass in the process which causes you to shudder. 

Leaning over you whisper in her ear, “So, you do remember a thing or two.” 

Abby flips you over, your head plush against her satin pillows, sinking your neck so you lay comfortably. Dildo still laying perfectly within you, as she smooths her calloused fingertips on your thighs, smoothing along the surface. 

A much more gentle touch than what you’ve been used to in the past year. You didn’t mind it to be fast, rough, even a little messy at times. You enjoyed it when it was with someone new. Thrived in the throes of a meaningless fuck, where a delicate hand wasn’t required. If you need to get off with no complications, it’s the best option. 

Abby was never just a quick fuck. It wasn’t how any of this started and when she needs a smidge of stress to relieve, she’s always been a woman to take her time. Wind you up so tight, her hand is the only release you’re willing to grab onto. A tidal wave she wants to bring to the shore until you’re paralyzed by her wave. 

“It seems like you need to be reminded of who you're with.” With a look of curiosity flourishing under the prosperity of spring, she spreads your legs far enough to make room for her build. 

You take a few heartbeats to check out her physique, which has only grown stronger since the last time you’ve seen her. High and mighty with toned shoulders that would put Hercules to utter shame, her six pack still fully in tack with freckles adorning every part of her body. 

Never would you grow tired of looking at her in all her glory, but that’s all anyone sees. The first time she opened up to you is the moment you fell in love with her. Maybe there’s more. You seem to lose track of them all. 

You’re the first to ever ask me anything about myself, you know? Most women just flirt with me, compliment my body, or they fuck me with their eyes first glance. Of course, it’s nice, but it’s hard feeling like I’m anything more than a body for them to use. Like that’s all I’m good for. 

I do believe you’re more than what other people reduce you to. I’m more interested in this amazing and kind brain of yours. Everything else is just a bonus. It’s a rarity to find someone as beautiful on the outside as they are on the inside. I think that’s what makes you so special, Abby. 

The moment flashes, a film rolling behind your eyes and you almost feel her words lace over skin as if you’re transported to the exact moment she said them. 

Not a soul sees the person that you see. They don’t see the curve of her smile when you call out her name. When she’s nervous, she’ll pull at the ends of her golden strands, threading at her split ends she so desperately needs to cut. 

Abby loves to read books, but she’ll cry right in front of you if you get a book she’s been eyeing but won’t buy for herself. Don’t have the time, it’s what she always used to say. The high demands of her career never allowed for such a thing. 

No hobbies, no life, and certainly no love. 

Memories transform into recent nightmares, the horrors of your insecurities bloom in the root of your mind, reminding you of all the ways you can’t be enough for her. On somber nights when your imagination is feeling particularly cruel, you have dreams of the nights you used to have. A simple dream where it doesn’t end in divorce and indifference.  

“Hey, are you okay?” Her soft voice breaks you of the self-captured spell you cursed yourself in. “What’s wrong?” 

This is the part you loathe and it’s almost enough to boil the blood in your veins. It’s not her fault she knows you like the back of her hand. One glance and she knows if you’re upset, gleefully happy, or steaming with jealousy. Abby can see it all. 

“M’good,” But you know the words won’t be enough. You know she’ll want a reason. It’s one you can’t freely give, even if it’s what she wants. “I missed you, that’s all.” 

And that much is true. The sun yearns for the moon, but the two are always destined to be apart. Her aspiration to be the best in her career is always being held over anything else held near and dear to Abby. You would never fault her for it, it’s why you served the divorce papers in silence — maybe it’s why she signed them without a second thought — abstinence is better than rejection. 

“I miss you, too. I always do.” Even if it’s selfish, Abby can’t help herself. 

You lose yourself in the tidal wave of affection, bound to be pulled by her light. A star that was never meant to be yours to begin with but you still couldn’t help but chase. 

A month? A couple weeks? Then she’ll be boarding a new flight, to a new state, country, or continent and she’ll forget all about you. All you need is a moment. One of self-sacrifice. The heart barely beating in your chest will chastise you for it later, but for now, you have this one night with her. 

A single night to pretend she’s still yours.  

Instead of telling her how much you don’t want her to go, or that you never should have filed for divorce, you allow your lips to melt into hers. You see an island of sapphire, an entire land of love blazing in her eyes, before you allow yourself to get lost in her touch. 

It’s when the scorch of the sun seems worth it. Any moment you’re close to her, feeling the abundance of devotion laced in her velvet tongue, whispering promises she never intends to keep. The potential of more rumbles beneath, waiting to catch her, but she’s always running off in the opposite direction. 

This is all you have. With salacious greed, you welcome it like the sin nestled in your heart. You feel her movements still, but you pull her closer, a soft plea falls from your lips reeks of desperation but you don’t have half a mind to care. 

“You know I’ll give you whatever you want but I’m not going to keep going unless you ask me to.” Abby whispers in the moonlight room. It’s so gentle, if you couldn’t help but look anywhere but her you might have missed it. 

“I-I’m fine, Abby. Really.” You promise her, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Her accusatory eyes dial in, squinting so loudly at you, “You’re about two seconds away from crying.” 

“It’s….the cock….it’s too much.” Trying to keep a flat face, you bite your lip, before the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“You’re still not a very good liar, baby.” Abby purrs. Her voice goes an octave lower than she needs it to. “It’s not the cock. I’ve fucked you with bigger, so why don’t you use your words and tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.” 

“Last time this happened, I cried for three days after you left and I made a promise I wouldn’t be here again and now I’m here and I know as soon as this ends you’ll forget this ever happened and go on with your amazing career and yet again I’ll be left in the dust to fend for myself and—” 

“Woah, baby, slow down. Alright? Take a deep breath and breathe. You’re getting yourself worked up, okay?” 

“But it’s the truth. You’re not even denying it.” You exasperate, groaning as you’ve overcomplicated what was supposed to be a fuck. Only a fuck. But it never is. Not when you’ll always be consumed by your love for her. Not when she’s everything you want. 

You couldn’t be just a meaningless one-night stand. For anyone else? You could. But not to the woman who you love beyond comprehension. 

Abby wrestles with herself. Contemplate her next words and you see the exact moment she gives into something you silently wish for. In only a language she understands. 

A silent wish to be granted — tell me how important I am to you too. 

She leans down, mirroring your position from earlier, with her scarred cheek pressed against your cheek as she delicately whispers, “I think about you every second of every day. I spend every minute missing this. Every hour apart I wish for this, being close to you, pretending things aren’t the way I’ve made them. But I can't change the past, so I can focus on making you feel good —  I’ll be yours forever even if you aren’t mine.” 

“Do you really mean that?” 

“Yes, I do.” Abby confesses to you, sealing her promise in her lips. 

Abby gives sweet pecks along your neck as she peppers your face with litters of love. Making her way back to your lips once again, searing her love until you feel every bit of it. Hoping it’s enough for you to hold onto. 

Abby groans as she starts to move her hips, and god do you take it so fucking well. Picking up right where the two of you left off, but this time you wrap your legs around her waist, allowing her to fuck you at a new angle. 

It’s then when she starts to pick up the pace, brutal hips snapping forward as she lets herself go. The power of her thrust sends the headboard fleeing to the wall. The worn out bed frame she won’t bother to replace creaks under the weight, threatening to snap. 

“No one is as sweet as you, can take my cock like you do. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” She spills all her secrets, the ones threatening to come out of her mouth all night but you still hear them. 

It’s getting her off just as much as it does for you. But she wants you there faster. With a sly of hand she applies pressure on your bundle of nerves, your swollen clit thumping from being touched by its owner, the only one who knew how to pull the string just right. 

A symphony Abby created; no one else stood a chance. 

She watches as you pull yourself closer to her, bringing her small tits against your chest, grabbing you by the hips, losing herself in each thrust. The whimpering slips, any effort to conceal gets pulled from the soft strokes to your clit. 

Tugging at her blonde strands as you pull her lips towards yours again as Abby fucks you as if it’s an art form. Clenching her stomach as she hears you aggressively getting louder, with each thrust there’s a line being drawn from you to her, forever cementing her dedication of vows already broken. 

“Abby, I’m—” 

“I know sweet girl, you can let go for me. I got you.” Abby whispers silently into the night as she gets you through it. The moment your body is convulsing around 

her, grabbing any part of her you can, she kisses you the moment you start to come. 

Always, she’s been one for the details. Paying attention to every little thing about you. Nonsense stories you half-expect her to listen to, never goes unnoticed by her. From remembering your mother’s favorite cake, to your favored choice of sour candy, or how you take your coffee in the morning — Abby pays attention to everything. 

It wasn’t enough she was the most charming woman you’ve ever met, she had to be an angel too. Even through the vicious fights, moments as sharp as a razor blade, she never seemed to leave a mark. Still, Abby was soft. Like a perfectly melted marshmallow in the fire pit, roasted around all the edges but she never seems to burn. 

She looks at you with a wondrous love, shattering-encompassing forever that never comes. One you’ll die waiting for it. 

Quickly you remove yourself from the bed, suddenly the sheet turns into hot lava, scorning you as she looks upon you with admiration. A love you can’t afford to keep any longer. 

“I have to go.” You find your top to be torn by Abby’s hands. 

Putting a pair of boxers on her body, she drifts into her closet, finding her favorite shirt before she helps guide it on your naked frame. 

“This was the last time.” Setting eyes on her, meticulous hand smoothing the cotton in hopes it might merge with your skin. A part of her potentially entangled with you, forever. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for either of us. Neither one of can seem to move on—” 

“I never wanted to move on or a divorce.” Abby confesses but it’s falling on deaf ears, you won’t meet her eyes as you look for the other boot gone missing. 

“Abby, you chose your career. I don’t blame you for it but you did. This will never work. You signed the papers without even fighting. You gave up and I’m not blaming you — I did too.” 

“But what if things changed? What if my job changed and I was here?” She’s desperate, clinging onto anything to make you stay. She wishes you had malice, screaming, even a slap to her stomach or thigh, a pinch to keep her from this ongoing nightmare. 

You kissed her sweetly, and there’s poison on your lips and she’s the only antidote. 

“We both know it never will. The world always needs you more. And I’m just—” Bitterly, her ignorance crunches like dead leaves under your boots. Walking you out the door, in what you hope will be the last. 

You can’t afford for this to happen again. Old habits seeping into you and she’s the most difficult one to kick. 

“But what if something changed?”

What if I changed? 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, sunshine?” The name wounds you. 

“Don’t do that.” You want to scream, punch a wall, wish for a different future than the one you were given. But your kindness seeps in. The faith of love you hold onto. “Not when it’s the only thing I want.” 

The only thing I need. It’s what you want to say but decide not to. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” 

“I know, Abs.” 

───

Present. 

Four years of being divorced, and neither of you knew how to operate without the other. Two souls extending to each other, in complete tangent with the other. Secretly thriving off the joined consciousness, Abby holds onto every piece of you she can. 

Even if the shards she shattered pierce through her hand, bleeding her dry of every ounce of blood, if it’s for you — the ends justify the ache. Not once has she wavered. Your warning was enough. Keeping her head under, Abby did what she thought was best. 

Surgery. Saving hearts. It’s the one thing she hadn’t failed at. Maybe she couldn’t save the two of you, but she could save the heart in her hands. The passion she felt when she sutured a heart, or teaching interns a new technique that would soon be named after her — there couldn’t be anything else like it. 

Not even you, the love she’ll never forget, could replicate the adrenaline coursing through her veins when Abby was in the operating room. For four years, without the worries of failing you again, she reached unseen heights. Paving the way for all cardio vascular surgeons. Not just for the women but for everyone who had passions just like hers. 

Even with all the accomplishments, the awards, the undeniable concrete ego built in the process, when she’s around you — every bit of her seems to fade — and you’re an angel with a freighting bright halo guiding her home. 

Abby’s been told that nothing would compare to playing god in an operating room, being able to do the impossible. The most inoperable of hearts would be placed in her trained hands, she would make water into wine, an otherwise dead organ would be brought to life because of her. 

All she could do was be the very best surgeon, save as many people as she can, and pretend her heart wasn’t on the other side of the country waiting for you to crave a taste of her again. 

Cruel-hearted with a god-complex, the modern medicine Messiah begs for you to love her again as you once did. Abby’s selfish enough to be bent on receiving what she had once. A steadfast love she had taken for granted once. There wouldn’t be a second. 

Love remains lingering in your eyes, it tries to flee when you get lost in her stormy-blue eyes, but you’ve always had a thing for chasing mayhem. Even if it’s the last thing you want to see, she can’t run away this time. 

“Why would you tell me this?” Scorning Abby as you down another drink the bartender leaves in front of you. “You know I’m in a relationship, you know this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to being happy again, why can’t you just leave me alone?” 

Another lie. But there’s too many to count. It’s the only stretched truth to separate her from you. 

“I-I wasn't, um, I was trying to—” There’s no sense, not when she sees the betrayal simmering in your eyes, begging for a logical explanation. She’s just not sure if she can find one. All she knows is you deserved better but this is all Abby can give. 

“Excuse me, Anderson.” She hears your platform heels ticking against the tile, nearly as angry as you must feel. For a second, she thinks about letting you be. Allowing you the space to forget this ever happened. This is what she does. Abby lets you go until you calm down, your love boiling down to complacency each time she drags you through the mud. 

For the first time, Abby wants to fight. She wants you to scream in her face, yell at her with devotion full of greed — begging for an ounce of deranged sentiment — but trying to build a relationship out of silence? She’ll end up failing again. So, when you’re almost too far, she chases after you. 

The elevator is just about to shut when Abby squeezes her fingers through the elevator, pushing her frame through as you look at her, tears threatening to make home, where they forever belong. A vow of heartache sworn as each tear tattoos your skin. 

“What are you doing?” You’re pissed. Beyond fucking pissed with your pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows pinching your eyes into a squint. Perfectly soft jaw clenches as you dig your heels into the carpet. The fibers are ripped with every subtle drag. 

“I’m fighting because I know as much as you want to be happy with her, you can’t. It’s why she’s not here with you tonight. It’s why no has stuck after me. It’s why I can’t date anyone that’s not you. And it’s why this has never really ended.” The scent you love so desperately overwhelms you as she steps close, leaving hardly any room for you to breathe. 

“You signed those divorce papers, you ended all of this.” 

“I made a mistake? Okay? I fucked up. I thought your life would be so much easier without me constantly putting you second in my life. I gave up on us and the most decent gift I thought I could give was giving you a better chance with someone else.” Abby relents, a half-apology being uttered and you're trying to process all of it. 

She deserves to be pushed away. You want nothing to do with her, but she starts kissing along your neck, the sweet spot behind your ear, dragging her tongue over sensitive skin before she leaves a mark you’ll have to explain. Abby’s always been fond of possession, and she can’t help herself when it comes to you, she knows just what to do. 

“I’m sorry.” Each time her lips drift to another spot along your neck, another apology is spilled. Every inch of your neck might as well be inked, her tenacious voracity met with the gloss of her tongue, edging you further into the grave she continues to dig. 

“This doesn’t make everything you did okay, Abby. You hurt me, left me rotting on a fucking shelf and now that you’re ready I’m supposed to drop my life for you? Give you everything I would’ve died waiting for?” Your words escape with brittle need, a crack threatening the dam to flood. 

“Give me nothing, give me everything, walk out this elevator and never speak to me again.” Abby presses forward, her freckled cheek pressed to yours, her sinful-sultry voice sweltering your body like summer in the middle of July. “Whatever you want, It’s yours. I’m only sorry it couldn’t be given to you sooner.” 

The elevator announces its arrival as you straighten out your dress and as you begin walking away Abby accepts her fate. For what feels like a lifetime, heaven engulfs her tenuous hands and without saying a word you maneuver her into your path. Pulling her by the end of her tie. 

Partnering with the silence as you open the door to your room, the door shutting behind Abby with a soft shutter. Abby stays glued to the door as you grab a glass of wine, filling it halfway before you sit on the edge of the bed, watching her squirm. 

“Is there another girl? Someone else I need to be worried about?” Abby shoves her hands deep in her pockets, her heel lightly tapping against the door. With a shake of her head, she dismisses the idea entirely. 

“C’mon, what’s her name? An intern, a colleague, a boss?” You keep pushing but she won’t budge. “You expect me to believe there has been no one?” 

With her cheeks flaring pink, the tips of her ears painted violet, you think it’s time to swallow your words. “You mean there’s only been—” 

“You.” Abby looks embarrassed, as if her skin is about to consume her alive. Rubbing the wedding band she has tattooed on her skin, in all four years she hadn’t bothered to cover it. Before setting the glass down, taking one final swing, mustering up the courage to give into her pouty-blue eyes. “Since college, I haven’t, uh, not with anyone else—” 

“You have women flirt with you all the time. You’re everyone’s fucking dream. There’s no goddamn way you haven’t had sex in a year.” 

“I only have one dream—” Abby steps forward, closing some of the distance between you. “I replay it over and over in my head when I’m alone.” 

“What does the Dr. Anderson dream about, huh? Enlighten me.” 

“The green house on Maple street.” Abby’s words cut deeper than you anticipate, your next breath trapped in your throat. “It’s not something cruel I’m using to taunt you with. It’s real. It’s yours but it could be ours. I’m four years too late, but I want to give you what I promised.” 

“What do you mean by mine?” 

Abby clears her throat, getting choked up as she paces in your room, her broad frame tensing as she tries to find a way to confess. A cloud of wonder swarms in her grey-blue eyes. 

“The deed for the house is in your name.” Immediately, you let the words sink in. Trying to rationalize it, trying to twist this into something else. There’s no way you’re hearing her correctly. She wouldn’t, right? 

“You bought our dream home for me?” Sheeply, Abby nods. The apple of her cheeks resemble a rose, sheepishly embarrassed. 

“My success, the life that I have, all of it is because you pushed me through med school. You wouldn’t give up on me even when I had given up on myself. I always wanted to do this for you. I always wanted to take care of you but I lost sight of what was important to me. I forgot why I even wanted to do this in the first place.” 

“Your dad.” You tried to smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You loved Jerry, he welcomed you in the family with open arms. But when he got sick, it changed Abby. Her work became her life when he didn’t get better. And soon, it’s all she became. 

“He would hate how much I fucked up everything with you. I just felt like it was the one thing I needed to still have him here with me. Like if I didn’t prioritize this—” 

“Then there would be nothing left.” You took the words right out of her mouth. 

“Look, I’m sorry I kissed you. Really, I shouldn’t have. You have a girlfriend. Someone who loves you and I won’t get in the middle of it. I’ve hurt you for so long. It makes me physically ill and I won’t do it anymore. I can’t. All I want is for you to be happy. That’s why I bought the house for you. It was always something I wanted to do for you. Regardless if we’re together or not.” 

Her pacing hadn’t stopped, she still kept moving but then nodded as she finished. This was her peace. She could move on. The both of you could move on. The ink had dried up long ago. You should move on. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Okay, I’m gonna go now.” Somehow, she transformed into the college student who knocked on your door. Confident but god, she was so unsure of herself and it still makes your heart beat a million times a minute. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” You turn away from her, “Not anymore.” 

You still expect her to leave, or make you look at her with tears in your eyes. You could cry a river for her and it still wouldn’t seem enough. You can’t face her. Not when one look will have you give in. The words left unsaid stain two hearts. 

I don’t have a girlfriend because I still love you. 

Like the anchor she’s always been, she wraps your frame in hers, holding you from behind. A faith of love. A testimony broken and healed by time and soothed with distance. 

There was so much you had to discuss, feelings you had to iron out fresh. Like the slightly wrinkled shirt she’d worn on the day you met. But on this day, you decided to have hope. That one day, you could climb the wall Abby built and restore your love in the vow you once sang in tune. 

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” But Abby sniffs out the smile. 

“I know, sunshine.” 

um. so yeah. that happened. i was trying to do a somewhat realistic ending without shredding some hearts......and i just love abby a little too much ♡

[wooobuddyletsgetnasty]

you’re married— but is it really a marriage if it’s sexless and loveless? stuck with a man that’ll touch the town easies but not you and in house backing the woods is not the way you thought your life would turn out. maybe you’re losing your mind— all alone and vulnerable at night, but sometimes, sometimes you swear there’s something whispering in the trees.

it’s only a matter of time before he comes.

remmick x reader

the first night something doesn’t feel quite right comes with your husband leaving with a quick kiss to your head— hushing the question of where he’s going quickly and firmly. he’ll be back before the morning.

he’s lying— he’ll come home before the sun gets it’s hottest, reeking of booze and cheap perfume.

it never changes.

you’ve perched in your beautiful bay window, large and wide and decorated the exact way you’d imagined it when you were young. it faces the woods off your back porch and provides you with the exact amount of happiness you need to be quiet about why you spend your nights alone.

your own little piece of heaven.

you’ve cracked the middle one, the weather finally changing from that wet heat to something less sweltering, less of a heat that leaves your nape wet when you sit too long. this heat is comforting, wrapping you up like a cozy blanket. you recline, bringing your knees up close. you take a deep breath of fresh air and try to tempt your mind to anything besides where your husband is.

that’s when it starts— so quiet you can’t even make out the words. you must be imagining it.

you’re used to whispers. quiet jabs about how you’re still childless because your womb must be filled with rot. whispers about how you must have never learned how to keep a man happy— that’s why your husband never stays home.

but these whispers feel different, comforting. it’s like a song that flutters in with the breeze. your eyes close, you could fall asleep— it’s the first real time you’ve felt anything but true lonely melancholy since your papa pawned you off like a cheap sow to the first man willing.

something in the woods breaks, likely a stick and your comfort leaves you instantly.

there’s something out there.

you hurry to your feet, pretty nightgown swaying in the breeze, and maybe you’re still just imagining things, but you swear just for a moment— there’s pinpricks, eyes.

and they’re too far from the ground to be an animal.

maybe your husband is right— you shouldn’t sit this close to the woods at night. you never know what beasts are outside.

and in the late morning, when your husband comes home, he asks you how your night was.

you smile as prettily as you can manage, despite feeling an awful pit in your stomach, and answer him with a lie, “ ‘s alright— the woods make me happy.”

————

it takes another three times of you being spooked away from your little piece of heaven before you’ve had enough.

you’re tougher than this. you take all the stares and whispers in town straight to your face— you can handle this woods nonsense all the same.

maybe you shouldn’t have gotten into your husband’s whiskey stash— but hell, he wasn’t here to stop you or the thing watching you from the trees.

your rye soaked brain thinks it’s brilliant— the smartest thing you’d ever thought of. you settle in to your perch right after the sun lowers all the way down, this time with all three windows wide open, and you fucking wait.

the almost there whispering starts first, like it always does. you still find that comforting, even through the haze of liquor in your brain. at the first creak, the first shift of the branches— you become more alert, heart thundering under the low cut of your nightgown.

but you won’t run. you refuse to.

it takes a second, but you see it. the eyes.

“it’s rude to stare y’know.”

you don’t expect a response, in fact, you’re sure whatever it is will scamper away from you, but instead you’re met with a tone matching yours, “not starin’ darlin’ — just passing through.”

you feel braver than you thought you would in the face of probably the most danger you’ve ever been in, “come closer into the light then, jus’ so I can watch you pass through.”

it, he, does.

he’s the epitome of a tall handsome stranger. he breeches the tree line and flanks your back porch, eyes never leaving yours. you should be scared, terrified— but by god— it has to be the whiskey.

he’s fucking gorgeous. short hair, neatly trimmed face, sleeves rolled up high enough you can see nothing but pale skin and delicious forearms. christ— you’re desperate for any interaction.

the light catches his eyes again and pulls you out of whatever trance he’s put you in, “your eyes always shine like that when you’re just passin’ by, mister?”

the sentence rolls off your tongue in the same way his does across his teeth, mouth pulling into a smug little grin, “can’t get nothin’ past you can I, sugar?” the name calling makes you a little fuzzy inside but you persist anyways, despite the voice whispering in your head it’s a terrible idea.

you press your knees to the cushion you usually sit on and lean partly out the window. maybe you’re stupid or maybe you’re fucking lonely, “you must be one of them beasts they say is in these woods then.”

“must be darlin’ — must be.”

“you not gonna come in here in the night and kill me are you?”

“nah— sweetie, can’t get in unless you invite me.”

————

you shouldn’t make friends with the monster in the woods. the smart part of you is aware of that.

but remmick is your only friend. he keeps you better company than your husband. better company that all those heifers in town that look down their nose at you for having a husband that doesn’t want you.

it takes a few nights and before you know it— you’re inside the window and he’s seated on your porch right outside. parallel, so you can see each other’s faces. it would almost be romantic if he wasn’t what he was.

“you the one rippin’ out all those peoples’ throats?”

you try not to seem scared, terrified as you look down at him from your roost.

“beasts get hungry, sugar.” that’s enough of an answer for you but still.. curiosity killed the cat, you in this situation, “just for blood? or for other stuff too?”

“there’s other things that interest me.” you try to pretend you don’t pick up on the pretense, the tone he’s using as he stares at your breasts through your nightgown.

“you’re droolin’ remmick.”

your voice is meek and the sudden urge to run takes over you— he’s a fucking predator and you goddamn know it.

but still, you remain, peering at him from the safety of your house, “do beasts get hungry for flesh, remmick?” this time, you hardly recognize yourself. it’s a tone you’d use in an attempt to get your husband to touch you, feather light and brimming with desire.

“yes.”

you stand, shaky on your own feet, like a baby fawn. if those women in town thought you were heinous now, you could only imagine what they’d think of what you were about to do.

slowly, from the other side of the window, remmick stands too. he’s imposing and you’re positive he can hear how quickly your pulse is thrumming in your throat, based solely off the red glint in his eyes, “show me darlin’ — show it to me.”

you close your eyes, hands inching to the hem of your nighty and with more sureness than you’ve ever had, you pull it over your head in one swift movement.

you keep your eyes tightly shut, fearing the creature outside would find you undesirable in the same way your husband would.

“open your eyes.”

you do, god you do— and you’re petrified. he’s all claws and teeth, all hunger and desire.

“you’re about the prettiest thing I’ve seen in this lifetime, honey.” he’s heaving, almost snarling into the nighttime.

“you won’t hurt me?” your hands relax from fists, standing back to your true height, leveling with him from the inside.

“even if I wanted to— can’t get in, you kno’ that.”

the next words shock even you, “what if I let you come in?”

the growl that comes after your words should send you fleeing, running away from your window but it doesn’t, “nah— still wouldn’t hurt you.”

“remmick— please come inside.”

he does, christ— he does.

[lezhuntrr]

current fantasy is a lesbian who needs some easy money and happens finding an up and coming woman owned, lgbt porn studio and applying for a part time gig right away, just to show up for her second interview and orientation to find out just about all her coworkers to be, all the stars, the staff, almost everyone is trans. it’s not like she has a problem with it, she’s not that kind of dyke, it’s just… surprising! there’s a part of her that feels like making whatever excuses she needs and turning tail, but she prides herself on being open minded, so she just swallows her pride, presses her thighs together, and smiles as she listens to her new manager explain her role here.

…and just like that little pit of fear in her stomach was telling her, they’re just hiring her for her cunt. literally; her, along with the other two cuntgirls on staff, will be working as fluffers and lube dispensers to feed their tops libidos and keep them raring to go for their busy scenes. if a girl starts getting distracted, bored, or anything else soft part way through, it’s on them to slip between the other entertainers when the cameras are off and gently, sweetly thicken them back up. “intercrucal and other outercourse is the standard,” her manager says, “… though whatever works, works. oral is common, hand stuff, a little light play, whatever. but in the interest of being totally clear, it’s the novelty of your cunt that’s gonna be doing the most work for you. our girls are very happily familiar with each other, but cis dyke pussy is the one thing they can’t give each other, so we rely on girls like you to spice things up for them. other than that, our tops have their own tastes, so do your best to pick up on those preferences over time, save yourself some effort.” shes shocked enough that she can’t even think of what to say or how to politely refuse, so she just sits there for a moment with her new boss smiling down at her before a little bundle of forms are pushed into her arms and she’s sent further in to shadow a coworker before she can change her mind.

…and things go simply, and well, if not embarrassingly. they’re shooting a gangbang today, so when they cut and take breaks while getting ready to block new shots, it’s between the new cuntgirl and her coworker to nurse and work their cocks. she’s hardly willing to do much at first, but watching the vet here kneeling beside her, easing someone deeper into her mouth while slapping another girls dick against her face helps make the decision easier. she reluctantly reaches out to feel at the other stars dicks as they joke with each other and break the ice asking about her, her hands slowly easing into awkward, inexperienced handjobs. she mumbles out brief introductions and tries not to blush harder when she feels them pulsing and firming up in her fingers, and spends the next two minutes jerking them off and answering questions about herself that get more and more invasive until they’re rock hard. she was able to get up and out of the shot again, for now; but they’d do this two more times before they were done for today. finally heading home, she’s still scandalized and unable to get comfortable in her seat; mentally, she was prepared to do a scene or two after getting introduced to a co star, so it wasn’t that much of a shock. but just getting used like that, feeling their desire to do more to do hot against her skin, the way their eyes rolled over her, appraising her like meat… something about it got under her skin and went somewhere. even so… the pay was good, she’s doing even less work than she thought she would, doesnt have to worry about videos of her online, and everyone was friendly, warm enough. so she decides to stick with it for now.

and while her girlfriend isn’t thrilled about it, she keeps coming back and picking up hours where she can over the next few weeks. she opens up bit by bit and gets to know everyone else, learn names, settle into her place in the social system. which makes it easier to cede ground and do more when the stars start getting needier. it’s letting a girl fuck your mouth once when she really needed to get back on set, and then getting talked into blowing all the other stars one by one so they don’t feel left out. she’s not surprised when they start getting handsy; soon she’s getting bent over and having her thighs fucked daily. most of the girls love to keep it close and intimate, so any clothes she keeps on get sweaty and full of dick smell. she brings a fresh set to change into afterwards, but the sweat sticks to her anyway, and her girlfriend can only imagine what shes up to when out of sight. their tension settles into an uneasy silence and she makes a habit of heading right for the shower after work. they stop having sex with their strap on, too; she doesn’t fully realize it, but it just doesn’t feel as comfortable without another’s heat anymore. she chalks it up to circumstances each time, but she just can’t get wet the same way for the toy anymore.

it’s her third month there when she caves and lets one of them fuck her. it happens casually, carelessly, not even on set, just taken by the moment with one of the studs she got to know first there. complaining about poor scripts one minute, then get groped into the couch the other. she’d practice her technique with the other cuntgirls or a star not on scene sometimes, but she knew this wasn’t that, and she kissed back anyway. she wanted this, needed somewhere for all that built up sexual frustration to go. getting left half used again and again built up into hunger that she was getting tired of ignoring. when she felt how hard she was, it was her who spread her legs, no guidance needed. when they were panting into each others mouths, skin on skin, wet against each other, it was her who begged to feel it inside. before she knew it she was blissed out in her besties arms, letting the fight get fucked out of her as she shivers and gets dumber with every inch that gets lovingly worked into her cunt. her heart raced and she knew she should stop, but all she could think of doing was wrapping her legs around her mates hips and bearing this a little longer. so close and so dumb. she can’t handle it, having a girl who’s always been chill, collected and professional enough with her completely lose it in her cunt. she cums first, and then a second time quick afterwards as her studs getting greedier and hungrier with her thrusts, holding her fast and grunting into her mouth. using her cunt to stroke herself up to finish. and then she’s hot inside and out and spilling down her thighs before she can think responsibly again. she’s respectful and sweet when cleaning up and at work next, but sooner or later the other girls start to get word, and then she’s spreading her legs and offering up her cunt on the reg. she puts up a bit of resistance, gives herself some time, but soon enough she relents and just starts getting passed around almost every time she’s at work. she doesn’t regret it, with how much it taught her about what she really wants, but she still doesn’t know how she’s gonna explain the positive pregnancy test to her girl. maybe she’s better off going single and focusing on work for a while…

[whosashan]

OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader

SYNOPSIS: You notice their distance, the subtle avoidance, and decide it’s time to confront them.

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Lately, you had noticed a shift—subtle at first, but impossible to ignore. He had grown distant. Plans that once came effortlessly were now met with half-hearted excuses, and more often than not, you found yourself alone, wondering what had changed.

At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe it was stress. But as the days stretched on, it became painfully clear—he was avoiding you.

And you had finally had enough.

Determination settled in your chest like a steady flame as you sought him out, your heart pounding with unspoken questions. Whatever was going on, you refused to let it linger in silence any longer.

Xavier

You knocked on your neighbor’s door.

Once. No answer. Twice. Silence.

By the third time, you were seconds away from kicking it down when, at last, the door creaked open.

Xavier stood there, disheveled—his light hair an untamed mess, eyes barely open, their usual sharpness dulled by sleep. He squinted at you, his brows furrowing in groggy confusion.

“Y/N?” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and low. “What are you doing here?”

There was something in his expression—surprise, yes, but beneath it, something else. Panic?

Your gaze hardened, arms crossing over your chest in silent declaration of your resolve. You weren’t here for small talk.

“I want answers, Xavier.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A tense silence settled between you. He shifted his weight, eyes darting away. The longer he hesitated, the deeper your suspicions grew.

And then, you noticed it—his cheeks. A soft flush of color dusted his skin. Was he blushing?

“I wasn't avoiding you,” he muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as though the motion would ground him. The question seemed to shake off the remnants of sleep, but it didn’t make him any more willing to meet your gaze.

“Don’t lie to me.” You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes. Your finger jabbed against his chest, and instinctively, he took a step back—giving you the perfect opportunity to slip past him and into his apartment.

“Suddenly, you’re always busy or conveniently not home everytime I want to spend time with you.” Your frustration bubbled over, arms flailing as you spoke. “I’m not stupid, Xavier.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe I have been avoiding you a little.” His voice was more controlled now, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

You took another step forward, closing the space between you. “Care to explain why?”

He still didn’t answer, lips parting as if he wanted to speak, yet no words came.

Your shoulders sagged, irritation giving way to something softer—concern. You sighed, tone gentler this time. “Xavier… if I did something to upset you—”

“No.” His reply was immediate, cutting off your words. “You didn’t do anything.”

He finally met your eyes, and the sincerity in his gaze made your breath hitch. “You’re… amazing. And I guess that’s the problem.”

Your pulse quickened.

“I’ve caught myself thinking about you more than I should. Feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling—not for a friend.” His voice was quieter now, laced with something unspoken, something fragile.

For once, it was you who was speechless.

Then, a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Xavier… is that a confession?”

His eyes flickered with something between exasperation and amusement as he shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny it.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His skin was warm, his grip hesitant but firm.

“Good thing you’ve been on my mind a lot, too.” Your voice was softer now, sincerity replacing the teasing edge.

But then, the memory of the past few days resurfaced, and you frowned, tightening your hold. “That still doesn’t mean you should’ve avoided me.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know… I’m sorry.” He tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you?”

“You better.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him like you never wanted to let go. You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your touch, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

He didn’t complain. Instead, he melted into you, arms circling around your waist, holding you just as tightly.

And just like that, the distance between you was gone.

Zayne

Of course, Zayne was never the overly affectionate type, but even then you could tell he was deliberately avoiding you.

At first, you chalked it up to his demanding schedule—after all, he was saving lives. But even that excuse couldn’t justify his abrupt change in behavior.

Whenever you did manage to catch him in passing, he kept conversations brief, his responses clipped and impersonal. The once effortless exchanges between you had turned into distant formalities, as though you were nothing more than another name on his patient roster.

And frankly, you’d had enough.

Determined, you made your way to his office, having learned from Grayson that Zayne was on break. You knocked sharply on his door, only to be met with a detached “Come in.”

As you stepped inside, you caught the briefest flicker of something in his expression—surprise? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual impassive demeanor.

“It’s not time for your monthly check-up yet,” he remarked, barely sparing you a glance as he returned his attention to his computer screen.

That made your blood boil. He was acting as if you were just another patient, as if the past weeks of tension between you didn’t exist.

“I’m not here for a check-up.” You sat down across from him, eyes fixed on his face, watching for any reaction. “I want to have lunch with you.”

His fingers paused momentarily over his keyboard before resuming their rhythm.

“Grayson told me you’re on break, so don’t even try to claim you’re busy.” You crossed your arms, already anticipating whatever excuse he was about to fabricate.

Zayne exhaled slowly, as if contemplating his next move.

“I need to prepare for surgery—”

“No, you don’t.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on his desk, dangerously close to his face.

“Tell me, Dr. Zayne… this isn’t how a gentleman treats a lady, is it?” Your voice took on a teasing lilt, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.

He sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding them back into place.

“You are no lady,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You are the devil incarnate.”

You laughed, the sound light and amused.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You dropped the playful tone, cutting straight to the point.

Zayne was silent for a long moment, then finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. With an air of finality, he stood from his chair, rounding the desk until he was standing directly in front of you.

“So, even after all my efforts, you still insist on tormenting me at work.” His voice was its usual measured calm, but there was something else beneath it, something unreadable.

“I suppose there’s no point in attempting to hide it any longer.” His gaze darkened, intense enough to send an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Avoiding you didn’t change anything. It didn’t stop my thoughts from straying to you, didn’t stop my eyes from seeking you out the moment you enter a room. You are peculiar, infuriatingly so… and yet, I find myself drawn to you in ways I cannot ignore.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, but you weren’t the only one affected. Though his face remained unreadable, the faintest hint of color dusted the tips of his ears.

“Do you…” You hesitated, swallowing the sudden nervousness rising in your throat. “Do you really feel that way about me?”

Zayne regarded you for a moment before giving a single, deliberate nod.

A slow smile crept onto your lips, the boldness you’d arrived with now tinged with a shy excitement. “Well then… how about we have lunch and talk about this?”

Something in his expression softened, and though he didn’t say it outright, his silence was answer enough.

Rafayel

There had always been a game between you and Rafayel—a never-ending dance of teasing and flirtation that neither of you ever seemed to tire of. It was effortless, a constant, something you had come to expect from him.

So when he suddenly became quiet, retreating from that familiar dynamic, it took you by surprise. It was unlike him—so unlike him. Instead of returning your playful remarks with an even more shamelessly flirtatious response, he simply looked away. Instead of seeking you out like he always had, he started keeping his distance. At first, you thought maybe he had met someone, that perhaps the easy banter had lost its charm for him. But then he didn’t just stop flirting—he started avoiding you altogether.

That was what finally pushed you to action.

The party was buzzing with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne. The warm glow of string lights cast flickering shadows across the walls, but you only had eyes for one person—the man who had been actively dodging you. Fueled by a mix of frustration and liquid courage, you found him lingering near the balcony, his back turned to you. Without hesitation, you strode over and cornered him against the wall, planting both hands beside him, effectively caging him in.

"Tell me, Raf," you demanded, voice slightly slurred but unwavering. "What have I done to make you avoid me?"

He blinked, clearly startled by your sudden boldness. For a moment, he was speechless, his gaze flickering across your face as if searching for something. Then, in a desperate attempt to regain his composure, he let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, cutie," he drawled, tilting his head with feigned nonchalance, "why would you think I’m avoiding you?"

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him weasel his way out of this. "Is it because you met someone?" you pressed, frustration laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability. "You don’t have to avoid me, Raf. We don’t have to ‘joke around’ anymore, just… don’t act like I don’t exist."

The words felt heavier as they left your mouth, laced with an ache you hadn't meant to reveal.

Rafayel’s smirk faded. A quiet sigh escaped him before he reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced by something softer—something real.

"You really are dense," he murmured, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. "I tried to put space between us because it stopped being just flirting for me. It wasn’t just a game anymore." His voice was quieter now, steadier. "I was falling for you."

Your breath hitched. For a moment, all you could do was stare, his words settling over you, sinking in, unraveling everything you had assumed.

And then you acted on instinct.

Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it said everything—everything you hadn't been able to say before. When you pulled away, his expression was unreadable for half a second, and then a slow, almost disbelieving smile curved his lips.

"You’re a big, big dummy," you murmured, grinning up at him, finally feeling like you had him back.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

Sylus

Oh, you were furious.

You had always known the kind of man Sylus was—disappearing without a word, leaving messages unanswered, slipping in and out of your life as if bound by no one’s rules but his own. But never, not once, had his absence stretched beyond two days.

Now, an entire week had passed.

You had called, concern gnawing at your chest, only to be met with silence. But when you saw the twins posting nonchalantly on moments, realization settled over you like a cold weight.

You were being ignored.

And you hated how much it affected you.

Was his absence truly taking such a toll on you? Was the lack of his attention enough to make your world feel unsteady? The thought alone was infuriating.

Enough was enough.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you were already standing in front of his house, storming inside like you belonged there, your every step heavy with emotion.

"Where’s Sylus?" you demanded the moment you entered the kitchen, finding Luke and Kieran lost in quiet laughter over some inside joke.

They startled at your sudden entrance, but it was the scowl on your face that wiped the amusement from their expressions. Without hesitation, they told you exactly where to find their boss.

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to Sylus’ study swung open, revealing him lounging in a chair, a glass of red wine in hand, his robe—also red, because of course it was—hanging loosely off his frame, exposing far too much skin. The dim lighting cast golden shadows across the sharp angles of his face, only adding to the effortless air of danger that always seemed to follow him.

But you refused to be distracted.

"You moron," you spat, striding toward him.

Sylus arched a dark brow, his lips curling in amusement.

"It’s wonderful to see you too, sweet thing," he drawled, his voice smooth and indulgent, like honeyed wine. He took another unbothered sip.

The nonchalance of it all only fueled your anger. You grabbed the glass from his hand and set it down—none too gently—on the nearby table.

"Don’t ‘sweet thing’ me right now. I thought you were dead!" Your voice wavered between frustration and something dangerously close to hurt.

He exhaled a soft chuckle, entirely unfazed. "Is it my fault you assume I can be taken down so easily?" His tone was rich with amusement, a teasing lilt behind every syllable.

"Oh, you’re about to be taken down if you don’t start explaining yourself," you shot back, eyes burning with a challenge.

That, at least, seemed to amuse him less.

"Explain what, exactly?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, though his gaze remained sharp. "Be specific, darling."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Explain why you’ve been ignoring me all week."

Silence.

It lasted only a moment, but in that pause, something in the air shifted.

When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge. "What do you expect me to say? That every time I was near you, I was overwhelmed by emotions I have no business feeling? That you make me reckless? That I—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "I shouldn’t let myself feel this way. It makes me weak."

Your breath hitched.

His voice, once laced with quiet amusement, now carried something else entirely—something raw, something unguarded.

"And now," he continued, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less intense, "I’ve said it out loud. There’s no going back. You have the upper hand, sweet thing. You’ve wrapped me around your little finger."

His proximity made heat rise to your cheeks, but you held your ground.

"So, what now?" His voice was softer now, laced with the barest hint of vulnerability. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

You glanced away, unsure of how to answer, but he was quick to lift your chin with a single finger, forcing your eyes to meet his.

There, in the depths of his gaze, was something undeniable—something entirely, devastatingly real.

"Instead of a weakness," you murmured, your hand covering his, "why not let it be your strength?"

For a moment, Sylus said nothing. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

And for the first time in his life, love didn’t feel like a liability. It felt like power.

Caleb

Your normally talkative, bubbly best friend had become a shadow of himself—distant, reserved, and frustratingly unreadable.

At first, you tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that maybe he just needed space. Everyone had their moments, after all. But when he started canceling plans—your plans—that was what truly hurt. He shut you out without explanation, leaving you to wonder what had changed.

And you hated not knowing.

So when you finally managed to get him alone, seated beside you on the couch in the familiar comfort of your living room, you weren’t about to waste the opportunity. You wanted answers, and this time, you weren’t leaving without them.

The air was thick with unspoken words as you turned to face him. The dim glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. He had been unusually quiet all evening, and you had reached your limit.

"What’s with the long face, Caleb?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, laced with quiet concern. "Tell me what’s wrong."

Your eyes searched his, willing him to let you in. His moods always affected you, but this… this silence was unbearable.

Caleb looked momentarily caught off guard, as if he hadn’t expected you to confront him so directly. He parted his lips to speak—probably to brush it off, to tell you it was nothing—but then he hesitated.

And instead of words, he took your hand.

Gently, he pressed your palm against his chest, right over his heart. You could feel it, the rapid beat beneath your fingertips.

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've been so distant lately…"

His grip on your hand tightened slightly. "Pipsqueak," he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue with quiet fondness. "You could never upset me."

There was something unreadable in his gaze—something raw.

"I've just been… confused," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words aloud.

"Confused about what?" You instinctively moved closer, barely noticing the way your knees touched.

Caleb exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It’s becoming harder to hide," he finally said. "To pretend I don’t feel something I’ve been trying to ignore for far longer than I should have."

Then, in a move so tender it sent a shiver down your spine, he lifted your hand to his cheek, closing his eyes for just a moment as he nuzzled against your palm.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Caleb…" Your voice wavered, warmth creeping up your face. His touch was intoxicating, his puppy-eyed gaze making your heart weak. "What are you saying?"

His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if the answer had been obvious all along.

"What I’m saying," he murmured, eyes locked onto yours, "is that I’m hopelessly in love with you."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest like sunlight breaking through a storm.

And in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

You wrapped your arms tightly around Caleb, burying your face against his shoulder—partly to conceal the heat rising to your cheeks, partly to soak in the warmth of his embrace. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips felt grounding, reassuring, like an unspoken promise.

In that moment, you felt whole. As if a missing piece you hadn't even realized was absent had finally fallen into place, completing a puzzle you hadn't known you were solving.

[cosmopretty]

꣑୧ What happens when class 1A finds out about you— Katsuki Bakugo’s secret girlfriend that no one knew about

Today was the one day class 1A had the whole day off, not a single class all day since most of them passed the Hero License Exam. The class well mostly Mina and Uraraka planned a whole day trip to go to the mall and the park, mostly everyone was going besides the one and only Katsuki Bakugo.

Not only was he disappointed after he failed the test, but he hadn’t seen his girlfriend in weeks because of training. So today was his day off to spend with you and only you.

———

“Come on Bakubro the whole class is going it’s gonna be so manly” Kirishima exclaims his arm slinging around Bakugo’s shoulder, trying to convince the angry blonde to come with them today. Bakugo shoves him off growling something no one could understand under his breath.

The whole class watches as the explosive boy walks out the door to leave, slamming it on his way out. Kirishima scratches the back of his neck “Well guess we should leave soon guys” he says after a few seconds of awkward silence.

———

You stand waiting at the gates of UA for your boyfriend until a pair of arms circle around your waist “Hey” Bakugo grumbles his head falling to your neck.

A smile adorns your lips “Hi baby” you whisper moving your head to the right and kissing his cheek. He gets up slightly and starts leading you down the street his arm around your waist. You tilt you head looking up at him for a moment the fall breeze flowing around you both “Soooo where we going baby?” you ask him while admiring his features.

His eyes turn to look at you “I was thinking we could go to my house, the hag wants us over or something” he scoffs before continuing “We could watch some movies in my room, then go to the park I don’t know” he mumbles his eyes refusing to make eye contact with you.

The Katsuki Bakugo being romantic was not something you see everyday but it was sweet so you choose not to tease him about it. You smile turning away from him to watch some birds fly with one another “That sweet Suki, I’m excited I miss your mom” you tell him your eyes not looking at him but you feel how he squeezes you closer to him.

The walk to his house went by quickly and soon enough the two of you were eating lunch with his parents. Bakugo was being well Bakugo and arguing over everything with his mom, even going as far to argue over how spicy the food was. You couldn’t help yourself but laugh at the two of them it was like a copy paste of one another.

After lunch both you and Bakugo went up to his room to watch some new scary move that came out. That didn’t last long because your attention span was not strong enough to just focus on the movie in-front of you both.

Climbing on top of the blonde boy you straddle his waist blocking his view of the movie. Your hands come up to hold his shoulders “M bored Suki, entertain me” you whine your head falling into his neck leaving small light kisses all over. He groans his head falling back into the pillows to give you more access.

“Needy little thing aren’t you” he says his hands grabbing to hold your hips pulling you impossibly closer to him. You bite down on his neck lightly causing him to groan once more. The heat between your bodies grows as you kiss down his neck pulling down his shirt to reach more places in his neck.

His hand slides into your hair and pulls you back hard, but not enough to hurt you for real “Not the time baby, my parents are in the next room” he tells you slightly out of breathe.

You pout “Fine but that doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you” he scoffs at your words shaking his head. Before he can speak your lips are on his hungrily. He kisses back almost immediately his hands squeezing your hips, one gliding up your body to hold your neck. His lips fit yours perfectly like they were made just specifically for you.

The two of you made out for almost a hour just kissing each other, everywhere you could before getting tired. The two of you ended up falling asleep tired from the food, the movie and the neediness between you two..

Hours pass before Bakugo wakes up rubbing his eyes before looking down at you on his chest. He smiles, a real smile he doesn’t show people his hand coming to rub your back slowly waking you up from your slumber. He waited a few minutes patiently before getting tired of waiting and got up with you in his arms. Looking down at you for a moment he laughs throwing you down on the bed watching as you gasp landing down on your stomach.

“WHAT THE HELL?” You squeal staring wide eyed at the boy who was holding himself up by the wall laughing at you. Groaning you throw a pillow at him before getting up and fixing your clothes that you fell asleep in. Still laughing Bakugo throws your shoes towards you, catching them with a glare on your face you growl “Your mean ya know that Bakugo” his laughter stops immediately at the use of his last name coming out of your mouth.

Katsuki walks towards you slowly “The hell did you just call ya damn lazy nerd” he growls out at you. He stops right in front of you his arms crossed across his chest “Huh you gonna speak on you gone mute?” he snaps.

You look up at him “Sorry I ment bitch” you blurt out before your eyes widen. Before he can even comprehend what you just said you’re running out the door shoes in hand yelling a quirk bye to his parents before rushing out the door. He chases you, hot on your heel as you run towards the park near his house.

Bakugo jumps on you, taking you both to ground him on top of you “Think you can run away? I’m gonna be the number one hero you can’t out run me even in your dreams” he growls his faces inches away from you. Air catches in your throat as you breathe heavily looking up at your boyfriend with a smile on your face.

Grabbing his face with your hands you laugh “I love getting you all angry” you admit to him as he gets off you, holding out a hand to pull you up.

“Tch I could never be mad at you-“ his words stop as he sees his class sitting on benched staring at you two wide eyed, mouths agape.

You follow his eyes to see the class and you happily walk away from him to go rush up to Mins. She squeaks hugging your tightly “I MISSED YOU BOO” she yells spinning you around as Bakugo walks over confused to see you hugging some extra in his class.

Kirishima looks at the blonde smirking “So this is why you didn’t wanna hangout with us” he laughs as Denkis eyes nearly bulge out of his head “HOW THE HELL DID YOU PULL A GIRL THIS BEAUTIFUL” he shrieks. You pull away from Mina and walk towards your boyfriend to go hug his arm.

He looks at you then at Mina then back at you “Why the hell you hugging Pinky?” he asks jealousy bubbling in his chest. He didn’t want anyone but him to be touching you.

“Oh me and Mina met when I was waiting for you outside of school a while ago, she said I had pretty eyes and I liked her hair and we started to hangout and texting sometimes we became friends” You tell him happily as Mina nods her head “Don’t worry I didn’t tell anyone you guys were together- well the class all knows now anyways” she says giggling.

Bakugo groans and walks away going back home as you let go of his arm. You smile sheepishly at his classmates “Nice meeting you all hopefully I can again soon— bye Mina” you say smiling before turning spring and running to catch up with Katsuki.

The class all looks at the two of you leaving in shock, especially when Bakugo wraps his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer to him.

“That’s- how- are you kidding me! No far Bakugo gets a girl that nice and pretty and that body oh god that-“ Before Mineta can finish his sentence Mina slaps the back of his head “Shut up” she tells him.

The next day the entire class couldn’t stop talking about you.

Authors Note:

SO I POSTED THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I LOVED IT SO PLEASE SEND IN SOME MORE

[floweycidal]

deltarune chapter 3 + 4 spoilers under the cut!!

if susie wants to be a box, she will.

the universe can scribble down all the tragic endings it likes. destiny can draft all the plans it pleases.

but if there's a spot next to susie where you belong, that's where you're going to be. prophecy be damned.

susie's never been one to confine herself to prescribed roles.

you really think she’s gonna start now?

doesn't matter who’s doing the talking - teacher, tyrant, time itself. if the call is for unquestioned submission, she’s already halfway out the door.

she can’t burn the pages, can’t erase the words or scrub out the subtext.

but she can drag her heels across every sacred line. love so fiercely the glass begins to fog. care so loudly the plot forgets its course.

the ending may be scheduled. might already be rounding the corner, actually. 

still, i believe susie can stall it. trip it up. make it stutter. doubt.

susie is resistance, knuckles white.

susie is hope, everything bright.

watch her grab hold of someone's despair and shake it until it rattles apart. 

watch her look at inevitability and laugh until it gets nervous. 

watch her plant her feet on ground that was supposed to give way and discover that some things are more stubborn than gravity.

the prophecy longed for order. dutifulness. clean lines. it wanted "heroes" who stuck to the script, who saved the world quietly, who knew their role and stayed in it.

and for the most part… that was ralsei.

the one who guides, who heals, who smiles no matter how much it hurts.

he's never asked for more than what the prophecy offered. never reached beyond his lines.

ralsei's lived his whole life like a beautifully penned footnote - important, but never central.

he believes being good means being useful.

he doesn’t ask. doesn’t want. doesn’t dream.

his room is empty... because no one ever told him he was allowed to want something just for himself.

his desire has always been to be needed, never to need.

he bakes for us. sings for us. sews for us.

keeps giving and giving and giving,

believing that is what earns him a place to stay.

but... susie doesn’t keep him around for what he offers. she does so simply because he is ralsei.

because conversations are more fun when he's in them, because someone's got to groan at his terrible attempts at sarcasm, because someone has to look him dead in the eyes and tell him he is real and can't be cast aside.

susie is hope. blinding, blistering hope.

every time she batters her way through the destined writ, her friends get another moment to exist and be by her side.

every bone she picks with fate is one more heartbeat they get to feel.

and that. that is all she needs. 

you don’t have to be chosen to choose. frankly, susie doesn’t give a single, solitary, shining blue fuck about what’s been foretold and decided for us. the second destiny tries to threaten those she loves - she’s already standing in its way.

this world seems hellbent on racing toward a single ending.

but if that’s where it ends up, it’ll only be because susie isn't letting it go anywhere else.

and if you spend enough time beside someone who refuses to stay in their lane.... you start wondering why you ever stayed in yours.

if susie wants to be a box, she will.

and soon... ralsei will too.

[svtiddiess]

Glasses

Pairing: Wonwoo (SVT) x afab!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, drabble

Rating: sfw

Word count: 0.5k

Warnings: slightly suggestive at the end.

Note: This has unintentionally turned into Wonwoo appreciation month, so why not add another Wonwoo drabble into the mix?

You pout from your seat, watching your boyfriend play Valorant with his friends—it's been hours now, with more than a few "just one more round"s, and you're really starting to get fed up.

You didn't mind that he spends his free time playing video games to destress, but spending the whole day staring at his computer and occasionally yelling into this mic? That got on your nerves.

With a frustrated groan, you fall back into the bed, trying to tune him out. You pull out your phone, hoping to pass the time with some mindless doom scrolling. Your eyes widen when you notice the time—7 p.m.

How was it already 7 p.m.?! Time had flown by so fast, you hadn't even noticed. Huffing, you sit back up—this won't do. You're not about to let Wonwoo give more attention to his computer than to you, especially with him heading back to work tomorrow.

You march up to him and poke his cheek. He lets out a hum in response, but his eyes are still fixated on the screen in front of him.

"Wonu~" you whine and poke his cheek again.

"Yes?" he hums, hands still busy with his keyboard and mouse.

"Pay attention to me," you huff.

"Just give me a few more minutes, hm? The round's almost done," he mumbles.

You let out a frustrated huff, refusing to accept that you're losing your boyfriend to a mere video game. That's when an idea hits you—without a second thought, you snatch his glasses right off his face and dart away.

A startled, confused noise slips from Wonwoo as he blinks around, disoriented. The moment he realises what just happened, he's on his feet, chasing after you. He catches up in no time and tackles you onto the couch, the two of you collapsing into a fit of laughter as you land.

"Give me my glasses back!" he laughs, trying to snatch them away from you.

"No!" you squeal, clutching onto them for dear life.

Wonwoo laughs as he watches you squirm beneath him, doing your best to keep his glasses out of reach. In a last-ditch effort, you slip them on, hoping that wearing them will keep him from taking them back.

Wonwoo's heart melts at the sight of you beneath him, giggling with his glasses perched on your nose. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he leans in and kisses you. You giggle into the kiss, hands clutching his shoulders as you pull him closer. He chuckles, then deepens the kiss.

"Sorry for ignoring you, sweetheart. I got so caught up in the game, I didn't even realise how much time had passed," he murmurs against your lips. "I promise—you have my full attention now."

"Good," you huff.

You start to take the glasses off, but Wonwoo gently stops you.

"Keep them on," he says, adjusting them with a fond smile. "They look better on you, sweetheart." Then he leans in to kiss you again.

You let out a gasp when you feel something hard poking against your thigh.

Oh.

He really likes his glasses on you.

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