#going to be a week six and possibly a seven and an eight

[searchingforserendipity25]

conclave is a very good film made up of cardinal thomas lawrence having three horrible horrible days.

however the one thing it lacks is the consideration of how much worse they could have been if it lasted longer.

day four of conclave and the draw between tedesco and lawrence does not budge.

five days of conclave and at least one of the cardinals whose name got covered up in the trembley report backs lawrence against the wall and tries to threaten him with a kitchen knife before falling to weeping on his shoulder. day six of conclave and cardinal adeyemi and cardinal trembley nearly come to blows in the loggia. day seven of conclave and people start sneaking wine bottles into the sistine chapel.

day eight and they're passing them around covertly during the interminable voting process. day nine and three separate white collar crimes come to light because the guilty parties are sweating in their cassocks thinking lawrence has the dirt on them and they can't take the pressure anymore, they just can't.

day ten and vincent benítez is doing quiet prayer catechism hour in the garden after lunch.

day eleven and sabbadin is snorting someone's vicodin in the bathroom.

day twelve and the cardinals for warsaw and budapest are having a terrible breakup everyone is trying to pretend not to notice. day thirteen and lawrence stays in his room the whole day pretending he has a stomach ache and keeps having his nap dreams interrupted by dreams of turtles.

day fourteen and aldo bellini has brought his copy of giovanni's room to reread, half-heatedly hidden behind a bible cover.

day fifteen and vincent benítez has lead by example a number of cardinals into helping out in the kitchen at least once a week to frankly terrible culinary results and growing camaraderie.

sixteen days of conclave and lawrence has to sit down ray o'malley and actively beg him not to tell him anything else, please, no more info, no more digging into old scandals, no nothing.tedesco's tax audits may be suspiciously clean but lawrence is a man of god not a forensic attorney and he will not dig deeper.

day seventeen and lawence tracks o'malley down and asks him to look into tedesco's brother's recent real estate acquisitions.

day eighteen and the new whisper campaign to discredit lawrence keeps trying to bring up his most controversial progressive views but he keeps answering impatiently back with well-thought of biblical references as he did in the homily and accidentally causes a reprise of his canon law school lecture debates. which temporarily brings everyone together and opens the stage for a fierce ideological debate.

wherein lawrence gets accused, not entirely inaccurately, by trembley and adeyemi, united once more in offense, of being the last figurehead for the complacent liberal establishment/a judgemental prig and/or treating the college of cardinals like a group of jumped-up seminarians.

aldo bellini implies very loudly that tedesco is ugly, a fascist and too stupid to ever be invited to lecture at the sourbonne even once, and cardinal vincent benítez speaks up with great dignity and strength against american imperialism.

day nineteen and someone actively tries to murder the patriarch of venice. day twenty and it is revealed via sister agnes ex machina and cardinal benítez's disconcerting familiarity with very real and more successful murder attempts that tedesco was trying to frame bellini for it.

the proof is circumstantial and so are any accusations lawrence or anyone could make against him of corruption, but this does prompt him to go on a long speech about how the leftist agenda has thoroughly ruined not only the church but society at least and made any possible unity among men a sham.

day twenty-one and someone actually dies, unrelated to the tedesco fake-plot.

day twenty-two and they elect vincent benítez. lawrence hides in the room of tears having an anxiety attack of relief.

vincent benítez holds his hand tenderly through it and immediately accepts his resignation as dean but not before telling him his secret and having his hands held back tightly, and being told very earnestly that, short of actual unreasonable harm to other people and an extraordinary amount of bribery, he could be made by god's will in any possible variation and still have lawrence's trust. and most importantly, lawrence's papacy.

day one of innocentius xiv's papacy and lawrence finds him in the gardens feeding the turtles instead of taking the next train to a nice monastery in liège and offers himself as secretary of state. and this is why netflix should hire me.

[geminiwritten]

all yours ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

notes: i'm sorry? i want to say i have no words but apparently... i have nearly 15k of them right here!!! i don't know who this is for, i lowkey feel like it will flop because it's long and angsty, but please let me know what you think if you read this!!! i've been working on it on and off for a while, so i am very glad to finally get it posted!

warnings: swearing, angst (but happy ending), pregnancy, a lot of crying, very brief mention of abortion, very brief discussion about the possibility of losing the baby, talk about sex (18+ ONLY PLEASE), a bit of horniness, and just a lot of emotions!!! (please let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: i am not pregnant and have never been pregnant. all this information comes from quick google searches, and things i've read in books. so i'm very if it's wrong or dumb. please don't come for me!

word count: 14818

You’ve known Tyler Owens since you were ten. 

You’ve been chasing storms with him for nine years, and hopelessly in love with him for eight. 

You’ve laughed as he lost seven cowboy hats to tornados, and helped him replace six shattered windshields. 

You’ve loved him through five of his lousy girlfriends and four of your own doomed boyfriends. 

You’ve tried—and failed—to tell him how you feel three times. 

You’ve kissed him twice. 

And you’ve slept with him once. 

Once. Exactly three weeks ago. 

You were both drunk—though you were probably pretending to be more gone than you really were—and lonely. Sure, you’d kissed before that night—once, years ago, on a dare. But that night, the second kiss happened as you stepped out of the bar. It was misting lightly, streetlights casting a glow, and Tyler looked so damn good as he—drunkenly—told you that you looked beautiful. How were you supposed to resist that? 

Back at the motel, you tried to go your separate ways. You even made it to your room alone. You were just about to reach for your vibrator, hoping to ease the ache low in your belly, when there was a knock at the door. 

You knew who it was before you even opened it. 

Tyler. 

You let him in—because of course you did—and he was on you in seconds. There was no way you were going to push him off. You’ve been in love with him for the better part of a decade. 

It was hot and desperate. All teeth and tongue, and handprints seared into your skin—ones you know you’ll never forget the feeling of. You were both so fucking wrecked there was no stopping it. 

Not even when the condom obviously broke while he was putting it on. 

Not even when something deep in your chest told you this was a bad idea. 

But now? Three weeks later—you wish you’d had more restraint. 

Sure, it was awkward the next morning—after Tyler snuck out of your room at three a.m., thinking you hadn’t noticed. It stayed awkward for about a week, with neither of you daring to talk about it. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t bring it up. It was obviously just one night for him. Maybe he was just curious. You’ve been friends for so long. A lot of friends have slept together at least once… right? 

But even in that painfully awkward week of trying to relearn how to be friends, you couldn’t quite regret it. 

Because eventually, he cracked a joke. Then you said something sarcastic. And although there was still a hint of something more simmering under the surface, things almost felt normal again. 

Almost. 

It’s only now that you regret it—everything. 

Right now, as you stare at the two pink lines on the stick beside the sink, your vision blurred with tears, and your stomach roiling with nausea. 

The harsh crack of knuckles against the bathroom door startles you, sending your heart leaping into your throat. 

“You alright in there?” Lily calls through the wood. “It’s been like ten minutes—I’m getting worried. Do I need to break down the door?” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing your voice to come out steady. “Y-Yeah, I’m all good.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Lily speaks again, her voice lower this time. “Are you sure? You don’t sound good.” 

You shake your head and hastily wipe the wetness from your cheeks. Then you snap a photo of the pregnancy test before tossing it into the trash—this is just a gas station bathroom. No one’s tracing that stick back to you unless they run a DNA test, and that’s not likely. 

It’s not like you plan on going missing. Just… away. For a while. 

You splash your face with cool water and stare at your reflection in the mirror until you’re convinced you look close enough to normal. Then you square your shoulders, take a deep breath, and open the bathroom door. 

It’s only Lily waiting there—thank God—but she’s already watching you with sharp, perceptive eyes. 

“You good?” 

You nod once, forcing a smile. “Never better. Sorry. Lady stuff.” 

Technically not a lie. Still, you cringe at the way it comes out. You’re not someone who shies away from saying things plainly—especially not something as basic as a damn period. 

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push. 

“Alright. Let’s get going. Tyler said we’re only twenty minutes out from a decent-sized town. Should be able to find good food and a motel where we don’t have to share rooms.” 

You nod again, not trusting yourself to laugh or offer a sarcastic remark. You just walk past her, the fake smile still fixed to your face, and head for the door. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re climbing out of the RV in a motel parking lot. Tyler’s truck is parked beside the reception office, his hat on the dashboard and Boone waiting in the front seat. Dani and Dexter walk ahead of you, muttering about something they saw pop up on the radar earlier, and Lily is rummaging around in the back seat of Tyler’s truck—her butt sticking out the passenger door—looking for the headphones she lost yesterday. 

Your heart aches at the thought of leaving, throbbing dully behind your sternum. You’re not sure if the nausea swirling in your gut is from the idea of walking away from your friends—your family—or because of your newly discovered… condition. Either way, you feel sick. And you need space. Time to think. To breathe. 

Once everyone has a room, you lug your few belongings up to the second floor and collapse onto the bed. You text Lily, telling her you feel sick sick—period pains—and that you’re going to skip dinner. You ask her to tell the others for you, because you can’t stomach lying to their faces. 

You spend the next few hours on your laptop, reading everything you can about pregnancy. You scroll through pages about what happens to your body, how your life is going to change. You read about complications, risks, even abortion. 

It’s strange, really. You’ve always been practical, logical. And this doesn’t seem like the practical choice. But you knew the second you saw those two lines that you were going to keep it. 

Call it maternal instinct. Or just plain insanity. Either way, your mind is made up. 

Now you just need a plan. 

Most people don’t announce their pregnancy until twelve weeks—you know that much—so you’re giving yourself twelve weeks to sort your shit out. 

First, you need to leave. You’ll make up some excuse about a sick family member and tell the crew your mom needs you immediately. Tyler will try to come with you—call it a detour or a bonus road trip—so you’ll have to convince him your mom only wants to see you. No one else. 

Then you’ll leave for... an indefinite stretch. You’re not going straight to your mom’s. You’ll hole up in a hotel halfway home, see a doctor, get the blood tests, the shots, the supplements—all the crap you’re supposed to do. 

Once your head is on straighter and you’ve got a handle on things, you’ll start looking for an apartment. Something short-term, just in case… well, in case you lose the baby. At least then you’ll have somewhere to crash and recover before deciding what comes next. It feels morbid, sure, but you’re not a total daydreamer. Life can be brutal, and you know better than to think you’ll be spared. 

But assuming things go well—assuming you hit that twelve-week mark after moving in—that’s when you’ll start telling people. You’ll tell your mom first, maybe find a therapist and tell them too. And then... Tyler. 

The moment his name crosses your mind, your body reacts. You jump up from the motel bed and stumble into the tiny bathroom, hunching over the toilet and gagging like you’re going to throw up. But nothing comes up—your stomach is empty. You know this isn’t the pregnancy making you sick. It’s the thought of telling him. 

It feels cruel, waiting three whole months before telling the father. But you can’t bring yourself to do it any sooner. You know this isn’t what Tyler wants. Especially not with you. What happened between you was a one-time thing—a fun night, a way to blow off steam. It wasn’t meant to change everything. 

So you’ll wait. Make sure it’s real. Make sure it’s sticking. Plain and simple. Harsh? Maybe. But you need time to figure yourself out before dropping a bomb on him. And by the time you do, it’ll be six months to impact. Give or take. 

You have no idea how he’ll react, but you know it won’t be like one of those social media videos where the dad cries and jumps for joy. No—this will be very different. Which is exactly why you’re not telling him for at least a month or two. You’ll figure out exactly how far along you are once you see a doctor. 

You take a deep breath and snap your laptop shut. Time to get some sleep. You’ve got a full day of driving tomorrow, and you’re going to need the energy. 

- 

“What?” Tyler drops his bacon back onto the plate, staring at you wide-eyed across the diner table. “If you’re going home, then we’re all-” 

“No, Tyler,” you interrupt, sighing as you stare down at the table. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “She said just me. I know you want to help, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay. I’ll call as soon as I get there and keep you updated. I just—she sounded really fragile, alright? I don’t want to overwhelm her.” 

It doesn’t feel like that much of a lie. You’re not talking about your mom—you’re talking about yourself. At least, that’s how you justify it to your guilty conscience. 

“You sure?” Lily asks, leaning forward beside Tyler. “We don’t have to go see her. We can just come to town, hang out nearby. We don’t mind staying a week or so.” 

You take a deep breath, eyes locked on your untouched plate of plain toast and fried eggs. “It might not be a week,” you say, bracing yourself. “It could be a couple of months.” 

“Months?” Dani echoes, her coffee cup clattering against the table. 

Tyler looks stunned, frozen in place. His expression is unreadable—shock, maybe disbelief, etched into every line of his face. His lips are slightly parted—lips you haven’t stopped thinking about, hot on your skin—and his brows pinch together. His cheeks are flushed, but not with embarrassment. He looks... unsure. Concerned. 

“What are we going to do without you for a couple months?” Lily asks, her eyes wide. 

You wave a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’ll be fine. I’ll only be a phone call away. If I can come back earlier, I will. But right now, I really need to be there for... for my mom.” 

God, you’re a terrible liar this morning. 

“When do you need to leave?” Tyler asks, his voice low and flat. 

You swallow hard, still staring at your toast. “Today.” 

A wave of protests, questions, and complaints breaks out—everyone but Tyler. He stays silent, still watching you like he’s trying to piece something together. Like you’re a puzzle he didn’t realise needed solving. 

He looks at you like he sees straight through the lie. His green eyes don’t blink, and it makes your stomach churn. 

For the next half hour, you lie and deflect as best you can. You keep your head down, your answers short. No promises, no explanations. Breakfast turns into a full-blown protest, your friends more upset than you expected by your sudden departure. But no matter how hard they try, nothing could convince you to stay. 

You can’t. 

Back at the motel, you pack your things. You’d already asked Dexter to drive you to the nearest car rental place—he grumbled but agreed. Now comes the part you’re dreading. 

The goodbyes. 

To them, this is temporary—a month or two, maybe. But you know better. This is something else. Something longer. More permanent. 

Moisture stings your eyes as you zip your duffel shut. Your nose burns, and this time, you don’t stop the tears from falling. 

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice startles you, and you realize in your rush to get into the room, you hadn’t fully shut the door. 

You sniff and wipe your cheeks, keeping your back to him. “Hey.” You clear your throat. “What’s up?” 

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re seriously asking me that?” 

You don’t respond. You just keep your head down and continue stuffing the last of your things into your backpack. 

He sighs as the door clicks shut behind him. A few steps bring him closer, and you can almost feel his warmth hovering just a few feet behind you. 

“Look,” he says gently, “I’m not going to press you about what’s really going on. But it’s obvious something’s got you rattled. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are. Whatever it is.” 

You close your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“I’m worried,” he continues. “This isn’t you. Cutting and running like this? I know you. I know your family. This is something else. And I’m really damn worried.” 

“It’s fine, Ty,” you say, your voice catching in your throat, the words barely a whisper. 

“No, it’s not.” He steps closer, and now his warmth is unmistakable—his presence pressing in, impossible to ignore. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need you to promise me you’ll be okay. That you’ll come back.” 

You drop the sweater you’ve been folding and refolding, letting it fall from your hands. He reaches out, his fingers wrapping gently around your bicep, coaxing you to turn toward him. Then he lifts your chin with one curled finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

You can barely make out his face through the tears—hot and heavy, falling faster than you can blink them away. 

His voice cracks. “It’s not the same out there without you. You know that.” 

A sob breaks from your chest, and you fall forward. He catches you easily, arms strong and sure around your trembling frame. Pressed against him, for a moment it all feels like it might be okay. Like maybe this whole life-altering thing won’t change everything after all. Tyler makes you feel like you can handle anything. Like you’re more than human. Invincible, even. 

Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him in the first place. 

But you can’t stay in his arms forever. You’re not even sure he’d be holding you if he knew the truth—if he knew you were the one holding the pin to the grenade that could blow his whole life to pieces. 

“You’re scaring the shit out of me, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair. 

You sniffle against his shirt, steadying your voice. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” 

He slowly lets you go, giving you space to stand on your own again. 

“I promise you’ll see me again,” you say, trying to sound certain. “I promise I’ll be back once everything’s... sorted.” 

His brows draw together like he wants to believe you but can’t quite manage it. Still, he nods, swallowing whatever emotion is caught in his throat. Then he pulls you into one last hug, holding you tighter than before, like he’s afraid to let go. 

You inhale deeply—maybe too deeply—committing his scent to memory, as if you hadn’t already. You memorise the way he holds you, the way your bodies fit together, and the quick, steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. 

You know you’ll see Tyler again. One way or another. 

But it won’t be the same. Nothing is the same anymore. 

- 

“You’re both doing really well,” the doctor says, eyes scanning the computer screen. “Your baby is perfectly healthy, and everything about you is exactly where it should be for fourteen weeks.” 

You nod and give her a tight-lipped smile, gripping the ultrasound picture like a lifeline. 

“And the bump isn’t... too big?” you ask, trying not to sound completely clueless. 

The doctor smiles warmly. “It’s perfect,” she assures you. “You’re showing a little more than some women might at this stage, but everyone’s different.” 

You nod again. “Okay, good.” 

“Any other concerns?” she asks after a moment. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” She pushes up from her chair and heads for the door. “I’ll see you in four weeks.” 

You smile and nod once more. “Thanks, doctor.” 

“No worries. And—” she pauses, brows pulling together slightly. “You know you can bring the father to these appointments, right? Regardless of your relationship, he’s welcome. It might help ease some of the anxiety.” 

You blink quickly at the sudden sting in your eyes—fucking hormones—and offer a watery smile. “Thanks. I’ll... talk to him.” 

She gives you one last kind smile before shutting the door, leaving you alone in the pale-yellow hallway with nothing but spiralling thoughts. 

Okay, so you haven’t told Tyler... yet. But you plan to. As soon as you stop crying at everything and start acting like a functional adult. These hormones have wrecked you—just like the internet said they would. 

One minute, you’re sobbing over nothing. The next, you’re halfway to committing a felony. And then suddenly, you’re numb. Emotionally whiplashed. And the thought of telling Tyler—of seeing him again—drags every human emotion you have straight to the surface. 

You’ve talked to him a few times. The rest of the crew, too. You’ve spun some lies and danced around their questions. You spoke to your mom and made her promise to keep your secret—because you know Tyler’s tried calling her since you left. But you haven’t yet mustered the courage to tell anyone else. 

It’s been exactly eight weeks since you left. You're running on borrowed time. You know they’ll come looking soon, and you can’t let that happen. You need to go to them. To Tyler. You need to tell him the truth—your way—before it all blows up. 

But first... you need a really big bowl of croutons. Just croutons. And if you don’t get them soon, you’re going to kill someone. 

Pregnancy is wild. 

A few hours later, you’re back in your studio apartment, curled up on the lounge you bought last week, your laptop propped on your belly and a second bowl of croutons at your side. Your résumé is open, and you’re tweaking it for a few job applications—hoping to land something at a desk for at least a few months. You could use the extra money. 

On the small TV across the room—still sitting on the floor because you don’t have a table yet—YouTube is playing. More specifically, the live stream of a storm chaser you used to know. Someone who follows storms and interviews other chasers. Her name is Corey—you’ve met her a few times, but she’s never interviewed you. She’s always wanted Tyler, though. Everyone does. The man has... an effect on people. 

Today’s the day, apparently. She finally convinced him to do an interview. And to say you’re jealous of how close she’s standing to him would be a laughable understatement. 

Think pregnancy crying is bad? Try the horniness. 

Ugh. 

You can barely glance at a photo of Tyler without creaming your jeans. Just thinking about him twists your stomach into a knot—equal parts guilt and raw, desperate lust. You’ve thought about him way more than you should while touching yourself, and honestly? You don’t even care. 

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s the father of the baby growing inside you or just because you’ve been in love with him for years. Either way, everything is louder now. Sharper. Half the reason you haven’t seen him again is because you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself from tearing him apart—devouring him the second he’s in front of you. 

“Fuck,” you sigh out loud, feeling that familiar ache low in your belly. 

You need to calm down. 

You shift your focus back to the Word doc on your laptop, trying to let Corey’s high-pitched voice blur into the background as she asks Tyler about the storm they just chased. It’s hard though—because then he speaks. And the second he does, his voice draws your attention like a magnet, sending shivers racing down your spine. 

You’d think after all these years of friendship, you’d be used to him by now. 

“So, Tyler,” Corey says, her bright blue eyes sparkling above a megawatt smile, “now that we’ve completely and totally hashed out that EF2, I think it’s time to move on to some live questions. Mind answering a few from the fans?” 

Tyler nods, the usual charming smirk tugging at his lips. “Bring it on.” 

“Amazing.” Corey flips her auburn hair over her shoulder and holds up her phone. “First question: which tornado wrangler would be most likely to survive a horror movie?” 

Tyler chuckles—low and rich, the kind of sound that somehow wraps around you even through the TV speakers. “Definitely Boone, but not because he’s outsmarted anyone. Just pure dumb luck.” 

Corey giggles, and the sound literally makes you gag. Because pregnancy nausea? Not just limited to tastes and smells. Nope—it’s upgraded to all five senses. 

“Okay, next up,” she says, eyes dropping to her phone screen. “What’s your go-to road trip snack?” 

Tyler starts rubbing his hands together as he answers, but you don’t register the words. You already know his favourite snacks. You’ve been buying them for him for years. Instead, you find yourself watching his hands—his long fingers, the way he laces them together in front of his body. Those fingers you know can find magic inside you. 

Your pulse thrums in your ears—and between your legs. Hot and heavy, making your breath catch in your throat. 

Corey’s pitchy laugh pulls you back. “Noted. I’ll be sure to bring sour worms to our next interview,” she says with a wink. 

Tyler laughs politely and pretends to adjust his belt—something you know he only does when he’s uncomfortable. 

Sucked in, Corey. He doesn’t like you. 

“Alright, I’ve got a slightly more serious one,” she says, tone shifting as she angles herself toward him. “This one’s come in from quite a few people, so I can’t not ask it.” 

Tyler’s brows furrow and he nods once. 

“Obviously, the Tornado Wranglers have welcomed two new members recently—Kate and Javi,” she says, referring to the two you met via video call a couple weeks ago. “But fans have also noticed the absence of one particular chaser. Your partner in crime…” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Will she be back?” 

Your heart crawls into your throat. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes—so routine by now, you don’t even bother blinking them back. 

Tyler shifts uncomfortably and glances at the ground. Then he mutters something the mic doesn’t quite catch. His shoulders go rigid, his jaw clenched as he struggles to find an answer. 

It makes your chest ache. 

“Well—uh,” he clears his throat, “we don’t usually get into personal stuff. We try to keep things focused on the storms. But, um...” His eyes are everywhere but the camera. “We all have personal lives, and sometimes things come up. Unexpected things. But in short… yes. She’ll be back. We’re not sure when, but she will be.” 

The confidence in his voice rips a sob from your chest. You push your laptop off your stomach and sit up, arms wrapping protectively around the little bump low in your belly. To say you feel guilty about this whole thing is a gross understatement. You feel wretched. Each day you wake up knowing you’ll find another excuse not to call Tyler, and each day you inch closer to hating yourself for it. 

You need to stop being such a coward and just do it. He has every right to know what’s going on—not just because he’s the father, but because he’s your best friend. These last two months have been the longest you’ve ever gone without seeing him since you joined the chasers nearly a decade ago. And the distance—physical and emotional—is chipping away at both of you. 

You swipe the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes and reach for your phone. Opening your chat with Tyler, you scroll through the brief exchange from a couple days ago about an EF3 they’d been chasing. You start typing a message—trying to ask when you can see him without sounding too obvious. 

But then Corey’s voice cuts through the room, snagging your attention again. “So, the fans want to know,” she says, “what’s next? What comes after storm chasing? Do you see yourself going back to school to become a qualified meteorologist—or maybe settling down? Starting a family?” 

Your breath catches in your throat. Your chest tightening until your lungs ache. 

Tyler scoffs. “There’s an after chasing?” he says, the words stabbing into you like pins into a voodoo doll. “Chasing is it for me. I’ve worked too hard to get here, doing what I love. Nothing’s going to stop me—at least not until I’m too old to drive my truck. And even then,” he laughs, “I’ll find someone else to drive me into the eye of the storm.” 

Corey giggles and tips her head, teasing. “So no dreams of settling down? No wife and kids someday?” 

Your heart slams against your ribs. Heat and nausea roll over you in waves. 

“No,” Tyler says. “I just don’t see that for myself. Nothing feels as important to me as this—the storms, the research. Especially now, with Kate—she’s incredible—and Javi on the team, we’re doing real work in the name of science. I never want to stop. A family just doesn’t fit into that. It’s not what I want.” 

The words hit like a gut punch, knocking the breath clean out of you. 

“That’s not to say I won’t have a wife one day,” he adds. “If I find someone who loves this as much as I do, then maybe. But kids? No. I know myself too well—I’d resent anyone who took me away from what I really love. Which is chasing.” 

You bolt from the couch and rush into the bathroom, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet just in time to hurl up an unsettling amount of croutons. Tears blur your vision, and all you can hear is the pounding of your own pulse in your ears—and Tyler’s voice echoing in your head. 

It’s not what I want. 

- 

Your hands shake as you slide the mouse across the screen, clicking the answer button on the Skype call request. When Lily’s grinning face pops up—just Lily—you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh my goodness, hi,” she says, leaning toward the camera. “You look... different. Like, good, but different. How do you look different from last week?” 

You let out a soft laugh and roll your eyes, one arm resting on the kitchen counter where the laptop is propped, the other hung protectively across your stomach below the counter. You’re perched on the single barstool you picked up from a second-hand store last weekend, specifically for your weekly video calls with Lily. The couch wasn’t cutting it anymore, and you can’t exactly lie on your belly on the bed these days. 

“Maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens and what you’re seeing now is just a bad clone,” you tease, deflecting. 

She snorts. “Well, that would make sense, since that’s the only thing I can think of that would keep the girl I know away from chasing. Like, seriously. It’s been three months. Please tell me you’re coming back soon.” 

You sigh, eyes darting to the notepad where you’ve scribbled your pre-planned excuses—not trusting yourself to think clearly on the fly. 

“I’m sorry, Lils. I thought I’d be back by now too, but with everything going on with the family—it’s just been so stressful. And... I went to the doctor the other day. They think I could have a stress-induced stomach ulcer. I’m on meds, and I feel okay, but it needs to be monitored.” 

Until you give birth to it… 

Lily’s brow creases. “What? Seriously?” 

You nod slowly, avoiding her big brown eyes on the screen. “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s not too serious—it’s manageable. I just need to, uh... stay here and keep things steady for a while.” 

“Can we visit, then?” she asks. “Everyone misses you so much.” 

“And I miss you guys too,” you say quickly. “But don’t come all this way for me. Keep chasing—it’s the season. Besides, it’s kind of boring over here. I’m just resting and helping out with family stuff. If you could actually help, I’d say get over here, but there’s really nothing to do except mope around.” 

She nods slowly, still looking a little unconvinced, but mostly reassured. 

“Besides, I need you to keep sending me updates so I can live vicariously,” you add, trying to lift the mood. “How was yesterday’s chase?” 

Her face lights up, and she launches into a detailed rundown of what they got up to. You try to stay focused, to really listen, but she keeps mentioning Kate’s name beside Tyler’s, and your thoughts start spiralling. 

You’ve met Kate and Javi—the new wranglers—a couple of times now via video call. They seem lovely and super smart. You hadn’t thought much of it. Until last night. 

You’d stupidly decided to watch one of Boone’s Instagram live videos—one where he and Tyler recapped the day over beers in a motel parking lot. You thought it might help ease the ache in your chest from missing them, but instead it twisted something sharp and jealous low in your gut. 

Kate had been there too, sitting beside Tyler, who wore a dopey grin and kept glancing at her like she was magnetic. They were clearly comfortable with each other—she even rested her hand on his knee once or twice as she answered some of Boone’s questions about the science side of things. Tyler didn’t adjust his belt. He didn’t shift awkwardly or look away. 

He looked at her like she belonged there. 

The jealousy that coursed through you had been instant and overwhelming. You’ve dealt with your fair share of Tyler’s girlfriends and hookups, but you’ve never seen him look at someone like that. Never once worried that maybe he’d find someone who didn’t just make him forget you—but replace you entirely. 

It’s your biggest insecurity, one you hate even admitting to yourself... Tyler doesn’t need you as much as you need him. 

“But anyway,” Lily says, her voice dragging you back to reality, “we were thinking of taking a break for a week or so. Maybe head somewhere quiet, less full of chasers. I think Tyler needs it—he’s been super stressed lately.” 

“At least he has Kate,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I—I mean, she sounds really great and helpful. Just what Tyler needs.” 

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Yeah... she’s cool, but...” She tips her head and sighs. “You know he misses you like crazy? I’m pretty sure he’s not sleeping, and he’s always talking about coming to find you. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep him at bay.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to sound casual while swallowing down another wave of emotion. “I’m sure Tyler’s doing just fine. He always said I was a liability, so technically he should be way less stressed without me around.” 

She gives you a flat, unimpressed look. “You better be joking, because I’ve never seen Tyler this wound up before.” 

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest—small and fragile, but impossible to ignore. Maybe... just maybe... this whole fucked-up situation is still salvageable. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lily says before you can respond. 

You watch as she shuffles off the motel bed she’d been lying on and disappears out of frame. Your pulse quickens at the sound of a deep, muffled voice and approaching footsteps. For a split second, you consider ending the call—blaming it on bad reception or something—but it’s already too late. 

The video shakes as Lily picks up her laptop and spins it toward Tyler. “Look who it is!” she announces. 

He looks pale, the lines in his face more defined than you remember, but his eyes still sparkle the same. “Hey,” he says, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “You look... different.” 

You blink quickly to stop the moisture welling in your eyes—internally cursing the hormones, even though you know they’re not the only ones to blame. 

You haven’t actually spoken to Tyler in almost two weeks. You mostly text, dodge his calls with excuses, and only agree to video chats with Lily or Dani. Tyler knows you too well—and you’re starting to look different. He’ll know something is off. 

“She’s sick,” Lily says before you can answer. 

“Sick?” Tyler repeats, his smile fading. “Sick how?” 

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the emotion rising in your throat. “I’m fine, really. Might be a stomach ulcer, but it’s mild and I’m already on meds. I just need a bit of rest.” 

“We can come visit,” Tyler offers quickly, his green eyes full of concern that makes your stomach turn. “We were planning to take some time off soon, and we could-” 

“No,” you cut in, your voice cracking. “Seriously, don’t. I’m okay. And there’s still stuff going on with the family. I just told Lily—if there were anything you could do, I’d say come help. But there’s not.” 

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, then hesitates. His eyes flick across the screen, studying your face, your posture, the way you’re nervously chewing your lip. He’s probably already clocked that the background behind you isn’t your mom’s house. 

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” Lily says with a smile, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be back soon. She can’t stay away much longer—the chase is calling.” She looks at you with a playful grin. “Or we’ll come kidnap you.” 

You let out a shaky laugh. “I know you will.” 

“How’s your mom?” Tyler asks suddenly, leaning closer to the camera. 

Yeah. He’s definitely trying to figure out where you are. He’s been in every room of your mom’s place—he knows this background doesn’t match. 

“She’s alright,” you say, shifting closer to the laptop to fill more of the frame. “Still a little fragile, so it’s good I’m here. But she’s doing well.” 

He opens his mouth again, eyes narrowing slightly—keen and searching. 

“Anyway,” you cut in quickly, “I should go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

Lily nods, oblivious to Tyler’s suspicion. “Love you,” she says. 

“Love you too, Lils,” you reply, before your gaze flicks toward Tyler’s frowning face. “You too, Ty. Stay safe out there.” 

Then you move the mouse and hit the red button, sighing out a breath of relief as the call drops. 

- 

The next four weeks are brutal—worse than the twelve before them combined. You’re creeping up on the six-month mark, which means the third trimester isn’t far off. Your belly has officially popped—there’s no hiding it now unless you borrow your mom’s retro maternity parka—and you’re out of breath more often than not. All you want to do is sleep, eat, and cry over the fact that your closest grocery store just stopped stocking your favourite juice flavour. 

But that’s not the hardest part. 

The hardest part is Tyler—he’s relentless, and you’re pretty sure he’s rallying the rest of the crew too. The messages haven’t let up, and now he’s started calling at random times during the day. He asks about your mom, your family, your ‘stomach ulcer’. And everyone else is pestering you to come back to chasing, even just for a week, because they miss you like hell. 

You feel like a total piece of shit. 

You’re running out of excuses, and you’ve deflected for as long as you can. You’ve tried over and over to come up with a version of the truth that doesn’t make you sound like the villain. But no matter how you spin it, you’re still the asshole who kept a massive secret from the people who are practically your family. They’re going to find out soon—you’re already on borrowed time—and you know you have to tell them before Tyler shows up pounding on your mom’s front door. 

The only thing you’re still absolutely certain about is this: you’re not telling Tyler he’s the father. 

On the surface, it makes you look like a terrible person, but every time you imagine telling him... you hear his words again. And you know you just can’t. 

It’s not what he wants. It would ruin everything. He’d resent you. 

You can’t do that to him. You don’t expect anything from him, and you’re more than ready to do this on your own. In fact, at this point, you’d prefer it. You made the decision to keep the baby—this is on you. All Tyler did was break a condom and fuck you more thoroughly than anyone else ever has. He didn’t sign up for consequences. And for him... there doesn’t have to be any. 

So you’ll tell them it was a one-night stand—technically true. That the father travels for work, and you gave him an out—also true. 

Now you just have to hope the baby doesn’t come out looking like a carbon copy of Tyler Owens. 

Not that you’re even sure the crew will be around to see much of the baby. You’re doing this solo for a reason—you don’t want to weigh anyone down. No matter how they react when you tell them, you’re not letting them give up chasing. That’s their life, and this choice? This was yours. 

So, yeah, you’re going to tell them. But after that... you have no clue. You might never see them again, now that you’re settling down. Or maybe they’ll pop in once or twice a year. You don’t know. 

The only thing you’re sure of right now is that you’re having this baby—and surprisingly, that’s more than enough. 

“She’s perfect,” the doctor says, handing you the sonogram. “What made you want to find out the sex?” 

You stare down at the little black and white image. Twenty-two weeks exactly. You’re more than halfway there. 

“I don’t know,” you reply. “Thought maybe I should get to know my new roommate a little better.” 

The doctor laughs softly but doesn’t press further. She types something into the computer, then jots a note on a scrap piece of paper—her recommendation for the heartburn you mentioned earlier. After a few more routine questions, she offers a kind smile and a dismissive nod. You thank her and step out. 

Her office is just around the block from your apartment, so you chose to walk today. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and—for the first time in a while—you’re feeling a little less weighed down. 

You’ve also decided that today’s the day you’ll message Tyler to ask where they are and see if you can meet up soon. You’ve practiced your story in the mirror more times than you can count, and you’ve run it past both your mom and your therapist—the latter was less thrilled about the lying, but you’re ignoring that part. All that’s left now is to show up and break the news gently. Although, your belly will probably do that for you the moment they see you. 

Strangely, you feel at peace today—despite the whirlwind of the past few weeks. You woke up clear-headed, even a little hopeful. Like if you can grow an entire human, you can handle anything. 

You try not to overanalyse the sudden shift—your moods have been a rollercoaster lately—and you’re especially trying not to compare it to the weather before a storm. But that’s exactly what it feels like. 

Everything is calm. Still. The sun is out, and there’s no wind. But you know better than to trust this kind of stillness. 

It’s the calm before the storm. 

You shake your head and take a deep breath, refocusing on your route from the doctor’s office to the grocery store. It’s still early—barely nine a.m.—and you’ve got a craving for the sugary cereal you ran out of days ago. 

The sun is warm enough that you have to shrug off your sweater the moment you step inside the store. It’s blissfully quiet—no crowded aisles, no screaming kids, and no one crashing their cart like it’s a demolition derby. 

You sling your sweater over one shoulder and head toward the breakfast aisle, one hand resting on your belly as the baby wriggles—still too small for proper kicks, but very much there. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you scan the shelves, eyes flitting across the bright, colourful cereal boxes. 

You really should start thinking of names. You haven’t even made a list. 

You grab the box you came for and continue toward the end of the aisle, already thinking about swinging past the bakery section. But just as you round the corner, a voice stops you in your tracks. 

“Holy shit.” 

You know that voice. You know it too well. 

You almost don’t want to look—but your head turns before you can stop it. And sure enough, there’s Tyler, looking downright sinful in a tight white T-shirt and faded Wrangler jeans. He’s wearing a cap, backwards, and it’s making your hormones riot. You could devour him right here in the middle of the store. But not only would that be wildly inappropriate... you’re pretty sure he’s gone into shock. 

He looks pale—too pale. Frozen. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out. He looks like a fish out of water. And judging by the expression on his face, he probably feels like one too. 

“Oh my God,” you say, instinctively shifting the cereal box in front of your belly. “Tyler.” 

You want to launch yourself at him, to throw your arms around his neck. You want to hug him, kiss him, get lost in him the way you’ve been craving for months. But the way he’s staring... you’re not even sure he recognises you. 

“W-What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice shaky and weirdly high-pitched. “Are the others here too?” 

Panic overtakes you now, shoving the longing and hormones down into your gut and replacing them with a fresh wave of anxiety. 

“I—uh,” he clears his throat, blinking hard. “We were just... just passing through.” 

You can feel your heartbeat thumping in your throat. 

Tyler shifts on his feet and clears his throat again. “We got in late last night. I was going to—uh, call you. See where you were, but...” His eyes drop to the cereal box in your hands, like he can see right through it. 

“Wow,” you say, because it’s the only word your brain can summon. “That’s... great. I’d love to see them. Are they-” 

“They’re back at the motel,” he cuts in. 

Slowly, his expression twists—shock giving way to confusion, then something sharper. Anger, maybe. 

There’s a long pause, thick and heavy, before you clear your throat. “Well, maybe we could all catch up? I’m not doing anything this after-” 

“No,” he says, cutting you off again. He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I mean, yes. They want to see you. But I think I’d like to catch up now.” His tone is harder now, his expression unreadable. “Do you want to grab a coffee—” he hesitates, “or... tea?” 

You rock back on your heels like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Tea still has caffeine in it,” you mumble. 

He doesn’t even flinch—just pins you with a look. There’s no room to argue. 

“But I could definitely go for a smoothie!” you say too brightly. “There’s a café around the corner, and my apartment’s just the next block over. If you don’t mind... can we go back there? I’ve got ultrasound jelly in my underwear and I really need to pee.” 

His brows draw together. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt. “You have an apartment?” 

You didn’t expect that to hit hardest, but you see why. As far as Tyler was concerned, you were coming back. You’d only ever been on a break. But hearing you have an apartment here... it tells him something else entirely. 

That you’re not coming back. 

You nod, tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah... I do.” 

The walk out of the store and around the corner is one of the most painful things you’ve ever endured. You’re already planning to compare it to childbirth when the time comes—but honestly, you’re pretty sure this will still win. 

Tyler’s movements are stiff and deliberate. He keeps a cautious distance, like you’re contagious, and it takes everything in you not to cry right there on the sidewalk. 

Neither of you speaks. You just lead the way, and he follows. At the café, you order a smoothie—nothing else. You feel so nauseous, you're worried you might throw up your baby. Tyler orders a coffee, then steps back to type something on his phone. For a moment, panic grips you—is he telling the others? But no. Tyler’s not like that. He’s probably just letting them know that he got caught up. 

Once your drinks are ready, you head down the street toward your apartment. You don’t bother making conversation, you don’t even point out the ridiculous-looking dog in the window across the street. You just let yourself into the lobby and ride up to the fourth floor. 

Down the hall, you unlock your door and step inside, holding it open for him. 

The look on his face as he enters your space is what finally breaks you. The tears spill over before you can stop them. He looks wrong here—too big for the tiny apartment you’ve made your own. And he looks like you’ve just ripped his heart out and stomped on it. 

You make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping your untouched smoothie on the counter and diving for the tissue box. A sniffle escapes as you swipe at your eyes and nose, followed by a soft, rattling sob. 

“Hey,” Tyler says gently, suddenly at your side, a hand landing on your back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.” 

Of course he’s not. He’s too good. Too decent to treat you the way you probably should be treated—without kindness. 

You clear your throat and look up at him, close enough now that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne. “You should be,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks. “It’d be easier if you were mad at me.” 

He lets out a humourless chuckle. “I mean, I’m not exactly happy. But why would I be mad?” 

You feel small. Pathetic. Like if the floor cracked open right now, you’d gladly let it swallow you whole. But it doesn’t. 

You force down another sob, blinking hard as you reach for your smoothie and carry it into the living room. You flop down into your favourite corner of the couch and nod for him to follow. 

Then you clear your throat, summoning every ounce of confidence you have left. 

“Okay,” you say. “Here’s the story.” 

You don’t say the truth or what really happened. Because that’s not what you’re about to give him. 

You’ve got a story. And that’s what you’re sticking to. 

“A few weeks after I got back, I went out with some old friends,” you begin, technically not lying. “It was supposed to be a way to blow off some steam after everything with my family... and I missed you guys so much, I thought it would take my mind off things. But I got a little too drunk, and I ended up going home with some guy my friend knew.” There's the lie. “It was stupid and reckless, but... that’s what happened.” 

He winces at your words, his expression unreadable. It looks like hurt, but why would he be hurt by that? Maybe it’s just disappointment. 

You clear your throat and continue, slipping into the rhythm of the story you’ve practiced a thousand times in front of the mirror. “About three weeks later, I found out. I contacted the guy, but he travels for work, so... I gave him an out. I made the decision to keep it, told him I didn’t expect anything from him. So... here we are.” 

The silence hangs thick and heavy between you, suffocating you as you try to breathe through the storm of emotions clawing at your chest. 

“I was going to tell you,” you add, your voice steadier than you feel. “I just couldn’t find the right time. It all felt so messy and rushed, and time kept slipping by. You guys were so busy, and with Kate and Javi... I didn’t want to ruin the high you were on.” 

He doesn’t react at first. Just stares at you—his eyes flicking between your face and your belly. 

Then it hits him. A thousand emotions all at once. Confusion. Hurt. A flicker of anger. Sadness. And finally, he lands back on hurt. 

“You’re going to do it alone?” he asks, tension threading through his words. 

You nod once, steady. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t doubt that. You’ll be amazing. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” 

Your heart squeezes. Would he still be saying that if he knew who the guy really was? 

“I won’t be alone,” you say, resting a hand on your stomach. 

His eyes fall to your hand and linger there. You think his bottom lip might wobble, just for a second. But then he looks back up, brow creased. 

“You know we’re all here for you,” he says, voice strained. “We’re not going to let you do this on your own. I know you’re strong, but-” 

“It’s not your problem, Ty,” you cut in quickly, desperate to stop him before the tears start again. “It’s not anyone’s burden but mine—not that it’s a burden. But I was scared to tell you for a reason. I didn’t want you to freak out. I made this choice knowing it would change my life, and mine alone. I know I have support if I need it, but wait for me to ask. Not that I could ask any of you to stop your lives—stop doing what you love. I’d never do that. I’d never ask for more than you’re willing to give. So please believe me when I say... I’m happy about the choice I made. I’m excited to do this by myself. You need to live your life, Ty. Chase those storms. Chase your dreams. I’m good. I’ll be fine.” 

His expression is unreadable—somewhere between pain and disbelief. He just stares at you, silent, like he doesn’t recognize what he’s looking at. Not scared. Just... bewildered. 

The silence stretches, the only sound your uneven, too-loud breathing. 

Then, finally, he whispers, “But it’s not the same without you.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to keep it light. “Don’t be silly, Tyler. You’ve got Kate and Javi now. You probably didn’t even notice I was gone.” You pause. “And Kate seems great. I’m happy for you.” 

No, you’re not. But you’re getting better at lying. 

His gaze snaps from your belly back to your face, eyebrows drawn tight. “Happy for me?” 

You nod, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I really need a shower. That ultrasound goo gets everywhere. Want to catch up later? With the crew?” 

You need him gone. Now. Before you fall apart. 

“I—uh...” He glances around the room, like he’s trying to find an excuse to stay. “Yeah. They’ll want to see you.” 

You nod and head to the kitchen for your bag. “Could you do me a favour?” The guilt is immediate and sharp. How dare you ask anything of him right now? 

He nods. 

“Could you... tell them? Warn them?” You can’t meet his eyes, so you focus on the tear in the knee of his jeans as he approaches. 

“You want me to tell them?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s just... been a lot. And the way you reacted—I don’t think I can take five more of those. If you could just warn them before we meet up... it would help.” 

Straight to hell. That’s where you’re headed. You’ve spent months trying not to burden him—and now this? 

He swallows hard and nods, eyes drifting to something on the counter. “Yeah... okay. I can do that.” 

You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Thanks, Ty.” 

He picks up the sonogram. “Is this the one from today?” 

“Oh.” As if she knows her dad is seeing her for the first time, your little girl wriggles. “Y-Yeah. That’s today.” 

His mouth twitches into a watery smile. “Can I take a photo? Then I can show the crew.” 

You nod, speechless, watching the way he looks at the picture. If he doesn’t leave soon, you’re going to cry and throw up all over him. 

He snaps the photo and tucks his phone away, gently placing the sonogram back on the counter. 

“You said you weren’t busy this afternoon?” he asks. 

You nod, throat tight. 

“Good. I’m sure they’ll want to see you soon. Maybe dinner? I’ll text you after I talk to them. I bet you know all the good places around here.” 

He’s speaking too fast, his eyes everywhere but your face. He wants out just as badly as you want him out. 

You walk him to the door, trying to smile. It’s pitiful. It feels like everything around you has stopped moving. His eyes are wide, glassy, full of something unfamiliar. But then again, do you even know him anymore? Four months is a long time. 

Before you can say goodbye, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you. Holds you like he means it. Like it’s the only thing keeping him together. 

Tears stream down your face, your shoulders shaking. The baby kicks—harder than ever—and you want to blame the pressure of Tyler’s hug. But then you wonder... does she know it’s him? 

The thoughts keep coming, hot and heavy, as your tears soak into the shoulder of his white shirt. 

After what feels like both forever and not long enough, he pulls away. His eyes rimmed with red. 

“I’ll text you,” he says hoarsely, then turns and walks down the hall. 

You shut the door—and collapse to the floor. You stay there for almost an hour. Crying. Thinking. And for the first time, wishing you’d just told him the truth from the start. Back at the gas station. Would it really have been that bad? 

You’re not so sure anymore. Because this? This doesn’t feel like the right thing. 

- Tyler - 

Tyler doesn’t remember how he got back to his truck in the grocery store parking lot. All he knows is that he’s in it now—but he doesn’t have the courage to drive. He doesn’t trust himself. His hands won’t stop shaking, his eyes are burning with tears, and his throat aches. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you: your soft smile, your wide, tearful eyes, and that intrinsic glow—granted by your pregnancy, despite how clearly distressed you’d been. 

He can’t believe you’re pregnant. 

He tried so hard to be understanding, to not blow through you with every emotion that crashed down the moment he saw you. But it was so hard. He wanted to be angry that you didn’t tell him—but he knew he had no right. He didn’t have the right to be upset at all. You were clearly stressed about him finding out—about the crew finding out. 

But why? 

That’s what he can’t figure out. 

Sure, it might not have been planned. It’s going to turn your life upside down. But why wouldn’t you want your friends to know? He knows you’ve rationalised it—told yourself you didn’t want to burden them. But he also knows that you know better than that. Your friends wouldn’t feel burdened. They’d just want to be there for you. 

He just wants to be there for you. 

And as complicated as this whole thing is, it’s confusion that lingers the loudest. He’s confused about how he should feel, and confused about what he does feel. He thought he knew you—but right now, he’s not so sure. You’re still familiar... but different. 

The sharp chime of Tyler’s phone cuts through the silence of the truck cabin. He glances at where he tossed it on the passenger seat, just able to make out the text from Boone: ‘You good?’ 

No. 

He exhales slowly and turns the key, the truck rumbling to life around him. Then he grabs the phone and fires off a quick reply: ‘Be back in 10. Get everyone together for breakfast.’ 

Then he pulls out of the grocery store parking lot and starts rehearsing how he’s going to break the news to the crew. 

An hour later, in a quiet café on the other side of town with two small tables pulled together, Dani leans toward Tyler and blurts, “She’s what?!” 

Dexter chokes on his coffee, spluttering into his napkin, while Lily’s jaw drops mid-chew, revealing a messy mouthful of pancake. 

“She’s pregnant?” Boone asks, his voice calmer than Dani’s, though his eyes are still wide as saucers. 

Kate and Javi exchange a quick, uncertain glance, both clearly unsure how to react to the news that’s left half the crew reeling over their breakfast. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t say anything,” Dani says, her voice tight with offense. 

Lily finally swallows. “So that’s why she’s been avoiding us?” 

Dexter tips his head, eyes narrowing on Tyler. “How far along is she?” 

Tyler shrugs, his stomach twisting with nausea—though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s not like this is his big news. “She said she met the guy a few weeks after getting home. So... she’s probably around four months.” 

“Four months,” Dani echoes. “And she didn’t tell any of us?” 

Kate’s quiet laugh draws every eye to her. She quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbles, wide-eyed. “I just—” She glances at Tyler, then looks around the table. “I mean, can you blame her? Look at how you’re all reacting.” 

Tyler frowns. “What do you mean?” 

Kate sighs and leans back in her chair. “No offense, but you’re all acting like this is about you. If this wasn’t planned—and it doesn’t sound like it was—then she’s probably just scared. Of course she was nervous to tell you guys. She probably knew how you’d react.” 

The group goes quiet then, effectively chastised. And Kate isn’t wrong—Tyler knows that. As someone less emotionally entangled in your situation than the rest of the crew, she can probably see it more clearly. Understand why you did what you did. 

But that doesn’t make Tyler feel any less conflicted. He still feels off. His palms are damp and his stomach won't stop twisting itself into nauseating knots. His heart is beating too fast, sitting high in his throat. And he can’t stop seeing your face—those tearful eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips the moment you saw him again. 

For a fleeting moment, he’d been taken back to that night. The night where everything else blurred except for you. Your flushed face, kiss-bruised mouth, lips parted for him, breathless beneath him. The way you’d whispered his name like a secret, the sounds he drew from you with his hands and mouth, the feel of your skin against his. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that night… a lot. At first, he tried not to. He couldn’t believe the lines he’d crossed, waking up with you in his arms at three a.m., your bare body pressed to his. He wasn’t even that drunk—just drunk on you. And God, he wanted nothing more than to pull you closer and fall back asleep. But panic had crept in. He had to get out. Had to breathe. 

The next day was awkward—mostly because he couldn’t stop seeing you the way he’d seen you the night before. He wanted to talk, to say something. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk burning down years of friendship for one selfish desire. So after about a week, he cracked a joke. You shot back with something sarcastic, and things felt… almost normal again. 

Until you left. 

And when you did, you took a piece of him with you. A big piece. One he doesn’t know how to get back—or if he even wants it back. 

“Hey.” Kate nudges her knee against Tyler’s. “You good?” 

The rest of the group has slipped into quiet conversation, murmuring among themselves about you and the baby. 

Tyler nods once, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he fishes his phone from his back pocket. He opens it, pulls up the sonogram picture, and slides it across the table. 

“She had an ultrasound today,” he says, the words tasting like lead on his tongue. 

Lily’s eyes light up as she snatches the phone, gazing at the black-and-white photo. Dani leans over one shoulder, Dexter over the other, and it’s not hard to catch the soft smiles spreading across their faces. 

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be upset,” Kate says, her voice lowered just for him. “I just think... maybe consider how she’s feeling before you take too much of that out on her.” 

Tyler sighs and scrubs both hands over his face. “I tried to be calm. But it was so fucking hard. She kept crying.” 

Kate exhales a half-laugh. “Yeah, she’s pregnant. Whatever you think you’re feeling, multiply it by a thousand. That’s probably where she’s at.” 

The memory of your tear-streaked face hits him square in the chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. He’d felt so useless, even as he held you close. All he wants is to make things better. To go back, find you sooner, and give you everything you’ve needed but never asked for. 

“I just want to help,” Tyler mutters, his voice rough. “She said she’s happy to do it on her own, but... I want to be there.” 

“Then be there,” Kate says, brows furrowed like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “You don’t have to overstep or force your way back in. Just be her friend. Isn’t that what you’ve always been? Just because she thinks things have to change doesn’t mean they do. Show her that.” 

Tyler’s eyes flick to Dani, who now has his phone and is zooming in on the sonogram with an awed expression. 

“But things have changed,” he says, turning back to Kate. 

On her other side, Javi has his phone in front of his nose, but Tyler can tell from his posture that he’s still listening. 

“For her, yeah,” Kate replies. “Her whole world’s flipped. But for you? Not really. So be something that hasn’t changed. Something stable. Something she can still count on.” 

Tyler’s brows draw together, eyes starting to burn again from the now-familiar sting of tears. He knows Kate’s smart—but wise too? Suddenly, he feels like a kid who threw a tantrum he didn’t fully understand. 

“I mean,” Javi chimes in, the straw of his milkshake still at the corner of his mouth, “it’s not like you’re the father.” 

The words hit Tyler harder than they should. They sink into his skin and burn as they draw blood, the pain spreading through his chest. His skin prickles, heat rushes to his face, and his head goes a little light—like the floor’s been yanked out from under him. 

He’s not just angry that you didn’t tell him. Not just upset that you left, that you ran away from the crew with a half-assed excuse. He’s confused, yes—but underneath it all, he’s heartbroken. 

Because it’s not just about you being pregnant. It’s not about the distance, or how much everything suddenly feels so different. It’s the fact that you’re pregnant with someone else’s baby. 

Not his. 

And for the first time, the weight of it truly hits him— 

He wants it to be his. 

“Ouch!” Javi hisses as Kate smacks him on the back of the head. “What was that for?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Not reading the room.” 

“Shit,” Javi mutters, leaning forward past Kate to see Tyler—a very shocked-looking Tyler. “Sorry, man.” 

Tyler tries to shake his head, but it’s slow, almost robotic. “It’s fine,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. 

Kate rests a hand on his knee and leans toward him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He opens his mouth, but hesitates. He was going to say yes—but that would be a lie. He’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay since you left. 

Kate’s brows draw together, her head tilting slightly. “You’re not, like... just realizing you’re totally in love with her, are you?” 

Tyler’s green gaze snaps to her face, a jolt of electricity running down his spine at hearing those words said out loud. 

“Oh, Tyler...” she sighs, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Wake up.” 

He’s always known he loves you—of course he does. But in love with you? Maybe it should’ve been obvious. He hasn’t felt fully human without you by his side. There’s been a gaping hole in his chest since the day you left—because you took his heart with you. 

It always has been yours. He just never really thought about it that hard. He’s just always known, deep down, from the very beginning, that he belongs to you. 

And he’s always thought of you as his. Never questioned it, even through your crappy boyfriends and his meaningless hookups. Some part of him was sure you’d always come back. That at the end of the day—after the storm—you’d be his again. 

But now? Now some other guy has a claim on you. And he knows it’s selfish. He knows it’s primal. But God, he fucking hates it. 

After breakfast, the crew heads back to the motel. They try to work—and try even harder to pull Tyler out of whatever existential wormhole he’s fallen into—but it’s not easy. He spends most of the day staring into space, half-listening (at best) to anyone who speaks. Eventually, they give up and leave him to it. 

Lily ends up messaging you about dinner, since Tyler’s too dazed to even type a text. You agree to meet at a restaurant downtown, halfway between your place and the crew’s motel. 

“Okay, pal,” Kate sighs as she drops into the lawn chair beside Tyler’s. “You’re starting to worry us.” 

Lily drops into the chair on his other side, braced like she might have to chase him if he bolts. 

“Are you going to be alright tonight?” Kate asks gently. 

Tyler nods—slow, uncertain. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you’ve been a damn zombie all day,” Lily snaps. “You think acting like this is going to make her feel loved and supported?” 

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her tone sharp. “The answer is no. So get your shit together.” 

Tyler turns to Kate, frowning. “Why is she being mean to me?” 

Kate rolls her eyes for what feels like the thousandth time today. “Because you’re being a child. So what, you’re in love with your best friend who’s now pregnant with some random guy’s baby? Suck it up. Start acting normal—or you’ll just make her feel worse.” 

Tyler lets out a long, dramatic sigh and tips his head back. “I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” Lily says. “Come on—practice talking about baby stuff with us.” 

Kate perks up. “Good idea. Ask us about being pregnant.” 

Tyler slowly lowers his head and gives Kate a flat stare. “This is dumb. I’m not going to make things awkward. I’ll be fine.” 

“Then why have you walked away from every conversation about babies today?” Lily fires back. 

“Just try,” Kate pleads. “Let’s just talk about her, okay? And no deflecting.” 

Tyler groans but doesn’t argue, silently accepting the assignment. 

Kate folds her hands in her lap and leans in like an interviewer. “So, you said she’s got an apartment here—did you see the nursery?” 

“No,” Tyler replies, nausea twisting in his gut. Just thinking about that visit makes him uneasy. “Wasn’t exactly a show-and-tell kind of vibe.” 

Kate sighs. “I get that. But just work with us.” 

“I’ve got one,” Lily chimes in. “Did she say she’s having any weird cravings?” 

Tyler shakes his head. “No.” Then, at her expectant look, he adds, “But she was buying some sugary cereal when I ran into her. I think she told the cashier it was the baby’s favourite breakfast.” 

Lily nods, satisfied. 

Kate clears her throat. “Did she say how far along she is?” 

“Not exactly,” Tyler says. “But from what she did say, I’m guessing around eighteen weeks.” He did the math—counting from the day you left the crew, assuming you met ‘the guy’ maybe three or four weeks later. 

“Nuh-uh,” Lily says, brows pinched as she shakes her head. “She’s twenty-two weeks.” 

Tyler’s heart skips. “What? How do you know?” 

“It’s on the sonogram, stupid.” 

His pulse kicks up, head spinning, hands suddenly numb as he fumbles for his phone. He yanks it from his back pocket and pulls up the image, squinting at the screen. 

Lily sighs and takes it from him, zooming in on the small print in the corner. “See? Twenty-two weeks.” 

Kate says something, but Tyler doesn’t hear her. All he hears is the blood pounding in his ears. Loud. Fast. Deafening. 

Twenty-two weeks. That’s five and a half months. You’ve only been gone four months and three weeks. 

That leaves three weeks. 

Three weeks you were still with the crew. Still with him. 

Somewhere in those three weeks… you got pregnant. 

The world tilts. He blinks, once—twice—but everything stays blurry. The thought barrels through him like a freight train. It doesn’t make sense—shouldn’t make sense—but it does. The timeline. The things you said. The look on your face when you saw him. His stomach drops as the pieces slam into place, sharp and undeniable. 

Holy shit. 

“Tyler,” Kate says, her hand closing over his shoulder. 

Lily frowns again. “You’re supposed to be acting normal, dude. You can’t keep freezing like that.” 

“I have to go,” he mutters, shooting to his feet. 

Kate blinks. “Where?” 

“I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant.” He’s gone before they can respond, feet already pounding the pavement. 

He throws himself into the truck and jams the key in the ignition, peeling out of the motel lot fast enough to make the tires squeal. 

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as the truck barrels down the street, heart pounding like a war drum. The shock is still there, curling cold and sharp in his chest, but the panic has started to harden. Settle. Sharpen. He’s not going to lose it. Not now. If this really adds up—if the impossible is true—then he needs answers. Not anger. He sucks in a breath through his nose, jaw locked tight. 

He’s not going there to yell. He’s going there to hear it. To look you in the eye and make you say it— 

The truth. 

- You - 

You stand in front of your closet with your hands on your hips, trying to figure out what still fits and also looks decent enough for a nice restaurant. You picked a nice place on purpose—you haven’t been out in months. Literally. Most of your friends have been too busy chasing tornadoes while you’ve been stuck in this town, growing a baby. And while you’re not angry about the choices you’ve made, you’re more than a little excited to be getting out for the first time in what feels like forever. 

You’re feeling a lot better than you did a few hours ago. After a solid hour of crying on the floor, you dragged yourself into the shower and stayed there until your fingers pruned. Then you wrapped yourself in two towels, curled up on your bed, and passed out. When you woke up, your phone was full of messages—hearts, check-ins, a few sweet “can’t wait to see you” texts—and you decided that maybe you’d been overreacting. 

Sure, seeing Tyler had been the emotional peak of the last five and a half months, but that’s over now. And yeah, things might still be awkward. A little tense. But the secret’s out, and your story had him convinced—hook, line, and sinker. He was just emotional because he missed you. Because you’re best friends, and this is the longest you’ve ever gone without each other. 

You’d thought about telling him the truth earlier, while curled up on the floor. But once the initial wreckage settled, you remembered why you hadn’t. Just to be sure, you went back and rewatched Corey’s YouTube interview. It still stung—maybe even more than the first time—but it did what it was supposed to: reminded you to stay strong. Because when it comes to Tyler Owens, strength is not your strong suit. 

A knock echoes through the apartment and jolts you into motion. You yank a pair of thick black leggings from the drawer and wrestle into them while shuffling toward your bedroom door, grabbing an oversized knit sweater on the way. 

“Coming!” you call, your voice muffled as you pull the sweater over your head. 

Random visitors aren’t exactly uncommon. Your neighbour Marge likes to accuse you of stealing her newspapers, and you’ve definitely forgotten about more than a few online orders until the delivery driver comes knocking 

You reach the door and tug the sweater down over your bump before pulling it open. 

“Tyler,” you breathe, startled, taking an automatic step back. “You’re—uh—you’re like an hour early.” 

Lily had mentioned he’d be picking you up—something about saving you the cab fare. You hadn’t objected, for obvious reasons, but you’d hoped for at least enough time to do your hair and makeup. 

Still, he looks infuriatingly good. He’s swapped his white tee for a red plaid flannel, the top few buttons undone down to his sternum. His hair’s a tousled mess, like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and he’s holding his cowboy hat in one hand. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathless. “Figured we could catch up some more.” 

Did he drive here? Or run? 

“Um, okay. Sure,” you say, stepping back further. 

He nods as he walks in, kicking off his boots by the door before heading toward the lounge. But he doesn’t sit—he just stands there, stiff and distant, eyes scanning the room like he’s searching for something specific. 

“I was just getting ready,” you say, slipping into the kitchen. “Mind if I do the quick version before we... catch up?” 

He shakes his head and sets his hat on the coffee table, still glancing around like he’s casing the place. 

“Want a drink?” you ask, watching him carefully. 

“I’m good,” he says. 

“Okay,” you mutter, and retreat toward your room. So much for taking your time and enjoying getting ready. 

Maybe he’s just trying to be nice after this morning. Or maybe the others sent him here to smooth things over before they all see you for the first time in over four months—baby bump and all. 

“How far along did you say you were?” Tyler calls, poking his head into your room. 

You jump, dropping the sock you were trying to pull on. “Oh... um, about four-ish months.” 

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t press, just leans in the doorway, quietly taking in the space. 

This can’t be good. 

“When are you due?” he asks. 

“Five-ish months,” you shoot back with a smirk. 

His lip twitches, almost smiling—and it still gets you. That little flicker of him is enough to stir your heart. 

Then he asks, “What did you say the dad’s name was again?” 

You freeze mid-step toward the ensuite. “I didn’t.” 

“Oh...” His nod is slow, satisfied, like he was waiting for that. 

“It’s Todd,” you blurt, turning quickly and disappearing into the bathroom. 

Behind you, he scoffs. “Todd.” 

Yeah, this isn’t good. Tyler’s onto something. What, you don’t know. But you can feel it—he’s circling like a shark, toying with you before he bites. 

“So, when exactly did you find out you were pregnant?” he asks, stepping into view in the mirror behind you. 

The hairs on your neck rise. “About three weeks after I slept with him.” 

His eyes lock on yours in the mirror, steady and sharp as you try to run a comb through your damp hair. 

“What did he say when you told him?” 

You shrug, trying to appear unaffected. “Not much. He was shocked. Asked if I was keeping it, and I said yes. Told him it was fine if he wanted out. He took it.” 

Tyler shifts, raising one arm to lean against the doorframe. He’s filling the small bathroom doorway with his body—and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad his shoulders are, how strong his arms are, remembering the way he’d thrown you around that night... 

The memory slams into you, heat creeping between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together. 

He notices. That tiny smirk returning as he leans in a little more, boxing you in. 

“Bit strange, don’t you think?” he says, voice low. “Knowing you’re having a kid and not wanting anything to do with it. Sounds like a dirtbag move.” 

Anger slices through your chest. “Yeah, well. Some people just don’t see themselves settling down.” 

The words are out before you realise—they're his words, from the interview. 

His eyes narrow. “Who said anything about settling down? Kids don’t ruin lives.” 

You scoff, avoiding his gaze. “No, they just stop you from pursuing your dreams.” 

Another quote. Damn that interview. Damn you for watching it again. But the way he’s interrogating you is pissing you off. What right does he have? He’s the one who told the world he’d resent anyone who gave him a kid. 

And here he is, acting like he cares. 

A heavy breath hangs in the air as you trade your hairbrush for a makeup brush, leaning closer to the mirror. Tyler’s eyes stay locked on you—intense, unwavering, a little too focused. 

Then his voice slices clean through the silence. 

“Why didn’t you use birth control?” 

White-hot fury flares up your spine, lighting your cheeks on fire as you spin to face him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t recoil. He just stands there with that same infuriating glint in his eye—smug, steady, unreadable. His posture is so relaxed it makes your skin crawl, like he didn’t just drop a live grenade into the middle of your lie. 

“You know I’m not on birth control,” you snap, your voice low and trembling with rage. “And the condom. Fucking. Broke.” 

The second it’s out of your mouth, you want to drag it back in. You could’ve said anything else—something careless, something wild, something stupid. But instead, you gave him truth wrapped in a lie—and now the whole thing is starting to crack. 

“That so?” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Crazy how that happened... twice in a row.” 

Your jaw clenches. “Clearly I need to buy a new box of condoms.” 

He lets out a dry, humourless laugh and leans in closer, eyes glittering. “That was my condom that broke.” 

Your breath comes faster now, chest tight, nerves sparking under your skin like live wires. You can’t even remember the lie you rehearsed. Your heart’s thundering, the baby is moving restlessly in your belly—like she feels your panic. Like she knows. 

“Maybe you and Todd use the same damn brand,” you mutter, spinning back toward the vanity and gripping the edge like it might hold you steady. 

“You just said you need to buy a new box,” he presses, relentless. “Does Todd leave his condoms here?” 

You grit your teeth, drop your chin, and breathe in through your nose. “Jesus, Tyler. I’m sorry I don’t remember every single detail.” 

You hear him shift. Feel the heat of him behind you. Too close. 

“You wanna know what I think?” he asks, voice low and dangerous. 

You turn, slowly, heart in your throat. He’s so close now your belly nearly brushes his belt and you have to press against the vanity for space. 

You meet his eyes. “What do you think, Tyler?” 

He tilts his head, just slightly. “I think you remember the night you got pregnant like it just happened. I think it’s carved into your brain. And I think you’re tripping over your story right now because you can’t forget what it felt like. Because it was so damn good, you don’t want to forget it.” 

Panic coils in your chest like a gathering storm—rising fast, twisting tight, pushing a tangled mess of guilt and frustration up your throat. Your breath catches on it, your lungs stuck somewhere between inhale and breakdown. And then it spills over. Tears blur your vision before you can even try to blink them back, heavy and hot as they streak down your cheeks—weighted with remorse and something close to desperation. 

Tyler is frozen in place, wide-eyed and still, his lips parted like he’s trying to speak but the words won’t come. You can see the regret flicker there—he hadn’t meant to be cruel, not like that. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever version of the truth he’s starting to piece together... he’s probably right. 

And still, you can’t say it. Not yet. 

Instead, you swipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater and slip past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you squeeze out of the bathroom. You cross the room on shaky legs and drop onto the bed, curling in on yourself as a raw sob breaks free and rattles from your chest. You bury your face in your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. 

Tyler doesn’t move at first. The silence stretches and settles around you, thick and stifling. But then comes the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet as he steps closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s choking on his own emotion. “That was too harsh.” 

You don’t look up. Not yet. You can’t. 

“I didn’t mean to come at you like that,” he continues, voice gentler now. “I got caught up—and I guess I’ve been walking around with all this shit in my chest. Then I saw you again, and it just... it all hit me. I’ve been pretending I’m fine, like it didn’t gut me when you left. But it did. You took more of me with you than I ever realised.” 

Your fingers shift, just enough to peek through them—and there he is, kneeling beside the bed, one hand resting near your thigh but not quite touching. His eyes search yours, glassy with emotion he’s clearly trying to hold back. 

“I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I did before all of this—before you left, before... the baby. I’ve always loved you. That night wasn’t a mistake. And honestly? I wasn’t even that drunk. I just—needed you. I still do. I need you more than anything.” 

You swallow hard. 

“But not more than you need the chase,” you mutter, tears spilling again. “Right? Because that’s it for you. That’s the dream, and you’ve worked too damn hard to give it up.” 

He blinks. Confused. Then his brows furrow as recognition dawns. You can see it hit him—he remembers. 

You let out a shaky breath and slide your hand over his. “I don’t want you to resent me, Ty. I don’t want you to give up what you love. You’ve got an out.” 

His eyes widen, locking onto yours like he’s just now realising what you’re trying to say. 

“You can still walk away,” you whisper. 

He stares at you, frozen—like your words knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. His brows knit tighter, his hand shifting beneath yours. 

Then, after a beat, he whispers, “Are you serious?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just look at him, eyes brimming, heart thundering in your chest like it’s trying to burst out and reach for him itself. 

His throat works around a swallow. Then he says it—low and broken and burning. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” His voice cracks. “I fucking love you. More than anything. More than storms and chasing and everything I’ve ever been stupid enough to think mattered more. That interview... it was bullshit. I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking about you. Because with you, I want all of it.” 

Then he moves. 

There’s no breath between the words and the moment he surges forward—like he’s been holding himself back for years and finally snapped. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and searing, all teeth and desperation and need. One hand tangles in your hair, the other pulls you toward him with a grip that says he’s never letting go again. 

It steals your breath. Steals your thoughts. Your hands fist in his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely, matching the fire with one that’s been simmering in your chest since the day you left. 

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s raw and reckless and messy, and it tastes like every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every broken piece finally slamming back into place. 

It feels like the truth. 

Between frantic kisses, you whisper against his lips, “I love you.” 

You feel his mouth curve into a smile before he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” 

The kisses slow, soften—his tongue sweeping against yours with aching intention, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you, every breath. The hand tangled in your hair slides down to cradle your neck, while the other one drifts to your waist, settling gently against the curve of your swollen belly. 

Then the baby kicks—hard. Harder than she ever has. You both jolt. 

“Shit,” you whisper, hands flying to your stomach. “Sorry.” 

Tyler stares, completely still. He looks unfairly beautiful like this—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, wide, glassy eyes locked on your belly. He looks like he’s just witnessed something holy. Something impossible. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours. 

You shrug, brushing your damp cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater. “She doesn’t usually kick that hard. I guess she’s getting stronger.” 

His eyes shimmer. “She?” 

You nod, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “Yeah. We’re having a baby girl.” 

His bottom lip trembles, a small, stunned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We?” 

A shaky laugh bubbles up as fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “Yes, Tyler. She’s yours.” 

His tears fall freely now, trailing down his flushed cheeks, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He just looks at you like you’ve hung the moon—just for him. 

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We’re all yours.” 

Then he’s kissing you again—wet and messy and full of everything you’ve both been carrying for months. You’re crying, he’s crying, but neither of you care. You just hold on—breathing hard, laughing softly—lips meeting again and again as you both sink into the familiar shape of each other… into home. 

END.

[genderkoolaid]

Eight members of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department (LASD), including multiple sergeants, have reportedly been fired amid allegations of a coverup centering on the 2023 police beating of a transgender man. The Los Angeles Times reported last week that former deputy Joseph Benza III and seven others in the department have all been relieved of duty, according to six anonymous sources within the sheriff’s office. The firings came less than two weeks after Benza reached a plea deal with federal prosecutors, in which he admitted to following and assaulting then-23-year-old Emmett Brock for raising his middle finger at Benza while driving past him. As part of last month’s plea agreement, Benza admitted to all factual allegations made by prosecutors, including details of an alleged coverup within the sheriff’s department that began as Benza was still pursuing Brock. As he followed Brock’s car, the agreement states, Benza called another deputy and told them he was going to stop Brock because he had “just flipped him off,” even though raising one’s middle finger is legally protected speech under the U.S. constitution. After tailing Brock to a gas station, Benza threw Brock to the ground and began beating him so severely that Brock suffered “serious bodily injury,” including a concussion, heavy bruising, and cuts to his body. Brock was initially jailed on $100,000 bond and charged with mayhem and resisting arrest, but was declared factually innocent by a judge last year. When compiling his report, according to the agreement, Benza spoke with a sergeant and another deputy about what information to include. The sergeant “counseled [Benza] to omit” that he began tailing Brock after being flipped off; two other sergeants are also said in the agreement to have “counseled [Benza] to omit that fact from the Incident Report.” Indeed, Benza’s report did not mention that information or his subsequent use of force, instead “misleadingly” claiming that he stopped Brock because of an air freshener on his rear-view mirror. Later, the sergeant who first told Benza to omit information from his report also told him to “toss the phone,” which Benza understood to be an instruction to delete cell phone data prior to an investigation; Benza and other deputies are said in the agreement to have “discussed lying to federal authorities” to cover up the truth. The other conspirators in the alleged LASD coverup were not named in Benza’s plea agreement. An LASD spokesperson confirmed that Benza had been fired in a statement to CNN last week, but did not officially confirm any of the other dismissed former members’ identities or how many had been fired. (It’s possible that the unnamed deputies and sergeants could still be rehired at other law enforcement agencies, as is common even in cases of misconduct.) Benza currently faces a maximum sentence of 10 years in prison, though his attorney Tom Yu told the Times that he will ask the court to place Benza on probation. Last September, LASD relieved “several” deputies from duty “in connection with a federal investigation” from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, as the Times also reported. It’s not clear whether those firings were related to the Brock case, or to another federal investigation; earlier that month, another LASD deputy, Trevor James Kirk, was also charged with deprivation of rights under color of law for allegedly assaulting and pepper-spraying a Black woman who was accused of shoplifting. “I just feel very lucky to have gotten justice for this when there’s a lot of survivors of that [who] don't, so I’m just greatly appreciative of that,” Brock told NBC News last month following news of Benza’s plea deal. “It’s my lifelong wish that people in law enforcement live up to their public statements that they disapprove of this kind of felonious behavior and they will hold their employees accountable, [because] I can give you 100 cases in which they said that and nobody went to jail.”

You love to see it

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Talk/threat of violence but nothing too explicit. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,350

A/N: It's been a while between being sick and trying to get more of the Valentines Event requests caught up on but I needed my Doffy fix after a draining week. I'm not too happy with the ending for this chapter but it does the job in leading us to the next part of the story. Hope you all enjoy and as always thank you for the support and response to this story.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen(here) | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen(coming soon)

——————

“You’re staring.” You spoke up from your place on the sofa, your eyes reading over the morning paper leisurely. For the most part you’d ignored the feeling of Doflamingo’s stare on you but now you decided to call attention to his behaviour seeing as it was unlike him. 

“I can’t stop thinking about your face.” Immediately you turned your head to look at him peculiarly, eyebrow arching. This wasn’t his usual method of trying to get a reaction out of you. This seemed genuinely thoughtful. For a moment you observed him, watching him rest his chin on his had with his elbow propped up on the desk. Completely unmoving. With his dark glasses and relaxed breath anyone would have mistaken him for sleeping. 

“Okay, this should be good” You mused, discarding your paper now that this seemed to be the main issue of the afternoon. Turning in the seat you faced him fully. “What about my face has you so thoughtful?” 

“There’s still no mark.” He explained and you let out a loud sigh. Doflamingo couldn’t help but frown slightly at how annoyed you sounded. “What?”

“You’re still fixated on that? Have you ever considered that you might have a little bit of an obsessive personality?” You asked while getting to your feet. “It’s been days. If there was going to be a mark, it would have appeared already and like I told you the day it happened; I’m fine and it didn’t even hurt.”

“Regardless the fact is there should have been something. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Since when did anything with this whole soulmate thing make sense? Besides what would you have rather happen, Doffy?” You asked as you leant against the wall and stared blankly out the window while you listened to the Warlord turn in his chair to follow your movements. “Can’t you just be happy it happened this way? Otherwise you would have been pissed that a ‘lowly servant’ did what you haven’t been able to do yet. No mark means you can just act like it didn’t happen and we can continue as normal…or our version of normal at least.”

“That’s one way of looking at it…” Doflamingo hummed, leaning back in his seat to regard you carefully. “Still knowing what happened is a mystery. Is it possible that now being in the same room as the other makes us impervious to harm from others too?”

“Possibly.” You shrugged before letting out a small laugh. “Either that or I’m also soulmates with that servant.” At that you felt Doflamingo’s shadow looming over you and you tilted your head back to smirk at him, not surprised by his speed or sudden proximity. “Oh lighten up, I was joking. One soulmate is more than enough, especially a handful like you.”

“Handful? I’ll have you know I’ve been on my best behaviour.” Doflamingo chuckled, his previous annoyance at the reminder of the servant-who’d been smart enough to stay out of his way as well as yours- leaving swiftly the more he stared at your amused expression. He grinned as his lens-covered eyes drifted to your curved lips. “Really you should be more grateful.”

“Should I? I’ll take that into consideration but if memory serves I think I’ve been more than generous with my gratitude when you’ve actually been well behaved.” You informed him with a casual smile before looking back out the window while his grin grew. While there had been no more kisses shared between the two of you since that day, it was still fresh in both of your minds. 

Apart from a few passing remarks and subtle glances there were no deeper conversations or direct attention called to the two kisses shared, because doing so would certainly mean having to face the fact that feelings were changing and had been for while. Luckily for you both the conversation changed when you stifled a long yawn and rubbed your neck. Feeling Doflamingo’s stare again you looked to him, seeing the grin had lessened, his jaw tight. “What?”

“Are you not sleeping again?” Doflamingo reached out and tucked his finger under your chin to coax you to look at him. Not unlike when he was looking for a mark, he stared over your features with intent scrutiny only this time he wasn’t fuelled with fury that someone could have hurt you. 

“Took a little while to fall asleep.” You admitted, unbothered. “I woke up early too.” For some reason that didn’t seem to ease Doflamingo’s slight tension. Abruptly he moved his hand from your chin to lightly touch your forehead with the back of his hand. Confused, you pulled your head away from his fingers and looked at him curiously. “What’s up with you today?”

“Just checking.” Doflamingo answered, stepping away to return to his desk. Silently he was relieved to feel your temperature felt fine, the second you’d mentioned not sleeping well he couldn’t help but think of the last time you’d mentioned something similar. Try as he might, the unwanted image of your sick and weakened form lying in bed and struggling for breath still occurred in his thoughts every so often. This was the first time it’d happened while you were standing in front of him, healthy and thriving. Lifting a random missive he absently tried to focus on it but cast it aside just as fast as he’d picked it up, unwilling and unable to retain any of the words on the paper. 

With a sigh he pinching the bridge of his nose and sat back again. You moved to the back of his seat and pushed it down, forcing it to recline at the lazy pace you’d set. When Doflamingo’s face was directly under yours you lightly tapped his forehead and waited to feel his stare from behind the dark lenses. “Same question to you; are you not sleeping?” 

“Course I am.”

“Okay fine, I’ll rephrase it: have you been sleeping well?” You asked, refusing to believe his relaxed grin for a second. 

“No, but then I never do.” Doflamingo chuckled, unbothered. He was used to his unrecommended sleeping habits that he’d had for countless years. Yes he found sleep, usually a couple hours at a time throughout the night with stretches of restlessness and tossing and turning sprinkled in between. Some nights he didn’t even sleep at all, deciding to just stay awake and work. It was very rare for him to have a full and restful night of uninterrupted slumber because almost without fail if he did fall asleep fast enough, some form of nightmare of his past or unsettled dreams that would swiftly wake him.

“What about when I fell asleep on you? Or when you had to hold me to ensure I slept?” You asked, the different incidences coming to your memory. “You seemed peaceful those times when I woke and you were still sleeping.” Doflamingo considered it for a minute. When you’d fallen asleep on him right here in the office because of heavy sleep deprivation, he had fallen asleep too not long after and awoken only when you did. Thinking back he had slept soundly then, just as he had when he’d held you to stop you feeling pain. Yes, he woke up throughout the night when the doctors came in to do their checks and apart from his vigilance on your changing condition he could silently admit in the sleep he had felt rested all the same. Doflamingo gave a small thoughtful hum and you smirked. “Regardless, your biggest issue is you’re too tense which is strange given how much you smile.”

“I’m not ‘too tense’ you’re imagining things.” Doflamingo chuckled, making a point to kick his feet up onto the desk and tuck his hands behind his head in a show of perfect ease. Still you stared at him expectantly and unconvinced. 

“I felt your neck the day the door hit me-”

“-by the servant-” Doflamingo tried to interject but you continued over him.

“-and you were tense. Bet the rest of your back is just as bad if not worse.”

“I’m fine, I’m in perfect shape and able to rule the country and command my subordinates as effectively as I always have.” Doflamingo dismissed your words while you took a breath and stepped away from the back of his chair.

“Okay. Understood.” You said with a little too much sweetness and acceptance in your tone. Before you moved too far, Doflamingo’s hand caught your wrist, immediately suspicious. His distrust only grew when you looked down to smile at him innocently. “Yes?”

“What? Why’re you dropping it so easily?”

“Because unlike you I’m not obsessive?” You asked calmly, your smile unmoving. “I just know not to push these types of topics. Especially for fragile egos that don’t want to admit they were wrong. You say you’re not tense? Then you’re not tense.” Doflamingo bit back the urge to snap that he didn’t have a fragile ego. He saw the bait being dangled in front of him, he saw the dangerous but playful challenge in your stare. You wanted to play? Fine. 

“I have no issue admitting I’m wrong when it actually happens, it’s just never happened of course but I welcome the opportunity.” He began smoothly, standing from his seat and releasing your wrist. “Go on then. Prove I’m too tense to sleep properly but even just trying is going to cost you.”

“What’s the price?” You asked warily, eyes narrowing at how smug he now seemed. 

“You have to spend more time with the family for a whole week; at least one meal a day. Oh and you have to talk, no sitting in silence.” Immediately your expression tensed. Doflamingo was truly a bastard when he wanted to be and setting the cost this high for just an attempt was proof of that. Still if you could prove you were right and he was wrong that meant you got gloating rights for life. That would make enduring the company of his ‘family’ worth it. Resolve steeling you adopted your sweet smile once more and held out your hand to shake it. Doflamingo paused for the smallest moment, pleasantly surprised at your dedication and willingness to do what was necessary. Grinning he took your hand into his and shook it firmly. 

————

You allowed Doflamingo time to see to his urgent matters of the day before working on proving your point. By midday he’d finished and found you in your room softly playing the violin to pass the time. At the sound of the door opening and closing behind him you played the last note and jerked your head towards the bed. “Lie down.”

“Someone’s eager.” Doflamingo chuckled and did as you said, not fully lying down until you sat down on the mattress beside him. Lightly you pushed his shoulder and made him settle onto his stomach. He folded his arms under one of the pillows and turned his head to the side to watch you. 

Without hesitating you reached out, fingers moving against his neck and applying decent pressure against the knots you were right to assume were there. Slowly massaging and taking your time to work away the tension before moving on to his shoulders. Your lips quirked slightly when you felt Doflamingo sink a little more into the comfort of the mattress and heard his breathing shift into one of genuine calm. The tiny smile grew into a fully vindicated grin when you moved to the centre of his back where the largest knot of tensed muscle you’d felt yet was. Under your careful and diligent movements you heard a low, satisfied groan escape when it practically melted away. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were falling asleep…”

“So smug…annoying.” You couldn’t help but laugh at how his deep voice was now thick with grogginess. In a matter of seconds you removed the final point of tightness in his back and felt the subtle change and then heard the deep relaxed breaths as he fell over to sleep.

For hours there was no sign of Doflamingo in the palace. The servants and lower rank subordinates had initially been worried that their ruler was in his office, growing more and more uneasy that he could appear at any moment in a foul and murderous mood. If anything the silence was more stressful for them to contend with because they just had no way of knowing if Doflamingo was planning something and their imaginations immediately went to the most terrifying thoughts their creativity could conjure. It didn’t matter that you’d told them almost immediately that Doflamingo was just sleeping, they just couldn’t believe you and any that did at first, became distrustful when his rest stretched beyond the typical half hour he would normally have. It just seemed so unnatural to them.

When Doflamingo finally stirred he opened his eyes to the darkness of your room. Taking a long breath he rolled onto his back and slowly moved to sit up while his mind caught up to the current situation. This was the first time in a long time he’d actually slept for so long and so deeply. There had been no fitful dreams or nightmares, no slight disturbance or noise that would break through his subconscious and wake him. He felt rested and honestly he felt disgruntled because you were right. Looking around the room he saw you weren’t there and with a sigh he rose from the comfort of the bed and stepped out into the corridor, taking long casual strides towards the drawing room his family usually spent their time in before dinner. 

Entering the room he surveyed the scene of his family interacting. Everything looked the same as he always found except for the unexpected sight of you sitting opposite Diamanté with a chess board between you both. Trebol stood oppressively close to his fellow elite officer, laughing at how the man hesitated to make his next move. You sat perfectly relaxed, your eyes only drifting from the board to meet Doflamingo’s gaze when he stepped into the room. Immediately the others  sensed his presence and the conversations stopped, everyone looking to Doflamingo as he walked through the room, coming to a stop at the table and inspected the board. Immediately everyone else returned to their previous conversations, knowing not to mention their King’s absence for most of the day if he wasn’t going to. Diamanté was the first to address their master. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon, Doffy.”

“Good, I’m starving.” He grinned, looking to the officer. “What’s your next move Diamanté?”

“Don’t pressure him, he’s been stuck for ten minutes.” You finally spoke up to smile at the officer who’s mood had soured the longer the game had lasted because at first he believed you knew next to nothing about how to play. Doflamingo chuckled stepping around to stand behind your seat and watch. “Maybe a nap will help sharpen your mind? What do you think, Doffy?”

“Couldn’t do any harm.” Doflamingo grinned lightly squeezing your shoulder.

As agreed you joined the family for their dinner, your seat beside Doflamingo just as it had been during the pirate’s banquet so long ago. Just as you’d done while in the drawing room before Doflamingo woke up, you talked lightly with the family, engaged in conversation politely while also not being afraid of shutting them down when they overstepped in a comment or question you weren’t going to answer. You brought no attention to it but it did surprise you when they didn’t push or pry. When you shut those topics down, they swiftly moved to different conversations. 

It wasn’t complete torture but you were still relieved when the meal was over and you were heading towards your room, hoping you got as good a night’s sleep as you’d helped Doflamingo get. A long yawn built in your chest and you covered your mouth as you reached for the door to your room, only to stop when Doflamingo spoke up. “So what meal are you going to join everyone for tomorrow?”

“Breakfast. Better to get it out of the way first.” You explained with a smile as Doflamingo laughed. You stood in the open doorway of your room but didn’t fully enter, facing the man with an expectant look. “I’m still waiting to hear something from you.”

“And that would be?” Doflamingo stared at you, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

“You said you had no issue admitting you were wrong when it happened. Come on then.” Doflamingo let out a small huff and you smirked knowing he needed a little push. “No, you’re right we shouldn’t keep this between us. Let’s save your declaration for tomorrow at breakfast with the rest of the family present? Good idea. Night, Doffy.” You stepped inside and prepared to close the door only to blink in mild surprise when Doflamingo had already stepped inside and braced his hand against the wood to prevent it from closing you off from him. His free hand slipped around your waist and pulled you forward. 

“Fine.” Doflamingo uttered, a reluctant sigh building in his chest as he leant in. “You might have had a point and helped me sleep after all.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a better way to phrase that sentiment.”

“So high maintenance…” Doflamingo tutted under his breath. “Fine. I was a little bit wrong.”

“So humble.” You smirked. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“You really are annoying when you’re smug. You know that?” Doflamingo chuckled, pressing a quick and unexpected kiss against your forehead before letting you go. “Go on, get to bed.”

————

Doflamingo was pleasantly surprised to find that you kept up your side of the deal without complaint for the full week. You interacted with the family as he’d requested you would and had at least one meal a day with the full family. The family itself never drew any attention to the development even when some did cast you a curious look when you entered the dining room for the chosen meal you’d attend for the day. 

When the week was over he walked down the corridor and entered your room expecting to see you sitting at your table by the window. Instead he looked to see you still in bed, curled up against the covers and sleeping deeply. At the soft click of the door shutting he watched your eyes slowly crack open. Blearily you blinked and focused your gaze on his face. Yawning, you stretched out and pushed yourself to sit up in the bed. “Everyone missing me already?” You asked before stopping to yawn again. “Can’t they wait until lunchtime?”

“You’re going to continue dining with them?” Doflamingo asked as you relaxed against the pillows. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Seeing them try to work out why I’m there is entertaining. Might as well make the most out of their confusion while it lasts.” You shrugged lightly. Stretching one last time you reluctantly dragged yourself out of the bed, knowing that if you didn’t move now you would have probably risked falling to sleep again. Sitting down in your seat by the window, you said nothing as Doflamingo took his seat but you turned your head when he set a small envelope in front of you. You cast him a brief glance before lifting the envelope and opening it. 

You pulled out the thick and expensive card and read it over with a confused frown. “What’s this?”

“My invite to another pointless gathering of the Grand Line’s rich and powerful. Want to go?”

“You said you hated these kinds of things. Pointless and boring, remember?”

“Yes, I did say that and I stand by it.” Doflamingo nodded. “However you said you’ve never gotten to experience this kind of thing as a guest. So, what do you say?”

You looked down at the invitation once more. It was tempting, you weren’t going to lie. Silently you chewed your lower lip for a moment as you considered it. 

“When do we go?”  

——————————————-

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[chlmtsdoll]

I WAS AN ANGEL

౨ৎ Paring: ballerina!reader x older!Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

౨ৎ Summary: it’s winter and your on vacation at a cabin locked away with Art and Patrick. Spending the weekend teasing the men till they’re wrapped into your alluring nature leads to you getting them exactly where you want

౨ৎ Word count: 10k - well yes, ur girl went crazy !

౨ৎ Warnings: smut ! threesome, p in v (unprotected) sex, age gap (reader early 20’s) older!Art and Patrick, inexperienced!reader, eventually filthiest filth, sugar baby!reader, mentions of Tashi, pet names, smoking (cigs), oral (m) receiving, fingering, porn with a lot of plot, petite!reader, size kink, corruption if you squint (it’s def there), teasing, fluff, a tad angst, so much praise kink, title based off Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey 🤍

౨ৎ Part one | two | three + more

The wind outside was frosted as it hit against the sealed windows of the cabin you’d been staying in for the weekend with no other than the only person you’d want to be cuddled up with on a cozy cabin trip in the hike of the woods on a winter like this one — accompanied by his best friend of course, Art and Patrick.

Tashi, making time for her off weekends of freedom being an underwhelming three times a year, was away with her daughter Lily on a girls scouting trip not too far by where you’d all been staying at in such a luxurious rental cabin.

And it really was the highest of class.

With eight bedrooms, each offering it’s own fireplace and balcony lookout to the fields of mountains and trees surrounding you. A beautiful avalanche of white dust covering trees was the scenery all around. You got to spend a week doing absolutely nothing but lying around the gorgeous place, and although the image of Tashi being uncomfortably out in the wilderness trying with all her dignity to get a signal to check her emails was a priceless sight to see — you knew that scoring such a win as to be stuck in winter paradise with two men near godly looking and over six foot walking around twenty four seven, was an opportunity you were never going to take advantage of.

It had been you and them watching movies all week. From silly romcoms down to chilling horror films that earned you the touch of Arts protective arm surrounding you as a shield, baking sweets with the blonde that was really overall unnecessary since the dozen of cupboards had been pre-stocked with all the foods and treats you could imagine before your arrival. But spending that time with him, laughing, and getting the tidy place all messy with cookie batter and themed frosting was worth it anyways. Getting closer than close. Falling head over heels for a man that had been someone else’s all while engaging in the most pompous wealthy people actives your friends back at the academy would of killed one another for. It was chimera.

And when it came to Patrick, although the two of you couldn’t quite be called the best of friends — Tashi had thought it would be better off if she reversed her approximation of keeping the two of you as separate as possible. Instead, you started spending even more time together. (Preoccupied of course) but settling the wall of any jealousy or tension between you both and the couple. And of course it probably would never be fully clear skies when Patrick was a man of such fiend for rivalry — even if for you, you’d just wanted him to like you deep down. And with the occasional bickering and obvious strive for Art and Tashi’s attention, you could now say the kinship between you and the tennis player wasn’t all bad for the time being.

It had been sunset when you were tidying up in the far end of the house that had been all yours as you glanced at yourself in the mirror of the grand bathroom. Bath tub behind you so large it could fit a party of ten at least.

You were braiding your hair into two dainty braids and your fingers worked quickly as you tied knots into little bows on the ends of your hair. Perfect and precious as ever you attempted yourself to be, getting ready for a dip in the hot tub on the patio Art had asked if you if you wanted to join him and Patrick — so of course you rushed to throw on your bikini. And just beneath you in the grand kitchen area, Art had been getting ready with his best friend to met you there themselves.

“Please ? I just wanna fuck her with the tutu on at least,” Patrick boasted to Art as he had been trying his hardest to bluntly ignore his friends comments about you, that had been in his perfect fashion of light hearted vulgarity.

“No.” Art replied giving the man nothing but an unbothered side eye as he searched the wet room they’d been in for a couple towels for the three of you, or at least you and himself since Patrick had been using the same one the entire time you’ve been there so far by choice.

“Come on,” the brunette laughed as he pushed Art in a way that was all too familiar to him, grinning widely as he burrowed in the fantasy of having solicited intercourse with you while his dear friend observed. “We’ll be stuck in this cabin together for the entire weekend, it’s bound to happen. You’ve been gettin’ virgin pussy all this time. I know you’re dying to share with me..”

“You say things like that and wonder why she doesn’t want to come near you.” Art chuckled, he shook his head at Patrick’s ignorance, “and you’ll probably just scare her away from wanting to participate in anything involving sex ever again, man. I just won’t let you overwhelm her, she’s still getting used to.. y’know-”

“Fucking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your right, she’s only fucked you. So technically she’s still a virgin.” Patrick joked only to get under the blondes skin even more, and Art rolled his eyes away from Patrick’s obvious smirk.

“I could turn’er into a whole new woman.”

“You’re not touching her.” Art shrugged as he glanced at Patrick who wouldn’t give away the stupid grin on his face of wanting to cause nothing but foolery.

“I think you’re scared after I’m done with her she won’t wanna go back to you… so that’s why you gotta do it with me.” Patrick pokes Art in his exposed chest as they’d both been in nothing but their swim trunks. He looked down at the finger on his skin and then back up at Patrick’s face with a loose expression. Falling unconvinced.

“You know you wanna fuck her with me. See how she’ll react from the outside when someone else gets to make her cum.. it’ll be just like old times.” Patrick’s tone was laced with poison and desire the blonde would try to fight off till he ultimately couldn’t, grimace all over Patrick’s face as he described the image of you spread out for the two of them to enjoy, and Art would defend cutting the conversation short in response to an obvious tent forming in his trunks.

Art looked Patrick in the eyes as he called out for you,

“Baby, are you ready?”

“Yeah! Just a second!” You answered in chime.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh in all seriousness at the fact that he had been this close to getting Art to submit to his desires and let him get his hands on you. When you had been so devoted to Art, and you had him wrapped around your finger, there was no way he didn’t think he couldn’t loosen the screws just enough by the time this little trip came to an end. He just had to keep trying, at the end of the day, it was all a game to him.

“keep dreaming. And grab the beer while your at it.” Art gave the man a generous pat on the back and sighed lightly with a fond but challenging smile as he walked around Patrick to the back door.

♡

When you had been pleased with your attire, you made your way down to the patio where you knew the two boys had been waiting for your arrival, in nothing but a strapy pink bikini underneath a bulky robe, you pushed the doors open to the nature and you’d been immediately hit with the brisk winter air — so thankful for the robe you’d decided to throw on, you scurried your way quickly to the steaming hot tub, and Art and Patrick’s eyes met your miniature figure skipping over.

“Cold, cold, cold, cold!” You pleaded as the air made you shake, and with a soft grin that turned into a laugh Art stood from the water he’d been adjacent in with Patrick to help you step into the tub, doing so you’d slipped your robe from your shoulders and let it fall as your smooth, shivering skin and dainty swimwear was revealed to the two.

“Careful, it’s pretty hot” Art chuckled as he held your delicate hand to guide you into the water.

“Good.” You breathed out as you settled in slowly, arms wrapped around yourself from the coldness and the steam hit your skin at the perfect rate — making you warm up from outside in. You let out a soft sigh as your body had released it’s tension. “Ahh”

Art’s sideways smirk was stuck to his face as he watched your adorable gesture already change the environment when you made your way over — and he couldn’t say he didn’t catch the eyes Patrick had been giving your oblivious state as you brought yourself to the two men in the littlest yet flattering bikini they’d maybe ever seen. Smile on your face like you’d hadn’t know how goddamn phenomenal you looked right then. Art still had a hand out to you as you’d both settled into the almost boiling water at this point, florescent lights from the jets hitting each of your faces even under the gloominess of the sky.

“Is that the set I got you ?” Art grinned at the way your bikini top had decorated your chest in a painfully perfect way. Dior. Your smile has been shy but girlish, you nodded coyly but with a soft giggle. You’d been waiting for him to notice notice that you were being patient on the perfect opportunity to bring it out of your wardrobe.

“Yeah. You like?” Your smile had widened as the blonde couldn’t have looked prettier right then, hair damp from the steam of the tub that had been hovering the water, chest glistening in the most stunning way which made made his pecks look godly and a certain boyishness look on his face.

Your eyes glanced over how it matched the smile on his peach colored lips.

“Like? I love it and you know that.” Art’s tone was low and laced with adoration mixed with a hit of lust rising. He held a hand out to you, eyes filled with nothing but intentions of getting you as close to him as possible. You’d been too far in his opinion, even being in the medium sized hot tub that had the three of you in an acute triangle. “Come closer baby doll,” Art asked of you and you couldn’t stop blushing already when you slid closer to him in the water. Smile plastered to your face as the man took you in with his muscular arm over your shoulder.

Eyes lightly hooded as he looked down at the way you fit snug in his side and he had to stop himself from biting into your shoulder as a way to show his affection. Just your sent was overwhelming him.

From the opposite end, Patrick had been sitting quite still as he observed the two of you. Elbows hanging off the rim of the tub and he held a cold beer in hand. His green irises switched between you and the blonde as if you were purely entertainment as you basked in each other’s warmth that had been heightened from the temperatures around you.

Patrick could almost feel the way Art felt you. The way you wanted him.

He’s been trying to figure out what made it so easy for you to stroll through the cabin around two men feverishly much older than you, so innocently without a care or censor in the world going off in your head. — and not just that, but you’d hardly ever wore clothing that actually covered you up. This has been the most revealing Patrick had seen you, but it wasn’t all shock when you’d merely always been in shorts that were just right off of having your ass cheeks on display — along with the smallest mini tennis skirts and tops so tight it was hard to imagine how’s you even get yourself into them. He didn’t know if there’d been a dip in your brain or what, but he almost wondered if you acted the way you did on purpose. Like a lost lamb in heat for only the sake of getting their dicks hard and uncomfortable enough for your own pleasure. Or for Art at least.

Maybe you could of just been playing slut like most girls your age did when it came to older men. Whatever it had been, Patrick knew to have you all figured out ahead of time.

“Save some space in between, yeah?” Patrick had noted out in reply of your and Arts closeness, only grin spreading across his lips as he raised the glass of beer to them slowly as if he’d been some threat you both should stay aware of.

And he loved that.

You looked over his way from Arts peering eyes on you with a soft blush. Art had looked at Patrick and remembered what they’d been sipping on to offer you,

“Did you want a beer ? I told Patrick to grab the cold ones.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Patrick, pass her one.” Art eyed his friend as the pack of six had been hanging out on the bar beside the tub, but before the brunette could speak up, you stood from the curb of the small pool.

“Don’t worry, I got it !” you smiled at both boys, but instead they had immediately gone to watch the droplets of water fall from your angel like body. And as you walked to exit the hot tub, you had to maneuver pass Patrick, which was a brief moment of his eyes just inches away from making contact with your breast being nearly one with his face. A shy kind of tint in your eyes as you climbed out and the water you carried splashed on the man while his eyes watched you in complete veneration. Only moving over a tad when he’d remembered you’d been literally trying to get out of the enclosure. And Art only watched, too mesmerized before he noticed Patrick had been staring just as much.

But even jealousy didn’t over take him right then when he saw the way your body was moments away from caressing the man, it was something more of yearning that took the lead.

You could of sworn you heard one of the men curse under their breath when you tuned your back to reach the table for the cold drink. Your ass had been of viewing now and you tried your best to hide an all knowing little smirk before you got back to them. Returning, Art didn’t even think twice before he reached for the can in your hands to open it up for you. The metal cracked with a pop and Art met your eyes again with a small grin as he handed it back to you.

“Merci” you giggled softly, as you relaxed beside him once again. Thinking to yourself before sitting comfortably, “y’know… there’s something I need to ask you both that I’ve been wondering for a while.”

With your delicate but filled, choice of words — both men had sat a little straighter in the steaming water at your voice, hanging on to your every note already as Patrick’s leafy eyes scanned your figure and Art looked down at you with anticipation for whatever had been on your mind.

“Yeah? What is it, doll face?” Patrick’s tone was low as he met your gaze for a brief second before you looked away with a coy scoff,

“Well… back at the academy a lot of the girls would constantly talk about it and - as embarrassing as it is - I just was never around boys much in my upbringing. Like ever. Most dance schools are pretty strict about that where I come from. So, I never got closure or a real answer. But you guys are boys...”

You couldn’t help but let out light girlish laughter after the hint to the male dominance of the atmosphere, and both Art and Patrick had matched your gesture with the sound of their laugher filling the air as they listened in on the way you spoke. It had been obvious they were both fighting the same urge to trail their vision to your exposed chest but you just pretended not to notice.

“So like, how do guys know when we’re ovulating?”

Art had coughed on the frozen beer that had been half way down his throat by the time your words fully got out, and Patrick’s grin only widened before he let out a louder laugh.

“Well-”

“Patrick- can definitely answer that one for you, right Pat?”

Art narrowed his eyes at his best friend sitting across from him in quick notion and your eyes flicked from the blonde to the brunette just as fast. His chuckle only fading some as he glanced back at you

“I mean, it’s more of a senses thing.”

“Like intuition, or?”

“A smell.”

“Oh-” you were slightly taken back by his answer as you snickered nervously. “That’s only a tad bit jarring I guess”

“It honestly comes with the package. Just a normal male thing, unless your consciously looking for it. I myself have a natural talent if you will.” Patrick’s smug was heavy as he educated you and you nodded in agreement, which made Art want to roll his eyes on instant.

“Because of the testosterone?”

“Likely.”

“Is it like that for you as well? Can you smell it?” Your wide eyes landed on Art again as you spoke in innocence that was almost too easy on the ears, the blonde met your eyes as he just lightly fondled with his ear in a fretful manner.

“Well, I- uh, it’s pretty much a normal thing. Like Patrick said. Not really an on or off switch.” The muscular but lean man chuckled and Patrick leaned forward as he watched.

“Art has you and Tashi around twenty four seven so he’s probably immune.”

“No. Not immune, overstimulated? Maybe.”

You watched between them as Patrick kept a sly smile on his face and Art had remained calm throughout the sultry conversation.

“Have you ever used it on me? Like- before we have sex or something..?” you peered up at Art through your lashes and Patrick had raised a brow at your new assertiveness — Art only tried to keep a cool state not too get too flustered as he sunk farther into the tub,

“Honestly babe, I can tell just from looking at you mostly. Like- how you look in those extra mini tennis skirts Tashi has you wear. The way your eyes sparkle a little more when you look up at me… When you’re being naughty.” Art went in to playfully nibble on your neck and you let out a string of giggles at the tickle off it as you fought him off with charm. But the blonde only grinned more as he pulled you in by the waist and he peppered kisses from your neck to your lips.

“I’d offer to say get a room but I don’t mind a little show.” Patrick inhaled deeply and when you turned to glance at him, hand staying on Arts jaw, you could see he had that idiotic look of arousal behind his not so hidden smirk as he sat man spread across from you both.

“My god. You’re such a perv.”

“Yeah? You love it, you’re a perv too.”

“I am not. I’m a girl,” you defended.

“And? Girls can be pervs also.”

“Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Art, your little play thing is talking back….” Patrick looked past you to his friend that was as used to the two of you naturally falling into bickering as anything else.

“Shut up.” You laughed, sending a light eye roll the brunettes way.

“You shut up.” He spat back at you like a tennis ball as he leaned up on the edge of the tub, broad shoulders flexing to catch himself and he reached for his pack of cigarettes. The man used his lips to pull a stick from box, he stared up at you with a glimpse of darkness in his pupils. “Want one?”

“Really?.. yeah.” You replied with chipper as you easily lifted yourself from Arts lap.

“Baby..” the blonde declared in a soft but alarming voice while he watched you stand, his hands slipped from your hips and he lost you to Patrick’s side of the pool with ease.

It was known to the two men that you hadn’t ever smoked before, and Art always had his dad instincts constantly lingering in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help it. He never wanted you participating in anything that wasn’t necessarily the best for you, and especially since Tashi would surely be against the idea of it at all costs. It was part of the reason why she wanted Patrick away from you — his influence and easy persuasion always getting to the best of any of the girls he could mess with. So Art knew how easy it was for you to let up to him.

“I just wanna try. Please?” You pleaded, and Art couldn’t say your pretty wide doe eyes and shape all too heavenly for him to deny didn’t steer him away from giving you a clean no.

“Yeah Art, she wants to try..” Patrick’s voice mimicked yours and he started to slowly but surely show his friend a sly smirk which Art replied with a daring look. You’d now been seated beside Patrick and Art had sighed out a deep breath as he nodded you off speculatively, which you then smiled excitedly in regard.

“You’ve really never done this before?”

“No.”

“What have you done?”

Patrick couldn’t help but poke you, and when you hissed with a soft smack to his broad arm that had been intimidatingly large. The man chuckled. You shook your head playfully which also released a few droplets of water from your braids and Patrick observed how your eyes had searched him from up close — he wondered if this was how Art felt when he looked at you. All senseless with a newfound kind of vulnerability like he’d be willing to your every need. But Patrick being who he was naturally, knew how to restrain from that part of himself and kept a mostly dominant state even at your first fruits. He flicked open his lighter and passed you a cigarette which you held with mostly confusion of what to do next.

“Don’t give her a full one.” Art narrowed at his friend.

“Alright, alright,” Patrick furrowed his brows as he exclaimed with his own cig hanging from the side of his lips.

The corners of your mouth inched up into a small simper as you watched the two men exchange with consideration of protection over you. Art remained a safety net always even if Patrick had challenged that assertiveness to him. And as much as Patrick was a hard case you didn’t underestimate your power to have him just as softened as Art was when it came to you.

“You can share with me.” The brunette notified you and you watched as he lit the end of the stick effortlessly and cupped the fire away from you with his ravishingly large hands. In one swift motion he passed the burning substance to you, which you inspected before your eyes met his face again — slight worry crossed you mind. But you didn’t let it show, “inhale that.”

You did inhale it. But it happened much faster than you expected because when the smoke hit the back of your throat, you began to cough instantly.

“No, no, no you have to exhale it eventually,”

“Yeah, because you totally gave her proper directions, Patrick.” Art huffed as he leaned up from attention to your coughing with growing aggravation at what Patrick had lured you into. Already regretting his notion to agree. Patrick shrugged with open arms and he furrowed his brows.

“Fuck off. I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” You responded when your coughs had dialed down and you swayed the smoke coming from your lungs away from you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Patrick replied in a snarky attitude and you half groaned half whined at his annoying remarks, which had lead you to doing nothing but choking on air, literally. And it made Patrick have to refrain from letting out a chuckle because he’d known Art kill him.

“Relax. Just try again and remember not to inhale it too far. Just hold it in the back of your throat a little then release it.”

This time you did what he told you more considerately. Inhaling the smoke temporarily, then pushing it out with ease and Patrick watched you. His observation quickly turned into dilated pupils and a grin that liking spoke of mischief had widened across his face again.

“Atta’ girl.” He praised, and you supported a cheeky smile.

You held the cigarette in your fingers as you repeated the same all while keeping eye contact with the tennis player and he could of fallen trick for your soft but glorious bambi eyes right then.

“How cool do I look?” You let a light giggle slip from your lips after you exhaled the smoke once again and passed the substance back to the man and he wondered if you or Art could sense the way his desire had basically broadened in the last twenty seconds.

And as Art watched you both smile in lust from each others presence on the other side of the tub, he shifted as a perplex expression rested on his face. He observed the eyes you gave Patrick that he knew all too well. Pleading and filled with elite burning desire that he knew was just seconds away from setting Patrick off — he knew he had to get into stop it somehow.

He just didn’t like to be left out.

“It’s getting dark out, sweetheart. Why don’t you head inside and start setting up for s’mores ? I’ll come set the fire in a bit.”

Your eyes had trailed away from their fixture on Patrick to settle on Art when his voice came ruling in, But Patrick was still looking at you.

“Okay, yeah.” You said energetically as you lifted your legs out of the water that were wet from the knees down, fondly smiling at the two men before you grabbed your robe to head inside.

And when the patio door shut with your exit, Patrick ran his hands over his rugged half beard in a pace.

“Fuck, Art. She wants to fuck me.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. She told me. She wants to fuck us.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just a second ago. With her eyes.”

“Okay. So, she didn’t tell you that.”

Patrick huffed out and fixed the prominent bulge through his trunks that was growing fairly uncomfortable. Art looked down to notice and let out a soft chuckle of not very much surprise since he’d known the man sitting across from him like the back of his hand. Always just on the verge of needing to fuck whatever pitty excuse of emotions he had out somehow.

“For fucks sake, you’re unbelievable.”

“Whatever.” The man scoffed as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his hips in a hurry. “She’s just as much of a slut as I am, and I’m gonna find out.”

Art watched as his best friend exited from the pool, leaving a splash to hit Art in anxiousness to get to you. And Art scurried to dry off just to follow after him.

♡

It was almost an hour that passed since you’d all been spaced in the living area as the dim lights situated the room in a way that was all too torrid for the atmosphere at once, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Art had been by the fireplace as he messed with the wood for a while till a brightening flicker over took the large cape and a small flame spread into a huge one in just a few seconds. You’d been sitting on the floor only a few inches away as you were putting a couple marshmallows on sticks (slipping a few chocolates in your mouth here and there) and when you heard the crackle of the fire come from Arts side of the room you glanced up at him with an impressive expression taking over your face and you clapped graciously.

Art couldn’t help but grin at your sweet gesture to which he found you all the more beautiful under the warm tones of the once cold room. You shook your head softly as the smile on your face hadn’t dropped when you focused back on what you’d been doing.

It was rather darker where Patrick sat on the couches not too far away as his forest like eyes watched the two of you basically flirt in secret code. He would usually find it all too soft for himself maybe, and to him, you’d just been a pint sized cheer squad for every time Art dropped a penny.

It was cute, he guessed.

What Patrick was more focused on was the way your eyes flickered to glance at him every so often.

Spotless and filled with attempt to say something. Anything. Just from the clear tension in the room, and as quite as it was — the brunette had to admit he was getting bored.

“Alright.” Patrick groaned as he stretched to lean up from his seat and your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the much taller man, seemingly giant from where you’d been on the rug, march over to where you’d been settled. Calmly but with a smoothness getting close enough to your face that he could read the quick nervousness fill your senses as your eyes searched him questionably, and Patrick’s own eyes scanned your rose tinted robe that you’d slung on, half fallen from your shoulder as he scoffed to himself.

“Just tell me. Do you want to fuck me and Art, or not?”

It came out as a mutter. But Patrick wasn’t the quiet type even attempted in the slightest. Art certainly heard and his eyes had snapped to where the two of you shared breaths with an immediate hardened expression.

“What the fuck, Patrick?”

“Just let her answer.” The other man spat back. And you fought not to bite down on your bottom lip as both men stare each other down. And with an irritated sigh, Art put his vision on you.

“You don’t have to answer him. Patrick just can’t control his dick — and that’s not your problem.” Art spoke sharply as his eyes flickered to the darker haired man who was in fact smirking.

Of course.

Both of their eyelines follow back to you.

And though you hadn’t needed to ponder for an answer, your bashful lashes met the floor anyways as you peered away softly. But all while keeping a dainty simper to your lips.

“No, it’s okay.. He’s right.”

With your words, you noticed Arts face soften, but not in a way you’d guessed — more in a perplexed manner as his eyebrows dipped. And on the other hand Patrick had been grinning to himself with a cocky chuckle coming from his lungs as he rested back on his palms.

“Simple. And easy. I was right, just like always.”

Art had ignored Patrick’s boastfulness and instead he rose to his feet and stepped over to where the two of you had been, you stood up as well — and you’d been immediately met with the blondes gaze on you, hand lifted to your cheek.

“Baby, are- - you sure ? You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything, Patrick can be very..”

“Charming, sexy, fucking unforgettable-” The brunette chimes in with a cheeky smile as he stood up to put his nose in the conversation between you two.

“A nuisance.” Art spoke over Patrick as his eyes went darkening with annoyance while he glanced over to the other nosy man.

“What? Do you think he’ll be too rough ? That I can’t handle it?” You laughed softly, “I can take it.”

“I never said you couldn’t.. but you are learning. And I get this is all new and exciting for you — and your sex drive is going to be heightened at this time…”

“Give the girl what she asks, Art.”

“Shut up. No one’s talking to you.”

“You’re talking about me.”

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the two men bickering now, both over a foot taller than you, making your neck begin to pain just a little as you glanced up at the pair. And although, you would’ve been claimed very brave by most girls your age of how prominent your actions were towards teasing both of the men — you just couldn’t help but play with them.

A delicate sigh escaped you, “y’know.. if you aren’t nice to each other than I won’t want either of you to touch me.” You declare as you turn away from them and begin to walk away, but Art had grabbed on to your forearm and twisted you back around to face him.

“Hey. It’s just- - I’d never hear the end of it from Tashi.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” you began, and you searched the blonde’s expression for any ease which you failed to find — so you took your hand and reached up to gently caress the nape of his neck with your fingertips. “Besides, you’ll be involved. And therefore you won’t miss a thing.”

Your voice echoed songfully throughout Arts ears as he stared into your pretty eyes filled with desire, and just a spark of lust. You step closer to the man and your lips had been inches from his broad chest. It’s like your pleading eyes were like magic, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t fighting the urge to touch you all night long. He didn’t even care if Patrick watched — he liked showing you off anyways. Art pulled from your enrapture to look over at the darker haired man who was already pinned back at him. Chest inflating with a sigh, Art shrugged lightly.

“Fuck it. Fine.” He breathed out, and your smile had gone wide once again and you bit your lip with anticipation already. “But I need to prep you first.”

And with that Art had taken your hand in his as he lead you to one of the closest bedrooms nearby the floor plan, and Patrick of course, had scurried to follow after you both at the immediate note.

Your feet fastened to keep up with the blonde as the childish smile on your face had been filled with excitement to the rush where he lead you.

Patrick pushed open the cracked door as Art was lifting you to your feet on to the high bed where you stood ahead of him. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Art murmured while he looked up into your eyes through his aquamarine that had darkened with lust in just the short amount of time — soft grin taking upon his lips and you could sense his head just being filled with ideas by the second. It made your stomach do flips with yearn. Your nod quick as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Art lifted a finger to your silk robe and gently pull it from your shoulders. As it falls, lace straps are revealed to the man and he observed the fabric, eloquent against your glowing skin with a chuckle. “What do we have here?”

“I knew she was prepared,” Patrick’s voice came jarring as he stood next to the blonde and your pupils started dialing by the contrast of the two men gawking at you now. One filled with alluring desire to almost tear what was left of your clothing to pieces — and the other softened. Needing to worship every inch of your petite body before he lost it.

Art pulled away your robe completely in one swift motion as his wide-set eyes never left your own, you wet your lips as your cheeks had began to heat up with anticipation, but nervousness at his quick movements — you stood beyond him, lingerie displaying that was stuck to your body, white with small pink flowers scattered across the cotton and lace. Arts breath hitched just from the sight and he felt so constrained in his briefs as the little pink bow trimming the lining above your core making his dick go painfully hard. He moved his large hands across you carefully. Almost like you were a doll that could break at any given second.

“These stay on till I say,” the man softly mentioned at your ear and you nodded.

You reached for his shoulder blades and the man inched behind your back to undo your bra, he let it fall from your arms before leaning over you to place a smooch your neck area — seamlessly turning into kisses that scattered down to your exposed nipples and you closed you eyes. Bliss took over you for a moment and you smiled. Your hold on him close to your warmth, and Arts fingertips felt the lushness of your skin from every part of you he could. “mmm,” you left out a soft sough as the blondes plump lips explored your tender buds and his tongue brushed up against you briefly, making you hiss for a moment.

His eyes had been examining you, but yours had been softly lidded stint you glanced in Patrick’s direction — to which, the other man’s mouth had been slightly agape, feasting on the view of you both in exhilaration already.

Art braced his hands under your thighs and he laid you down against the bed, your legs were pushed apart on instant but with all tenderness as he leaned up from you — your smile had never faded for a glimpse while the man moved you like a toy. His hands went quickly to pull your panties to the side and Patrick had circled the bed around you both as he stood in awe of the way you weren’t even trying to put up a sexy or proactive kind of facade at all — in fact, you’d been laughing.

Right then. Girlish giggles filled the air as Art grinned down at you in the rising heat of the moment. Already knowing of your ways — you had big, wide doe eyes watching the man take a finger and run them against your slick folds. He examined over your expression, to your already dripping cunt and you bit down on part of your lip. Watching him explore you in an expert manner. Art’s tongue darted out to wet his own lips, he moved his body to tower over your own and your lower back arched a bit off the bed when you felt the tips of his fingers just over your soaking entrance. Coating him in your slick wetness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.”

Art started sinking his ring and middle finger into you painfully slow. You whined a little at the stretch before letting your head fall and braids spread against the comforter of the bed.

Your eyes had caught sight of Patrick looking down on you — so only giving him a playful but sweet smile laced with a kind of innocence and temptation that could of made his head spin. You could just read the expression on his face of how dare you even look at him that way when you’d lured them both into soon doing the dirtiest of acts with you in between. You were a fucking minx. And he then felt his mouth go dry.

“Holy fuck,” the brunette panted in a mutter as he quickened to lower his checkered green boxers to pull out his throbbing cock, stroking himself at the sight of your pretty smile — and cunt, taking Arts fingers so finely.

The soft yet high pitched sighs and moans that were coming from you were the remedy that pushed a complete solid hard on beneath Arts pajama pants as the blonde held your tender legs spread for him to get you ready for his and Patrick’s cocks. He watched you. Eyes filled to the brim with mercenary while feeling you clench and pulse around his digits. Slipping in and out of you, he used his thumb to rub at your clit and you whined out as your eyebrows knitted together in one motion.

“O-oh..” you moaned, reaching out for the man’s fit arm to grasp on to as your toes flexed.

“Good girl.” Art groaned.

You could hear the sound of Patrick jerking himself to the sounds of your moans and the sight of pre cum that was gooing on to Arts hands lead by the own tent that was prominent in sight to the man. Patrick let out a low noise of his own. And Arts eyes finally traveled from you to glance over at his friend,

“You wanna show Patirck what I taught you, princess?”

Your lips curled into a sly smile when you heard his word — you leaned up from the sheets and your legs swiftly moved behind you to now crawl over to the brunette standing by the end of the bed, cock hard and reddened with want for all that was you.

It was undeniable that he was bigger than you could of comprehended maybe, your eyes locked on him now from your knees. They travelled from his dick, to the way he peered down at your plump lips in enchantment for where your clues had left guesses, taking you by the nape of your neck almost immediately you let yourself lick a clean stripe from the base of his cock to the tip as your tongue wet him nice and slow. Patrick watched the way you made sure to show him the shape of your tongue flush against him and he could of came all over your face right then. Large hands going opaque with veins to match his hard member, he gripped the hairs on the back of your neck as you cinched your lips to the tip of him.

“Shit, shit you’re fucking pretty,” Patrick panted at the sight of your eyes staying on his — you perfectly sunk him into your mouth as you sucked with ease and a soft whimper exited from the back of your throat. Knuckles turning white as the brunette peered at the way you took him so sweet, and you brought a hand up to jerk him farther past your lips all at once.

Art just behind your shoulder, watched as you could only fit Patrick half way while you throated him, your lips left spit as you bobbed your head up his cock and back down. The blonde took reign of his own pants and t-shirt to remove them just like you and Patrick had been now, and as the scene had been going on between the two of you, Art couldn’t help but maneuver himself beneath you. Lifting your lower body up a bit effortlessly so he could fit himself underneath — he tugged on your panties to get them off, right down your upper thighs and over your feet in routine as he discarded them off somewhere across the room.

His cock hard and dripping pre cum just under your pulsing cunt, you felt yourself clench just from Arts grip on you, already guiding you down his dick. Familiarly to him filling your tightness still made you pull from Patrick to let out a high toned gasps as you felt the other man sinking into your hole. “Mmm- - fuck..” you breathe out as you feel yourself being stretched so nice — Arts hands never letting up easy from your hips, he guided you all the way down his member just to let out a deep groan and move you back up again.

“Oh, shit..” the blonde panted. You kept your hold on Patrick as you stroked him even moving up and down Arts dick and letting out strangled moans from beneath the brunettes chest. “Come on baby, just like that- keep stroking him while you take my cock..”

“My god. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted us both.” Patrick huffed from the sight of you ridding Art with eyebrows knitted into another realm as you bounced up and down the blondes lap and Art couldn’t help but run his hands up your torso to your breast as you did. You placed your mouth back on Patrick and sucked him into letting out low moans of his own from your warmth around him.

“I could cum right now- - fuck, fuck !” he grunted, your hand had gone from moving quick to slowing down as you stroked his base and Art made you feel way to good inside — you didn’t know how much longer you even had in you as you’d gone light headed right then from the way he thrusted up into your soaking pussy, making your head fall back slightly and your words came out slurred,

“Oh- my-y god! Fuck..” you whimpered out as Art made your ass slap against his thighs from his pounding, he leaned up to peck at your neck and hold your body against his chest swiftly. You always remained content in his lap as you turned to kiss him back sloppily, moans and whimpers come from the two of you like a suppressed hunger.

Patrick felt his cock twitch with greed at the sight, “fuck Art, stop hogging her- - I’ve been practically dying to feel that tight little cunt.”

The already much sweatier and rough man, pulled you off of Art, and launched you forward on the bed as your hands braced your plummet — he made sure your ass was up and superb for his viewing. You moaned as your face hit the mattress and you rose to your hands and knees.

“I know this pussy feels fucking amazing. So sweet.” The brunette had been smirking as breathed in awe of the way the lips of your cunt shaped around his thumb as he felt up your folds and palmed your ass. He watched the way you turned to gaze at him with your own hazy fawning eyes that were full of a subtle plea to let him treat you like a whore. If you didn’t know before — you’d definitely known what I’d been like now. Patrick slid his dick over your soaked lips. You inched forward just from the feeling of the girth against you, causing you to hiss out a whine, not prepared or used to his size at all, it made you shake at the slight sensation.

“Keep still, baby doll” Arts hand had came to rub circles gently on your hip bone, your face consorted in uncertainty for a moment till you felt the blondes touch against your skin and you relaxed under his touch finally.

“Yeah. You’re a big girl, you wanted this remember?” Patrick added, he went to put his hand in your hair and you bit down on your strawberry reddened lips hard.

“Slow, please.” Your voice soft as you palmed the sheets beneath you to brace yourself,

“Slow.” Art repeated as his vision shifted from you to eye the brunette, leaning back on to his elbows beside you to making sure the darker haired man wasn’t pushing his luck.

Patrick raised a leg to get a better angle as he slapped the head of his aching cock a couple times to your puffy cunt, and he began to push in, taking his time to feel the way your tightness stretched fairly wide for him and when your jaw had hung to let out a choke moan, you’d been fighting the urge to give up on your arms strength. You took the man inch by inch. Whimpers escaped you like crazy and your legs began to tremble while Patrick’s lips parted to groan out deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. Take my cock just like that..” he muttered as he started to fuck into you and your body had moved with his thrusts rather quickly, the man had been much more hasty to take you at a rapid pace on contact than Art normally did. His pelvis hitting the form of your ass and your soft cries matched the pace as he slid you up and down his throbbing member.

“Mmmh, fuck- your so- - big,” You watched as he grabbed on to your body and pounded into you. Patrick couldn’t stop himself now — your legs spread and nearly shaking just for him as your pre juices pooled at the bottom of his shaft. It was all too easy on the eyes for him to only take you faster. Your eyes had fought to stay open as hands come at you from every way at his escalated thrust.

Both of the men watch as you shudder to keep composure. The bows at the ends of your braids go wild on your back from the force of Patrick taking on your little body. And he had reached to grip them in his tough hands, making your your head to lift and echo out your whimpers and mewls.

Art felt himself coming close just from the sight, he had to calm his own hand from stroking himself into finishing. It was like the sight beyond him had surpassed what it ever could of been in his fantasies. He wanted it in you after all.

Patrick pushed on your lower back which forced you to arch for him all the more, your face against the mattress, watching you take his dick while pornographic moans fall from your pretty lips. You turned your head against the sheets to meet Arts eyes in petition as you’d been pulsing so hard — in fear you may start cumming too quick for your own little head to catch up to. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw dropped as Patrick fucked cries out of you.

“Aww, you want Art to save you now? Poor thing.” The brunette coo’d at you and you could almost taste the smirk on his face right then as he watched your ass cheeks going swell from his maul on your tight cunt. Art had run his finger tips across your face that had glistened with tears.

“I can- take it, I need more..” you whispered out. To which Patrick pulled out of you with a deep grunt, sack full as he could of came inside of you, but he too could agree. More. The man had simply taken place on his back , you swiftly adjusted your position as the feeling of being cockless inside had already increased your fine need.

“Yeah? Then show us how much you need it. Ride my dick like a good girl.”

You were already climbing on top of the man with abs that could of made your head drowsy all the more, you heaved softly as your much smaller legs adjusted over Patrick’s broad muscular thighs to position yourself to his member. Dripping with a mixture of his and your wet arousal. You sunk down on him more easily now and you winced with pleasure as you leaned back on your arms, head going with you as you started to feel butterflies down there from your first slight movement, moving your hips up his girthy cock and right back down.

Patrick moaned lowly as he held your hips there and helped you move, your tits daintily bouncing with your body in the low light of the room, and you could hear a muttered, “god” come from your side as Art leaned over your delicate shoulder to grope at your exposed breast. His bottom lip tucked in his teeth. You could feel his leaking cock run again your lower back causing you to moan as you took yourself upon Patrick’s hard erection ramming into you.

“You look like a fucking angel fucking yourself on his cock- - shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” The man groaned as he observed his best friend turn you into a whimpering mess.

“Ugh- -, I wanna cum. Fuck, fuck..” Your whimpers were heavenly and sweet, Art took the initiative to reach around you and rub at your clit the perfect pace — making your legs shake and you gasps out. “Yes- - yes, oh. Fuck!”

Patrick grabbed hold of your ankles so you’d keep your balance on top of him, his thumb grazed against your white lace frilled sock and he groaned. To him they were so stupid, but at the same time so fucking hot.

“Cum, princess. Go ahead, Be a good girl for us.” Art slow talked you and it made your eyes flutter as you couldn’t have been filled more with burning lust all over your body as the men brought you right to where you wanted like that — shaking and crying out moans as you had came hard on Patrick’s dick. Your movements became sloppy as you heard groans coming from him as well, he leaned up to grab hold of your neck and press for pressure just before he pounded up into you hard and released his own ropes inside your sensitive heat — feeling him pump you full and the overstimulation of his large hand around your throat had you moaning out his name. You lifted from his cock, but Art held your body so you wouldn’t fumble over.

“Oh my god, holy- - fuck,” your grin now of bliss, string of naughty words and giggles left your puffy lips as you sighed into Arts shoulder and he was smirking down at the way his fingers rubbed your now creamy cunt and the blonde laid you back against the comforter again.

Completely cock drunk and breathing heavy as your heart beat caught up with your breathing, Art didn’t want you losing your overstim too quickly — he was already towering over your petite body and sliding back into you at the second your eyes met his and you reached for his arms immediately. Jaw open as you let out a choked noise. You couldn’t catch a break. Just being filled up again. You lock eyes with the gorgeous blonde above you as he stretched you wide once again.

“You’re so fucking good, sweet girl. Just one more, for me..”

All knowing you’d do whatever he longed for, the man sweet talked you slow as he watched Patrick’s seed drip from your drooling cunt and met the tip of his cock as he began to sink in. You kept your legs spread for him. Round eyes glittering with adoration for him like worship, you stared up at Art — so obedient for him always.

“I wanna cum again for you, I can-” you tried to speak fairly normal through soft gasps when Art bottomed out into you, reaching that spot Patrick lit up within you, your head went cloudy again and released into the pillows priming you. “-do it.” You finished your sentence with a whine.

Art couldn’t help but to grin at your state, so tired and fucked out but so turned on by the way the two men had been taking their toll on you back to back. You couldn’t help but take it all — he held your body, pussy so full from cum and Arts member that filled you excellently. You began to shake and tremble with a whimper at his every slap against your sensitive cunt.

Your hand moved to your face unconsciously you took your thumb in your mouth to balance the sensations all at once, moaning as the blonde pounded you into the bed — he watched you bite down and suck on your own digit in euphoric bliss. He soon reached to remove your own hand and replace it with his, sliding his tip against your pump bottom lip before dipping his thumb in your mouth.

You let out a satisfied little chirp as you run your tongue sloppily over the man’s digit with a smile before sucking on him like it was everything you needed. Eyes shutting softly, he pleased you both orally and by the clench of your pussy. “mmmh” you whimpered out and Art kept fucking into you with a quick pace.

“That’s my girl. I know exactly what you want.” He kept his finger in your mouth before your legs were shaking with need and your own hands gripped his one as you cried out from his thrusts, the blonde panted at the slight of you beneath him so prolific and exposed — he couldn’t even think straight before he was spilling his load inside of you. Keeping himself flush to your cunt as he emptied himself with a low grunt and you ended up squirting on his cock with a muffled scream.

“Fuck, you got her to squirt.” You heard Patrick pant and by the looks of his hand covered in his own arousal, you and Art had both been knowing he came again. Sweaty and chests heaving you both melted into each other, your arms immediately going to wrap around Art as he squeezed and kissed you.

“Are you good, baby? Was that not too much for you? You took a lot just now.” Arts voice came in calmly as he looked over you for any signs of turbulence. His fingers graced your flushed face, wedding band cold as it brushed against your skin. You nodded as your breathing finally caught up to you steadily.

“Yeah.. Fuck, I feel good. You both came inside of me..” your words slip out as if you needed to convince yourself of the matter, like you hadn’t been on your back and both of the men’s cum wasn’t gushing out of you as you speak.

Art smiled softly at you and his tired eyes watched the sparkle in yours. He readjusted himself so he was lying beside your left — and Patrick collapsed against the pillows on your right.

“Fucking hell, Art. I just can’t believe you kept her all to yourself this whole time.”

“Yeah? She’s something isn’t she?” Art replied with a grin as he turned your way and continued to run his thumb over your cheeks and lips. Your blush was heightened at the two boy’s marvel over you, lip between your teeth as you let out a light chuckle.

“I hope you had fun, Patrick. She’s still all mine, right angel?” Art glanced down at you.

“Sharing is caring.” You shrugged in a teasing manner as the blonde scoffed playfully and raised a brow in thought before nodding, “okay, maybe a little sharing.”

Patrick laughed, “you call that a little ? We made her cum twice. You let me fuck her like a sl-”

The brunette was cut off at the blonde hitting him in the forearm then gesturing to you — sound asleep in between the two.

Your soft breaths slip through your lips as your head fell into Arts shoulder. He put his finger to his lips to warn Patrick not to wake you, and he leaned up from the bed slow. “Pass me my shirt on the floor, and grab a towel from the bathroom.” He whispers to the other man who carefully moved up from the bed and threw the T to Art before he went to grab a towel for your body.

Art started to maneuver his shirt on you with tenderness so you at least wouldn’t wake up naked and confused.

When Patrick came back he smirked at the way your small tiresome figure had been passed out on the bed like some sort of sleeping beauty. “See, I did that.” He nodded up at Art with the same darkened lustful eyes he began the night with — but Art only rolled his at the man’s cockiness.

“We did that.” He corrected while he ran the towel over your inner thighs lightly before he lifted your limbs to lie you beneath the covers, and Patrick helped him pull them over you. You only let out a quiet noise from the movement as you continued your slumber and the two men watched you for a quiet moment.

Arts lips curled up in a fond smile before he bent to leave a kiss to your forehead — the blonde looked over at the brunette who had folded his arms over his chest while he watched with a raised brow and Art contemplated before leaving another peck against your skin.

“And one from Patrick too, I guess.”

A/N: I love this little uv I’ve created sooo bad you guys <3

[fuctacles]

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen | twenty

extras: | 🐈 | 🐾 | 🐈 | Ao3

Eddie was lowkey disgusted by how his uncle would talk about one of his neighbors. No, he doesn't think it's bad for old people to fall in love or have crushes. But it's weird to know these things about his own uncle. 

And it's also sad to watch, because it's been months of Stephanie this, Stephanie that, and nothing came of it, so he felt safe to assume the infatuation was one-sided. So when he tells his uncle he can't go feed her cats that week, he figures it's for the best. And not only because of Wayne's twisted ankle. To his surprise though, he doesn't seem fazed; he just waves his hand and says:

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No climbing the stairs with this thing." He pokes the cast with his crutch. "I've already volunteered you anyway."

Eddie raises his eyebrows because he surely misheard that.

"You did what now?"

"Told Stephanie I'll send you to feed her cats," Wayne says, confirming his fears.

"Why?! She has so many other neighbors!" Eddie points out, gesturing vigorously around the room, implying but meaning the flats surrounding them. 

Wayne clicks his tongue at him.

"Would you let in just any of your neighbors into your home? She already trusts me, and I'm vouching for you."

Eddie gapes at him, hating that he's making a valid point. Damned be his old man and his reasonable thinking. He crosses his arms because while it makes sense, it doesn't mean Eddie can't be angry about it. 

"When?"

"She's visiting her friend this weekend so she asked for Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And stay with them for a while if possible, so they don't go crazy. Ah, and the plant in the kitchen needs watering."

"Great," Eddie grits through his teeth. He's so delighted at the prospect of spending time with some old lady's cats. The whole place probably stinks of cat piss and he'll definitely kill the plant as soon as he touches it. (It was his only superpower, which is not what he aimed for when his five-year-old had been praying, thanks for nothing, Jesus.) He just hopes he won't have to meet her. Hearing some old hag complain about his clothes, hair, and general adolescence was the last thing he wanted on his weekend off. But, alas...

"She asked you to come over tomorrow so she can show you where everything is."

Eddie groans. 

It's a Friday afternoon, he's at his uncle's taking a break from college and work. He should be sharing a beer with the old man, complaining about the coursework, the professors, and other students, not picking him up from the hospital, and running errands while his foot is in a cast. And certainly not meeting up with old stinky spinsters. 

To add insult to injury, Miss Stephanie, (which, by the way, is such a typical old hag name) lives two floors higher and the elevator is perpetually broken. Not too high, but high enough for Eddie's anemic lungs to start collapsing. 

He stops around the corner to steady his breath, because regardless of his overall attitude, he didn't want to worsen the first impression. He already refused to 'dress like a decent man' and didn't want to wheeze into the lady's face on top of it. 

Once his lungs are functioning properly again, he walks into the hallway, looking for number 54 as Wayne instructed. He knocks on the door, hoping he didn't mess it up and is at the right place. What if it was 45?

It must have been because he was told Stephanie Harrington lives alone. 

"Uh, sorry, I must have—"

"Are you Eddie?" The woman who opened the door takes him in. At her feet, a tabby cat peers curiously at the new human.

"Uh, yeah? I'm looking for Miss Stephanie?" he offers awkwardly. Maybe that's the friend? Or a sister?

But the woman extends her hand and smiles brightly.

"That would be me, but please call me Steph. I wish I could drill that into Wayne's thick skull." She rolls her eyes fondly.

Her big, gorgeous eyes, framed by thick lashes. She's not an old hag, she could be in her forties at best. She's tall and curvy and her hair looks straight out of a shampoo commercial. She's gorgeous. Eddie shakes her hand in a daze.

"Hi," he croaks as he's ushered inside. 

"Come in, come in! I've heard so much about you, it's great to finally see you in person. I must say," she turns around and gives him a quick once-over. "Wayne's stories didn't do you justice."

Did she just check him out?

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly dry like his elbows during winter.

"Uh, same to you."

"Yeah?" She puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "What does he say about me?"

"Good things only," Eddie assures her. 

"So you're saying I'm a bitch." She squints at him.

"No!" His eyes widen. "What?!" 

"Well, if he's saying only good things about me, and you say they don't describe me right..." 

Eddie gets the point she's making and quickly shakes his head.

"No, he just made you sound like a crazy old cat lady, and you're..." He waves his hand uselessly. "Not that."

She sighs softly, shoulders sagging a little. It would be easy to miss but Eddie's senses are heightened after his fuck up.

"I kinda am, though," she says with a shrug. 

Eddie feels the need to reassure her somehow.

"Well, you're not eighty and your place doesn't smell like cat litter, I think you're fine."

She barks a laugh, it's low and surprised and Eddie's cheeks are red because he's just digging further into the hole he's in, isn't he?

"Good to know the bar is so low."

Eddie groans, tired of doing damage control that's not controlling anything.

"I'm gonna shut up now."

"Please don't." Steph smiles wide and teasingly. "You're a funny one. Just like your uncle told me."

Eddie scoffs. He's going to have a word or two with the old man once he's back.

"Great, this is exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

At his words, the woman eyes him up and down again, and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Yeah? Not as the local punk satanist?" she teases, making Eddie bristle.

"Metalhead," he corrects instinctively and immediately winces.

"Ah, my bad. I'm not good at the subcultures thing." She smiles apologetically but it doesn't read well with how clearly amused she is. "Anyway, here's the plant I want you to water tomorrow evening. Just like, half a glass."

Right. Plants. Cats. He came here on a mission.

"Come on, I'll show you my cats."

There's only three of them and they come rushing from all corners of the flat at the rustle of a catnip bag. Eddie never saw high cats so he's glad to have this opportunity now. Stephanie points to the tabby he saw earlier.

"This is Dart, she's not actually mine, but my friend couldn't keep her at the dorms. This is Garfield," she points to the orange cat, making Eddie huff a laugh. She grins. "Yeah, don't tell anyone, but he's my favorite," she whispers, to which Eddie mimics zipping his mouth shut. 

Lastly, she points to the black cat rolling on the carpet. 

"And this is Arwen."

Eddie frowns.

"Like, The Lord of the Rings Arwen?"

"Yeah," Steph sighs. "Dustin named her. He's the friend I've mentioned. Dart is short for D'Artagnan and I've fought teeth and nail for Garfield not to be called Pippin."

"Pippin is a great name, though," Eddie points out.

"Maybe," she huffs, crossing her arms. "But I wanted one for myself, okay? Not everything has to be about Dustin."

"Is Dustin like, your brother or something?" 

"Kinda?" She frowns. "We're not actually related but I babysat him, and then we became friends. He just stuck around, somehow." The words sound angry but her face betrays the fondness she has for her friends. 

"That's nice," he offers. "I'm an only child, never met any cousins, and only ever had friends my age."

"Well, good for you. Maybe if I had friends my age I wouldn't be living alone with a bunch of cats."

Eddie frowns. 

"Hey, now..."

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'll show you where the food is." 

Eddie's in a daze when he comes back downstairs, only realizing his visit ended when he's standing in his uncle's living room. He's been gone for only half an hour but it feels longer. 

"How did it go?" his uncle asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

Edie turns to him and blinks, fighting the cotton around his brain.

"Fine?" he offers. "She's not as old as I expected," he admits bluntly. His uncle snorts.

"What, just because she lives alone with her cats you assumed she's on her deathbed?"

Eddie winces. It's exactly what he did.

"Well, the people in her life weren't kind to her, so now she relies on her pets. Nothing wrong with that." Wayne shrugs. 

"What do you mean?" Eddie frowns, curious. Concerned. He goes to the kitchen, not wanting to seem too eager to get an answer, and grabs a beer for himself and his uncle. He opens the junk drawer to find an opener and hears his uncle answer from the adjacent living room space. 

"She doesn't say much about it and I never asked, but she's always alone on the holidays. Her friends visit a few days before or after."

Eddie walks back in and hands his uncle the opened bottle. 

"Thanks, son."

He nods and settles heavily in an armchair. Focusing his gaze on the label peeling off of his beer, he hums thoughtfully.

"No family?"

"Seems so." Wayne nods solemnly. "I think it was a conflict of lifestyle choices, but I'll be honest, I'm basing it off of rumors and my own assumptions." He scratches his cheek, frowning at the wall. "It's not my place to pry, though I offered to hear her out if she ever felt like needing an ear." He sighs. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Invited her for dinner over Thanksgiving, when you couldn't come. I was surprised she's into basketball," he muses. 

Eddie was seeking answers and now was even more confused.

"You invited Miss Stephanie. For a dinner?" He raised his eyebrows. 

"Yes. She was alone, I was alone, figured I could at least ask. I'm still surprised she agreed. She declined all my other offers."

"Wow." A teasing smile creeps on his lips against his will. "You've been inviting a lot of women since I moved out?"

"Listen," Wayne takes on his stern voice and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to cackle. He can see his uncle's mustache twitch. "Stephanie is a lovely lady, but she's way too young for an old man like me. And this old man is too old for romance anyway. Besides—" he cuts himself off like he realized he was saying too much. Which, of course, piques Eddie's curiosity. 

"Besides?"

Wayne shrugs.

"I don't think I'd ever be ready for someone like her."

Eddie makes a confused face. 

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, irritated. 

"Rumors and speculations, son."

[millers-girl]

Joel Miller (the last of us)

willow & whiskey | season 1!joel x reader insert [in progress]

The outbreak took a lot from you, but it gave you a little sister. Wherever she goes, you go. Now, that means crossing the country with a man who keeps the world at arm's length. But 3,000 miles has a funny way of making the distance disappear.

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | epilogue (coming soon)

the ties that hold us | neighbor!joel x reader [coming soon]

After your estranged father's death, you return to your childhood home to settle his affairs. Getting the house ready for sale forces you to confront your painful past.  Luckily, you don't have it alone. Joel is right next door, and he's ready to help you navigate healing, forgiveness, and the possibility of something more…

monsoon season | ceo!joel x reader [coming soon]

Your father and his business partner—ruthless hotel mogul Joel Miller—are set on acquiring a stunning Thai island resort. You join them on a three-week trip there, just to help, but Joel thinks you're a spoiled distraction – until suddenly, you're something else entirely.

Jack Abbot (the Pitt)

bitter/sweet | jack abbot x chef!reader

When a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—and someone—he didn't plan for…

fallout | jack abbot x chef!reader (part of bitter/sweet)

You and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.

on the line | jack abbot x chef!reader (part of bitter/sweet)

Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

more coming soon!

[seosracha]

ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ೢִֶACADEMIC COMEBACK: ⸻⸻

⸻HOW TO PASS SCHOOL IN TWO WEEKS

synopsis: you and wonbin were academic rivals: competing to get the worst grades possible. but with graduation around the corner you have to combine your 4 braincells in order to pass.

genre: academic rivals, enemies to lovers, highschool au, fluff, very unserious, smau

pairing+featuring: wonbin x fem!reader, ft. taesan of boynextdoor, giselle of aespa, sion of nctwish, danielle of newjeans, juyeon of tbz & rii7e.

⸻tags: foul language, sex jokes, wonbin and reader are really fucking dumb, kms/kys jokes, a tiny bit suggestive sometimes, more tba!

status: on hiatus!

taglist: open! send an ask to be added

ONE. academic failure

TWO. 2.5 braincells

THREE. nonexistent beef

FOUR. girl who knows what shes doing

FIVE. ccsp (Cutie Cool Sexy Princess)

SIX. submissive twinkatron

SEVEN. boyfriend lineup

EIGHT. assembling shelfs and frying fries

NINE. senior trip

TEN. yes or no

ELEVEN. four eyed bitch

TWELVE. washing machine (0.4k)

THIRTEEN. #AirportFashion

FOURTEEN. Y/N UNFOLLOW SPREE

FIFTEEN. go m for m

SIXTEEN. war is over

...more tba!

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: things start going bad on the Tulpar, and the worst possible outcome comes to fruition

tw: reader is implied to have trauma surrounding domestic violence (specifically loud arguments), Jimmy making the worst choices imaginable, if you watched/played the game then you should be good

a/n: haha, so I choose unbearable angst...

wc: 1.2k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

Tense. That was the best way to describe how you felt. Eyes locked forward, tuning out the conversation around you. You despised fights, bringing you back to a time you long wished to forget. This was meant to be a party, a break from all the monotonous work, a celebration. Apparently you all had to share a communal birthday party, and according to the veterans (Anya, Swansea, and Jimmy), it was Captain Curly’s turn. You were excited, looking forward to having a good time, have some cake and maybe play some games. It was a surprise party as well, which made it all the better. You and Daisuke had taken charge of decorating, placing up banners and balloons with the help of Swansea. Even Anya was excited, putting a birthday hat on Polle, the Pony Express mascot. 

The captain had looked surprised, a small smile curling on his lips as you all stood in front of him wearing birthday hats…but you noticed it seemed a bit strained. Unfortunately, he was the only one able to make the cake, leading you all to wait for it to be made. The air was light though, everyone sitting down and waiting for Curly to cut the first slice. Well, at least that’s what you were waiting for, instead, Daisuke asked Curly to make a speech.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jimmy agreed.

“Speech, speech, speech!” Daisuke chanted with a grin. 

“Go on,” Anya nodded, also seeming excited. 

“I…” Curly hesitated, blue eyes trailing across you all in uncertainty.

“...Hey,” Jimmy cut in. “What’s wrong?”

That was the catalyst. Curly had explained that you were all losing your jobs, and were the last shipment for Pony Express. You felt your stomach drop, hunching in and eyeing the older adults that surrounded you. You were merely an intern, you could bounce back from this, but the people whose entire lives depended on this job? You were just waiting for the pin to drop.

“Pony Express finally kicking the bucket, huh,” Swansea grumbled angrily. “What a joke. And we’re the punchline.”

“I don’t have any savings,” Anya spoke up shakily. “T-they can’t just do this, right?” You continued to look down at your empty plate, feelings unbearably uncomfortable. Glancing at Daisuke who sat beside you, he seemed to feel the same, the both of you the odd ones out.

“Pony Express was one of the last manned crew freighter companies,” Swansea explained. “The writing’s been on the wall for a long time.”

“When did they tell you?” Jimmy asked, and you felt yourself freeze. His tone was icy calm, but you could see the anger swimming behind his eyes. 

“Earlier this week. I was instructed to wait until we’re closer to the haul destination. But I can’t keep something like this from you all.” Curly responded, and just like that it was like you could hear the pin hit the ground.

“...So I guess you got what you wanted, without the guilt,” Jimmy chuckled humorlessly. 

“Jim…” Curly trailed off, looking like a kicked puppy. His people pleasing tendencies were starting to make you feel sick…and the electric tension you felt in the air. “If I had known…”

“I can go back to my…how’d you put it?” Jimmy mocked, causing your shoulders to tense. It was then that you started to disassociate, mind turning empty as Jimmy continued to berate the Captain. You flinched when Jimmy hit the table, wearily eyeing Jimmy’s angry expression. Too much, this whole situation was too much, you felt the incessant need to run, but also frozen in place. 

You nearly jumped in your spot when you felt Daisuke’s warm hand envelope your own, looking just as uncomfortable, but also worried. You squeezed his hand tightly, using it as a distraction from the unsettling atmosphere when Captain Curly began to cut the cake, fidgeting with the rings that lined his fingers. 

You had become more on edge after that, jumping at any noise that was too loud, scared of making the situation worse somehow. Anya, who you had looked up to as being strong, had become battered, clearly terrified of what her future held. Swansea had become even more isolated, swiping tools from Daisuke’s hand and muttering ‘just lemme do it’. The captain seemed tired, unsure how to fix an unfixable situation. Even you knew there was no way for there to be an option where everyone won. Then there was Jimmy, more irritable and snarky, like a mini whirlwind causing a trail of disaster in his wake. If you were avoiding him before, then you were acting like he had the plague now. 

Sure, when he snapped at you for seemingly no reason that one time you were ready to fight back. He had just been an annoying boomer who thought he was better than everyone else. But now? Now it was different. He was a desperate man who had no hope, and that’s what terrified you. The pure, unbridled anger in his eyes at the party made your skin crawl, and you thought for a split second that he would do something that would bring you all down with him. 

…

“Hey, you okay?” Daisuke asked softly. It was only two days after the unfortunate ‘party’ and all the effort to get you to open up seemed to have been instantly undone. He noticed your discomfort during the argument, but he had been wrapped up in his own effort to try and act like everything was okay instead of addressing the problem head on. But it got to the point where he couldn’t ignore it, heart twisting painfully everytime you tensed at his touch, the split second fear in your eyes before calming down when realizing it was just him. 

“Yeah,” Your response was desolate. It was obvious you weren’t okay, and Daisuke nearly backed down, but your blank gaze didn’t sit well in his chest. 

“You’re lying.” He hated confrontation, but he didn’t like seeing your teasing and cheerful demeanor subsiding into something timid, frightful and bleak. Sure, the crew had an argument, and even he felt like he was walking on a tightrope, but you didn’t need to be so scared. 

“You’re right,” You didn’t even try to fight back, fingers twitching, feeling on edge. A silence fell between you both. He was getting nowhere, and he wasn’t sure how to get you to just tell him what was wrong. It was better to share your worries than keep them in, but he also didn’t want to pry too deeply into a topic you didn’t want to share. 

“Why?” Daisuke asked, feeling hopeless.

“I have a bad feeling,” You spoke, eyes finally landing on your frowning boyfriend. “Something really, really bad is gonna happen. I just know it.”

You seemed to have a foresight that he lacked. Your haunting words echoing through his head as the red emergency lights blared throughout the ship only four days later. Everyone scrambled to the Captain’s corridor, and Daisuke could only watch on in horror as Captain Curly stood burnt, hands and feet trapped in the emergency foam, Anya ordering you to get her medical supplies. As you rushed past and made eye contact, an understanding was held in both of your gazes. 

You were right. Something really, really bad had happened.

[maybefae]

Messages From Your Guides

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: Queen of Wands (Justice and Nine of Wands), The Sun (Four of Wands), Six of Pentacles (Six of Swords), Seven of Cups (Two of Cups)

Bottom of the Deck: Two of Swords, Strength, The High Priestess, Ace of Swords

This guide can be a more motherly figure or a very ancient deity that appears more feminine. It almost has a ��Crone” energy.

It’s okay to be happy after you have had to put walls up against a certain person, people, or your family. It’s okay that you are happier after establishing boundaries, my love. Compared to what they have done to you, no matter how minimal it could seem, your act of standing your ground and standing up for yourself is justified. It’s okay to be happy. The scales of justice have tipped in your favor. You’ve always questioned why you had to suffer, that the ones who have wronged you seem to always be able to get away with things. But now that you get to be happy once, you feel guilty when you should feel like the weight is lifted off your chest. The shackles they had put on you, the thoughts they put in your head to make you stay small, are a far greater harm than you standing up for yourself.

It’s okay to walk away. You may regret staying as long as you did, taking care of people wishing to receive it back but never getting it in return. But don’t. Your heart and your love is a great power. It is something that makes you strong. You loved yourself enough to finally walk away. And there will be another that shares the love you have, all you had to do is walk away from the people who didn’t. 

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: King of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Three of Swords, Ten of Wands, Six of Cups, Eight of Wands 

Bottom of the Deck: The Hanged Man 

This is a very masculine feeling guide. “Great Oak” energy, strong and warm. This could honestly resonate with people who picked pile 2 from my recent week ahead reading. This is a very father-like energy, built like a brick house and someone who does everything with love. A full heart and very, very protective. You could have seen him as a kid? Maybe in a dream or you actually saw his spirit. He could come around as a certain animal you see whenever you are going through something, or it’s like you are the only one that sees this animal and no one else sees them around. He gives off the energy of a bear, coyote, fox, tortoise. Orange daylilies. 

This guide isn’t really one for words but for actions, so I will do my best to describe what he’s showing and making me feel. He didn’t like that he had to keep his hands out of a situation that left you defeated and heartbroken, because his instinct is to keep you behind him and deal with your problems so you can keep living your life with as much peace and happiness as possible. However, he is showing me that he was told not to intervene. 

But just know, he walks beside you on your new journey. He is very adamant on making me tell you that he’s extremely proud and you’re doing a great job. He just nodded and gave a few claps. Don’t let the fire in your heart die and keep your “childlike wonder.” “Everything you thought as a child is true…you are just looking in the wrong places/looking too hard.” The journey ahead is great and filled with merriment despite the lack of coins in your pocket. There will be another great shift that will happen in your favor but keep on trucking. All that work will pay off and you have friends to enjoy the journey with. 

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: Seven of Wands, Ten of Pentacles, The Spirit Plane, Ace of Pentacles, King of Pentacles

Before I pull any cards, you have a guide or guides that come off as very ambiguous. They come off as very angelic or air/light fae, sylphs. I just see light creatures/beings and hear giggling. They are very lovely and they can be tricksters, but don’t cause much harm. They are light-hearted and like to keep the energy of fun around. Now I see them dancing with each other. I also see an expanse of field.

Another note: Since you probably believe in them if you picked this pile, I have a gnome friend who also wants to say something. 

I just have the top row of cards out and they all want to talk. They already have a flurry of messages. They want to say that, yes, you did see/hear from them and you aren’t crazy despite what others have said. They see you as one of them and as a good friend. You probably don’t feel human most days and become very confused/distressed from the way life is in this realm. You operate more in their realm of living. They are also telling you that you are far more rich because of that. 

They just wanna tell you that you aren’t crazy, they keep repeating that. Your view of the world is most likely correct. Nothing makes sense, what you believe should be makes sense though. And there is also a warning here that all beings of this category aren’t happy. In fact, they are actually really angry. “Something’s coming.” They won’t expand on that but they want you to know. You will be protected from your guides! And it will seemingly feel like everyone around you is effected but you. And throughout your life, you may have felt very lucky because things may have felt like were dropped in your lap or life has been pretty easy and it’s because of them. They don’t know if they want thanks or not, but they will take your gratitude in the form of gifts/offerings!

Decks Used: Ophida Rosa Tarot by Leila and Olive, The Dungeons and Dragons Tarot Deck by Adam Lee and Fred Gissubel, Cosma Visions Oracle by James R. Eads

Dividers: @inklore

[strbymacaroon]

Silent Love: Master-List!

Master-List:

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹ ૢ་༘࿐ Synopsis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

Yet, the tables seem to turn when he comes knocking on your door asking for your help. For something in exchange, of course.

Under one agreement, that is.

CW: Alternate Universe - College/University, Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

.・-: ✧ :ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹ Reader here on Ao3 ⊹༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter One: 14k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ New Roommate(s)

“… “I can’t deal with your sobbing when I’m trying to go to bed because he broke your heart again.” It’s the reason you're moving out, actually. That's being mean, it isn’t the reason why you’re moving out. But, it definitely is one of them…”

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Two: 9k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Sexual Tension

"...Maybe you imagined the whole thing, you were up really late and could’ve been sleep deprived. You can’t, right? That’s impossible, you’re not crazy. Besides, if you’re not imagining it, Yuuji had to have heard, right?..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Three: 11.7k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Fake Dinner Date W/Feels

"...You yell at the door. It’s way to fucking early to be dealing with this shit, why couldn’t he bother you in the afternoon? You glance at the clock on your counter, the numbers ‘2:57 PM’ glaring back at you, oh shit. Okay, fine, maybe it is time to get up..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Four: 26.6k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Project Week

"...You weren’t necessarily dreading this moment, but you aren’t looking forward to it. Things are just back to being silent between you two. Now, you have to follow him around like a lost puppy..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Five: 10k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ "Good Guy."

"...You feel your stomach drop. Sukuna presses his lips together, his eyes moving up and down your frame, before naturally looking at the women besides him. He can see your expression sour from the corner of his eye, and it makes his stomach turn uncomfortably..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Six: 27.1k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Forgiveness?

"...Uruame nods, placing the things on the table. “Of course, I’m here for Sukuna.” They place the final item, and you quickly observe they’re the ingredients for cookies..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Seven: 34k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ A Lovely Night

"...“Shit! Sukuna why didn’t you—“ If possible, your stomach twists even harder. The space next to you is empty, void of any form of existing life other than a messy pillow. You feel your eyebrow twitch, before punching his pillow. That fucking lying ass son of a bi..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Eight:

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Epilogue...

[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Chapter Eight

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Some frisky business. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 6.1k

A/N : well, I definitely enjoyed writing this chapter, guess why. 😅 also sorry it got so long

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN

Master List

Chapter Eight

Come Monday morning, it was as if nothing had happened.

You were already at your desk when Billy arrived, he hadn’t offered to pick you up because he’d had a meeting first thing on the other side of the city, so you’d been sitting working diligently for over an hour before the elevator dinged, signaling his arrival. Your cheeks instantly started to heat at the sight of him, his own cheeks pinkened by the cold, and his dark eyes burning with all of their usual intensity.

“Good morning,” he said, shrugging off his coat.

You waited with bated breath, expecting - what, you weren’t entirely sure. Something. Some acknowledgement of the way he’d kissed you, or maybe an explanation of why he’d left so abruptly. Instead, there was nothing.

“Did VDK email yet?” He asked.

All you could do was stare at him as a couple of seconds ticked by.

Had you imagined it? Were you misremembering it?

No. No. He’d never kissed you like that before, never pressed you against a wall as if he wanted to devour you whole.

(He didn’t want to acknowledge it. It had meant nothing to him.)

“Yes,” you finally found your voice. “They want to do it on Thursday, but I - I didn’t accept yet because I know you’re usually busy on Thursday evenings...” 

Billy ran his teeth over his lower lip, giving it more consideration than you expected. You hadn’t thought to ask what it was he did on Thursday evenings but, now, you found yourself wondering. What could it possibly be that had him hesitating to agree to the very thing he’d been after for weeks?

“Tell them we’ll be there,” he eventually said.

At some point, he’d come to linger behind you, looking at the email you’d pulled up on your laptop, watching as you diligently started to type up a response.

“Do you have something to wear?” He asked as you hit send.

You glanced up, over your shoulder at him, discomfort clear on your face. You didn’t want him to rush off and buy you another obscenely expensive dress.

“I’ll find something, don’t worry,” you answered.

“If you need to, I can -”

“Billy, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he relented, leaving it at that.

But, still, he lingered by your desk almost expectantly.

(Did he want you to bring up this kiss? Could you bring it up without dying of embarrassment? No. No, if Billy wanted to talk about it, then he had to be the one to bring it up.)

“Did you have breakfast?” Is what you decided to ask, blurring the line between the part of you that was still his PA and the part of you that now genuinely seemed to worry that he might not have eaten anything that morning.

“No, just piss-awful coffee at the meeting,” he shrugged.

You bit back the comment that you wanted to make, reminding yourself that he was a fully grown man who was more than capable of looking after himself.

“Okay, I’ll go get you a pastry and a coffee,” you told him.

Billy barely moved as you slid back your seat and stood, and you found yourself standing directly in front of him with little space between you. His jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on yours, but you refused to ask why, refused to ask what he expected from you. 

If he wanted to talk about the kiss, he’d need to be the one to start. Simple as that.

When you said nothing, he stepped back and turned, not giving you another glance as he slipped into his office.

Okay, so that was how things were going to be. You shook your head and headed for the elevator, forgoing grabbing your coat and wasting time bundling up - you were only running across the street, how bad could it be?

Bad, as it turned out. 

And it only got worse from there.

Carl gave you a look as you headed for the doors, but you didn’t realise what the look was for until you stepped out into the bitter cold wind. It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, but it would take far too long to go back upstairs to grab your coat. 

Wrapping your arms across your chest, you hurried across the street to The Bean Grinder, your thin blouse and skirt doing little to ward off the cold. 

You were shivering as you stood in line and, for one in your life, found yourself glad to be stuck behind so many undecided customers, basking in the warmth of the coffee shop for as long as possible. 

The wind was biting on your face as you struggled to hurry back to the Anvil building, Billy’s coffee in one hand and a bag containing a bearclaw in the other. You tried your best to ignore it and pretend like the cold wasn’t causing your lungs to ache in your chest - it was only across the street, you’d be fine, you told yourself.

And you were.

You were fine, but your bad luck still wasn’t over.

“What’s going on?” You asked Carl when you noticed a few people standing around by the elevator.

“Elevator maintenance check,” he explained. “We did send out an email about it last week -”

“Shit, I completely forgot,” you said, letting out an awkward groan.

It wasn’t like you to forget - in fact, you were all but certain you’d even written it on your desk calendar so you wouldn’t forget. But you’d been so eager to get out of the office and away from - from whatever that had been with Billy, that you hadn’t even thought about it.

Carl gave you a sympathetic look. “It’s probably going to take at least another twenty minutes. I can call upstairs, let Mr Russo know that you’re -”

“No,” you interrupted. “It’s fine. I’ll take the stairs.”

“Are you sure?” He asked before hesitating. “You’re already looking a little out of breath.”

“I’m fine. Really. It’s just the cold,” you answered, shrugging it off and saying a hasty goodbye as you headed towards the stairwell, trying not to curse under your breath until you were up at least one floor.

It certainly helped you warm up, but climbing up to the seventh floor caused the ache in your lungs to intensify and, by the time you got back to the office, you were more than a little winded.

Billy’s eyes were fixed on his laptop as you entered his office and he didn’t look up as you approached his desk. It wasn’t until you placed his drink and the paper bag containing the bearclaw down that his eyes finally lifted and confusion filled his face.

You didn’t understand why he was staring until he spoke. 

“Are you okay?”

You realised that you were wheezing and, in an act of utter stupidity, you tried to even out your breathing by forcing a deep breath, and that just made things worse. You pressed a hand to your mouth and tried to stifle a cough.

“I-I’m fine,” you managed, holding back a cough. “Just a-a little out of breath.”

He moved before you could even blink, standing and taking hold of your arms, guiding you into his chair. The leather was warm and soft, and you wanted nothing more than to sink back into it but you couldn’t, not when Billy crouched in front of you and took your face in his hands.

His eyes searched yours, though you had no idea what he was looking for.

Billy didn’t speak, nor did he ask you to try to. He just stayed with you, his thumb tenderly brushing your cheek as your breathing slowly levelled out.

He held your gaze and you found that, even though you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. You didn’t know what was going on behind those dark eyes, what thoughts were running through his head, but you felt seen, exposed.

Your hand somehow ended up on his, holding it against your cheek like some part of you was scared he’d pull away again, that he’d leave you reeling just like he had the night before.

It didn’t take long for your breathing to settle and your chest to stop aching.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

What’s wrong and not are you okay. It was the second time he’d seen you like this and Billy wasn’t an idiot, he’d obviously realised that there was some underlying cause you weren’t telling him about.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” you lied. “I forgot to put my coat on when I went across the street, and I had to use the stairs because they’re doing a maintenance check on the elevator -”

“You should have waited for them to finish. It only takes them like twenty minutes.”

There was a firmness in his voice that you didn’t expect, that you didn’t appreciate. 

“Your coffee would’ve gotten cold,” you answered back, trying to contain your own annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy muttered, pulling away from you and standing. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from you for a moment. “Do you think I care about hot coffee when you’re wheezing up a lung in my office?”

You didn’t have an answer for that. Honestly, you had no idea what Billy cared about.

“You skipped breakfast,” you said, not entirely sure why that was what bothered you.

His lips parted but, whatever he’d been wanting to say never came. He looked... confused, like he couldn’t understand why you even cared that he hadn’t eaten. But, he didn’t ask why, and you were glad because you didn’t have an answer.

“Go get your things,” he said after an uncomfortable pause.

“What? Why?” You asked.

“Because I’m taking you home.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you protested, getting to your feet. “I don’t want any preferential treatment or -”

“I can’t work if I’m worrying about you,” Billy snapped.

And - 

You were left so stunned that you didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t reconcile what he was saying and how he was acting with what you thought you knew about him, about your ‘relationship’. In no scenario could you imagine Billy actually worrying about you so, of course, you didn’t know what to say.

“I -” you tried.

“Please, just... don’t fight me on this?”

All you could do was stare, rendered speechless by the pleading look on his face. You didn’t want to leave work early and you certainly didn’t need to, but seeing Billy looking almost distressed by it all left you feeling like you couldn’t refuse.

You took a moment to consider him, to consider everything you knew about him, both as your boss and as a person. Only a few weeks ago, you’d have known exactly how to temper his mood and get the day back on track, but this was something new, something different. You didn’t understand this.

“The elevator’s still out of order,” was all you could think to say.

But, still, you moved, making your way out of his office to collect your things. You dropped your laptop into your bag, deciding that you’d carry on your work from home - with or without his permission. As you pulled on your coat, you heard him on the phone, calling down to the lobby to ask if the elevator was working again.

You perched on the edge of your desk as you waited, silently cursing yourself for letting all of this happen. You should’ve worn your coat, should’ve waited for the elevator - or at least remembered that it was being checked before offering to go for coffee.

Billy’s phone rang and, a few seconds later, he was striding out of his office, pulling on his coat. 

He told you to follow and you did, letting him usher you into the now-running again elevator with a hand on your back. Neither of you spoke or even seemed to know what to say as the elevator descended.

All you could think about was whether he’d eaten his bearclaw.

As the doors opened, you just... followed. You moved on autopilot, not sure what else you were supposed to do. The car was already waiting and you were quickly bundled inside. And, still, you remained silent.

The quiet was enough to have your paranoia rearing its ugly head; he thought you couldn’t look after yourself, that you were burdensome. 

Neither of you spoke until you were in your apartment, completely alone.

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

You watched him as he moved through your apartment like he owned it, heading into the kitchen and grabbing two mugs to make coffee.

“I’m not mad,” you answered, shrugging off your coat and following him into the kitchen. “I just don’t need you to look after me.”

It didn’t even occur to you that you were echoing something he’d said to you only a week before.

“When was the last time you let anyone look after you?”

It wasn’t a jab at you, he wasn’t accusing you of anything, but there was some hidden depth to the question. He was genuinely asking, though from the tone of his voice, he already seemed to know the answer. An answer that you refused to give him. 

Never. 

Never in your adult life had you allowed someone to look after you.

And you weren’t about to start now, especially not with your boss, the man who was paying you to fake being in a relationship with him.

You let out a sigh and turned away from him, heading towards the sofa. It wasn’t long before he joined you, sitting beside you, a hot mug of coffee in each hand. He handed you yours without a word and you didn’t even dare to think about how he’d not only come to learn exactly how you took your coffee, but where everything was in your kitchen so he could make it.

While you slowly sipped your drink, you both remained silent, neither sure what to say to the other.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Frank Castle’s secretary, and you let out a soft sigh.

“Mr Castle would like to see you before this afternoon’s meeting,” you said, not looking up from your phone.

Then it was Billy’s turn to sigh, and that sigh said more than words ever could. You knew he didn’t want you working, that he’d brought you home specifically to stop you, but you couldn’t because, without you, his day didn’t run smoothly.

He finished his coffee and got to his feet.

“Please at least try to get some rest,” he said, resigned to the fact that you were going to continue working regardless of what he said. “And if you’re not feeling well tomorrow -”

“I told you, I’m -”

“If you’re not feeling well tomorrow,” he repeated, “call in sick.”

“Fine.”

You both already knew that you wouldn’t but it wasn’t worth the argument.

He insisted that you stayed where you were as he let himself out and you were glad, not sure you could handle a repeat performance of last night's kiss by the door.

The next day you were back at your desk before Billy even got to the office, his coffee and pastry, a pain au chocolat today, waiting for him on his desk. He slowed as he walked past you to his office but he didn’t say anything other than a brusque good morning to you.

Fortunately, over the next few days he warmed to you again, seeming to want to pretend that it had never happened. And, while it wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with it, you were more than happy to just slip back into things, deciding to ignore everything from the kiss onwards.

You didn’t spend much time with each other out of work, though that was through no fault of Billy’s. It seemed like every day, something would come up that demanded his attention, keeping him at his desk late into the night and, when you offered to stay late to help him, he’d send you home in his car.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, you weren’t sure if Billy would be in any fit state for the VDK dinner, but there he was, waiting next to his car by the curb as you stepped outside.

As he had the night of the gala, Billy asked that you pack a bag and spend the night at his apartment and, despite everything, you were more than happy to after waking up that morning to find that the heating in your apartment wasn’t working.

His eyes widened as you approached, taking in the sight of you and what you were wearing. The dress that he’d bought you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t speak at all until you were both in the car and the driver had started the engine.

“I thought you didn’t like that dress,” he said.

“I never said that. I said it was too expensive.”

He was silent for a few seconds before; “I’m glad you kept it, you look amazing.”

You smiled at him, finally taking a moment to appreciate how good he looked, his charcoal suit immaculately hugging his figure and not a dark hair out of place. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it, but you found yourself considering how handsome he was as he glanced out the window, but he was only beautiful when he looked at you and smiled in return.

Soon, and for the second time in less than a week, you found yourself outside the VDK Manhattan Hotel. Fortunately, this time there was no fanfare as you approached the doors, no red carpet or lines of photographers but, just like the night of the gala, you entered with Billy’s hand in yours.

You were met by a member of the hotel staff and taken in the elevator up to the penthouse.

Your hand gripped Billy’s as you stepped out into the most lavish looking hotel suite that you’d ever seen - which, admittedly, wasn't saying a lot as you couldn’t remember ever seeing the inside of a hotel suite before, let alone a penthouse suite. It even put Billy’s apartment to shame, but you weren’t given time to really appreciate it.

“There you are, just in time,” Catherine Van Der Koy, said as she approached you, “we were just about to have some drinks before dinner.”

You and Billy both greeted her before you found yourselves being separated.

“William, I believe you’re acquainted with my son-in-law and grandson?” She said, motioning to a group of men sitting on the sofa drinking what looked to be scotch. Billy nodded. “Good, go and have a drink while we catch up.”

He started to move but, for a moment, you were reluctant to let go of his hand. You didn’t want him to leave your side, and you felt his hand squeeze yours in silent apology just before his fingers slipped away. 

“Don’t worry,” Catherine said as you watched him go, “they’ve all promised to be on their best behaviour tonight.”

That did nothing to settle your nerves, even though you knew that Billy was more than capable of handling himself. Knowing how some of these people saw him, you didn’t want to leave Billy to face them alone, but Catherine took your arm and led you into the suite’s large dining room where a group of mostly women sat drinking and chatting.

“Have you ever stayed in one of our hotels before?” Catherine asked.

“No,” you answered, feeling your cheeks start to warm, “they’re a little out of my price range.”

“Not any more, I’ll bet,” said an unfamiliar voice.

A young woman stepped in front of you. She had a smirk on her lips and you couldn’t decide if she was joking or if there was something more pointed to the comment. 

“This is my granddaughter Leah,” Catherine said.

You introduced yourself but, clearly, it wasn’t necessary. Leah Van Der Koy knew all about you. She had an almost nasal way of speaking that made every comment sound like it was a thinly veiled barb, but you quickly realised that it was just the way she spoke.

Catherine remained silent as Leah brought up things she’d seen on the gossip blogs about you and Billy, pointing out how cute the pair of you had looked together leaving the movie festival you’d attended a couple of weeks ago.

“Leah is in charge of VDK’s social media,” Catherine explained. “She likes to keep her finger on the pulse.”

On the pulse of what exactly, you didn’t dare ask.

“You have no idea how many people are losing their minds over you right now,” Leah told you. “Do you have TikTok or Insta?”

You shook your head, not sure why she wanted to know or why anyone would be losing their minds over you.

“You should get on it,” Leah continued. “With all the attention you’re getting right now, you could make a killing as an influencer.”

It took every ounce of composure you had not to cringe at the thought. Just the idea made you feel ill - you didn’t like the attention and you certainly didn’t want to attract more of it.

“Give me your phone?” She asked and, for reasons you couldn’t even begin to understand, you did. She tapped the screen a few times before handing it back to you. “I put my number in there, let me know if you ever need any social media advice.”

“Leah dear, stop harassing your grandmother’s guest.”

Another woman appeared behind Leah and just one look at her told you that she was Leah’s mother, Catherine’s daughter. They all had the same high cheekbones and delicate noses.

“This is my daughter Faye,” Catherine offered.

Again, you introduced yourself.

“I love your dress,” Faye said. “It looks like a Sophie Harrington piece.”

“Oh, uh -” you stumbled over your words, looking down at yourself as you tried to remember the name of the boutique Billy’ had bought it from, “- I think that was where it came from?” 

“Faye has always had an eye for fashion and design,” Catherine explained with a noticeable degree of pride in her voice. “She’s in charge of a lot of the interior design of our hotels.” She then paused and upon noticing your discomfort, waved away her daughter and granddaughter. “Let’s get a drink.”

You nodded as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

The dining room had its own bar and bartender - you didn’t dare ask if he came included in the nightly price of the room, as you already felt like you were embarrassing yourself enough.

“You look positively terrified.”

Her words pulled you back to the moment and the heat across your cheeks intensified.

“Sorry. I’m just -” again you awkwardly swallowed again, “- I’m not really used to... all this.” 

“What part of it is bothering you?” She asked, curious and thankfully not offended.

“Big dinner parties with people I don’t know, people who already know me even though I’ve never met them, people knowing more about my dress than I do -”

“Take a breath,” she interrupted.

You realised belatedly that you’d probably sounded like you were panicking or freaking out, and forced yourself to take a slow breath.

“I shouldn’t have worn this dress,” you muttered a moment later.

“Why not?”

“Because Billy bought it for me.” There was no point in lying, everyone there probably knew that there was no way you could have afforded to buy it for yourself.

“What difference does that make?”

“It’s too expensive,” you answered. “Everyone will think I just want Billy’s money.”

Catherine studied you for a moment and then handed you a wine glass. You’d been so lost in your own awkwardness that you hadn’t even realised she’d asked the bartender for a drink for you.

“Does he buy you a lot of things?” She asked.

“No,” you quickly answered. “And I didn’t even want him to buy this. I told him to take it back, but he wouldn’t. I only wore it tonight because he’s had a rough week and I thought it might cheer him up.”

You hadn’t told Billy that was the reason you’d chosen to wear it. Hell, you’d barely even admitted it to yourself. But it had been a difficult week and you’d thought your discomfort would be worth it just to see him smile.

“Did it?” She asked before clarifying. “Cheer him up?”

“I - I hope so,” you said, finding your eyes drifting towards the door, wondering how Billy was getting on.

“It’s not easy - loving someone who gives so much of themselves to their work.”

Your gaze dropped and you bit your lip, a tidal wave of embarrassment washing over you. You were embarrassed by the lie, by how the dishonesty made you feel. That was all. That  was what the feeling in your stomach was, and that was why your heart seemed to stutter. It wasn’t that you loved him or that you were in love with him.

No.

While there might have been some feelings of fondness, closeness even, what you felt wasn’t love. And whatever Billy felt for you...

“Oh dear,” Catherine said, pulling you back to the moment, “has he not said the words yet? You mustn’t let that discourage you, men like William speak with actions before words.”

Actions.

Actions like pressing you against a wall and kissing you like his life depended on it?

“Come and sit,” she instructed and, again, you followed her, joining the rest of the group sitting around the table.

You made small talk with the group but, mostly, you were happy to just fade into the background, mostly ignored. After about forty minutes, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom but, instead of returning to the dining room straight away, you found yourself exploring the suite and ending up on the balcony.

It looked out over Central Park - though the low light made it hard to anything beyond the lit paths that weaved through the park, you imagined that the view was stunning during the day.

You hadn’t meant to linger, but the cold night air was a relief and the city noises were calming after the constant chatter and laughter inside.

You didn’t hear someone else step out onto the balcony, you hadn’t even noticed that there was a door besides the one you’d used, but you recognised his voice immediately. 

“Little dove,” he muttered softly, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Turning, you watched as Billy approached you.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He asked.

“I -” you started to answer but faltered when he placed a warm hand on your bare arm, “- I just needed to get some air.”

“You’re cold.” Statement, not question. And before you could answer, he’d taken off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. 

Part of you wanted to protest, wanted to worry about him getting cold, but his jacket was so soft, so warm, and it smelled like his cologne, and once it was draped around you, you didn’t want to give it back.

Despite his jacket, you shivered, and Billy stepped closer, heat radiating from his body.

“How’s it going?” He asked softly, leaning closer as if he was worried you��d be overheard,  even though you were completely alone.

“Good, I think...” you answered just as softly, barely noticing that your eyes were fixed on his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

You wanted to hate how easily he could see through you, how he’d gotten better at understanding you in the weeks that you’d spent together, but you couldn’t. You’d wanted him to see you as a person and, now, he did.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I don’t feel like I belong in your world,” you confessed softly. “It’s exhausting.”

“I don’t feel like I belong either,” Billy offered.

Still, you couldn’t look him in the eye, knowing that you’d melt the moment that you did. You felt ridiculous for letting what Catherine had said get to you, but now you were overthinking every little thing he did, wondering if -

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

He didn’t love you. He wasn’t in love with you.

And you didn’t love him.

None of it was real - he’d told you himself, he found it easy to lie, and that was all it was. A lie. A fiction.

But, when you felt fingers beneath your chin, urging you to look up, you did. And when your eyes met his - yeah, as you’d feared, butterflies took flight in your stomach and your breath caught. The darkness of the night turned his eyes even darker but, still, they seemed to spark and burn when he looked at you.

“You belong here with me,” he said.

Before you could speak, the space between you disappeared. You weren’t sure which of you moved first, but his lips were soon on yours.

It was soft and slow, his tongue coaxing your lips apart so you could sink into a deeper kiss. You could taste the scotch he’d been drinking, and you were sure he could taste your wine. It was the excuse that you’d use for all of this - you’d both been drinking on empty stomachs.

And, besides, it was all for show. (Even though no one was watching, it was all for show.)

You pulled him closer, letting his body pin you against the balcony’s ledge. Even if it was just for show, there was nothing to say you couldn’t enjoy it, nothing to silence that voice in your head that demanded more, more, more.

It felt like a slow descent into madness, the kiss turning more heated the longer it continued, and you lost yourself to the fantasy, to the idea that you could belong with Billy.

You gripped him tight as you were lifted and placed on the ledge, the cold metal railing at your back as Billy stepped between your legs.

He’d never been so close before but, somehow, it wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel more of his body against your, you wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, his -

A soft noise escaped you into the kiss as his hand started to blaze a trail up your thigh, slowing only a fraction before dipping beneath the hem of your dress. Your cheeks heated, and some small part of you knew that you should pull away, tell him to stop, but it was easily drowned out and overruled by the part of you that wanted.

His hand continued upwards and your heart raced faster. You knew what he’d find if his fingers reached your panties. The lace was already starting to soak with your arousal, and you should have been embarrassed at how wet you were just from one little kiss.

Billy nipped at your lip, drawing another noise from you, something a little louder and a lot more desperate, before plunging his tongue back into the warmth of your mouth.

Want me, every fibre of your being screamed against your better judgement, leaving you feeling so needy and desperate for something that wasn’t even real. You held him tighter, pulled him closer, your tongue greedy against his. You parted your legs a little wider, making room for his hand as his fingers finally reached the edge of your panties.

The first brush of his fingertips through the wet lace had your back aching, pushing yourself into his touch, his body, into everything that was Billy Russo.

Then came a sound, a voice, that had both Billy’s hand and lips pulling away from you.

Faye Van Der Koy telling you both that dinner was about to be served.

The weight of everything that had just happened hit you like a ton of bricks. You turned your head, looking away from Billy as shame filled your whole body. He tensed and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said.

Sorry.

... what was he sorry for?

(For getting carried away, for doing exactly what you’d told him he couldn’t do, for treating you like an object for his pleasure. He was sorry because it wasn’t real and now you’d have to face the consequences.)

You held your breath when you felt his hands on your hips, lifting you down from the ledge, and when you looked at him again, you found that he looked almost as lost as you felt.

“I -” he started.

“We should go inside.”

Whatever he wanted to say, you were certain that you didn’t want to hear it.

Billy hesitated for a beat before nodding, clumsily taking your hand in his and leading you back inside.

Catherine Van Der Koy gave you a telling smirk as you and Billy took your seats at the table and, as the food was served, you felt like everyone at the table was staring at you. You didn’t realise your entire body was tensed until you felt Billy’s hand on your thigh beneath the table, offering a gentle but reassuring squeeze.

The conversation jumped around over dinner and you were happy to just silently observe it while you ate. They talked about business, politics, and the social scene. You paid attention, filing away everything that you thought might be important, and only speaking when a question was directly posed to you.

For someone who’d told you that he didn’t belong there, Billy had an infinitely easier time inserting himself into the conversation. Unlike you, he had limitless reserves of confidence.

Once dinner was over and fresh drinks were served, Billy’s arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. 

It was all for show, but you were so exhausted by everything that you were more than happy to rest your head against his shoulder, hoping that the night would soon be over.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Billy shifted to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You okay, little dove?” He asked.

The pet name had your heart skipping a beat and you sank closer.

“Fine, just tired,” you answered.

“Do you want to go soon?” His voice was soft and full of a sort of caring that always caught you off-guard.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t want to ruin the evening,” you said.

“Nonsense,” Catherine interjected. You hadn’t even realised she’d been listening. “I take it you’re both working in the morning.”

“We are,” Billy answered.

“But you’re the boss, why not just give yourself the day off?” Leah asked from the other side of the table.

“I would,” he said, implying that he wasn’t the one that had an issue with it. 

“I’ve told you,” you said directly at Billy despite the fact that most of the table was listening, “I like to keep our professional and personal lives separate. Besides, Anvil would crumble if I took a day off.”

It was a gross overstatement and you found yourself grinning at Billy and - and then he let out one of those laughs and pressed his lips to your forehead again.

“She’s right,” he conceded, “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”

There was truth in his words, but you didn’t want to think too much about why.

After a few more minutes, the two of you were on your feet, the Van Der Koy’s wishing you both goodnight with promises being thrown out about more dinners and social events in future. Catherine escorted you both to the lift, waiting with you, and putting the full weight of her scrutiny on Billy.

“William, when you propose to this girl, do make sure that it’s somewhere romantic. She deserves it,” Catherine said, smirking as Billy’s face paled at the suggestion.

But any shock he felt was short lived and he quickly rebounded with; “first I need to convince her to move in with me.”

Suddenly it was Catherine’s turn to look shocked, her attention quickly turning back to you as your cheeks heated. 

Thankfully the elevator arrived before you had to try and think of a way to explain it to her. You were quickly ushered inside and Catherine promised to be in touch to see you both soon. 

When the doors slid shut, you let out a sigh of relief.

“I think that went well,” Billy muttered, letting out an exhausted sigh of his own.

A/N : 😅 I think at this point I'm enjoying torturing these two far more than I should be. Next chapter might make some of you scream a little but please don't worry, it's all part of my master plan. Also those wondering about readers mysterious condition, that will all be addressed later on, don't worry. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. (Also sorry that I keep cock-blocking Billy in all of my fics)

As ever I adore you for your likes/comments/reblogs and I can't wait to hear your reactions to the balcony scene. Have a great weekend everyone!!

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! Otherwise new chapters will be posted around 7:30pm GMT on Fridays.

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[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Slight depictions of injury/death. Some hurt-comfort. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,984

A/N: April's a rough month for me and I haven't had much creative energy if I'm being honest. Between life, work, and personal stuff writing sadly gets set to the side more than I'd like it to be. I know I have requests and the Valentines Event to finish but I don't want to force those out just to have them done. I want to take my time and post what I'm proud to have written and thank you all for your patience with those. Needed some Doffy to try and get things going again and help me out of my slump. Thank you all for the love and support, hopefully you like this chapter. The next one will be the party. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen(here) | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen(coming soon)

——————

Doflamingo knew Dressrosa would be in safe hands with those in his family staying behind while he was gone. Long stretches of time away were rare but he always made sure nothing was left to chance in his absence. Counting in the time to get there, attend, and return he would be gone for nearly two weeks so he needed to settle preparations with the kingdom and his many other operations and work needed before departing. His subordinates and servants knew their daily tasks and duties and the higher ranking members were all given a fair share of additional responsibilities, everyone knowing that should anything be lacking on his return, all would suffer the consequences together. Finalising the last of the necessary details, Doflamingo rose from his desk and left the office, walking straight for the dining room. As he neared the room he heard Dellinger speak up. “So what time do you set sail?”

“First thing in the morning.” You looked up at the sound of Doflamingo’s voice answering the question that had been directed at Diamanté. With his usual chuckle and a building grin he added. “So those of you attending, make sure you get a good night’s rest because if you aren’t at the ship in time we’ll leave you behind.”

“Even me?” You asked as he slid into his seat beside you. You tried your best to look as innocently concerned about the prospect of being left behind even though it was because of you Doflamingo had even entertained the notion of attending this ordeal in the first place. 

“I’ll drag you out of your bed personally.” Doflamingo answered with a grin when a challenging glint shone in your eyes.

“Hey, hey Doffy!” Trebol spoke up, leaning forward toward his King, getting as close as he possibly could and as always with with no regard for anyone’s personal space. You continued to eat, glad you were on the other side of Doflamingo and safe from Trebol’s overbearing reach. “Why are you going so far away this time?”

“Yes I was curious about that too.” Lao G added. “Is there something special out there? Are you planning something else while you’re away?”

“If something important was being planned it wouldn’t be so spontaneous and more of us would be going too.” Gladius argued, prompting more voices to join the conversation and theorise the reasoning behind this trip away to an event they knew their King tended to avoid as much as possible. 

As they spoke amongst themselves you contented yourself to just enjoying your meal while also idly wondering what this event was going to be like. Beside you, Doflamingo had also said nothing to stop or encourage the current conversation, simply letting them be. After a while some became bored of trying to work out Doflamingo’s motivations behind his actions -as they normally did- and drifted into other discussions. Suddenly Baby 5 let out a gasp and she looked to Doflamingo with widened eyes and small blush dusting her cheeks. “D-doffy! Could it be your wedding?!”

Silence fell over the table among the family immediately. Some looked to Baby 5 first in silent fury, her overly romantic mind could be the cause they lose their heads because they get caught in the crossfire of angering their young master with her wistful and disrespectful question. Then again, they were all suddenly hit with the consideration that she may have been onto something. It made more sense than anything else they could have come up with so far. So they all looked to the top of the table where you and Doflamingo sat. Together you both looked at the other and immediately burst into laughter like this was the best joke you’d heard all week. Because that was the only way the both of you would even consider Baby 5’s words. It was ridiculous. At least it was to the two of you, everyone else on the other hand silently regarded you both and began to wonder if the time away was going to lead to any further developments between the two soulmates.

————

The Numancia Flamingo was definitely a sight to behold. You hadn’t been entirely sure what you’d been expecting before finally seeing and boarding the ship but when you did it was definitely the only thing you found that would suit Doflamingo. Had you put any thought into imagining the vessel it would have paled in comparison to the real thing. Truthfully it didn’t really matter on looks, it could have been a dingy little tugboat for all you cared because all that mattered now was getting to be on a ship again for the first time in months. 

You stood leaning against the railing and let your eyes slide closed as you felt Dressrosa’s summer heat recede back and the cool sea breeze began to pick up and wash over your face. You took a long, relaxed breath and gave a small hum. Opening your eyes you turned around, casually bracing your hands on the railing and watched Doflamingo approach. You said nothing as he came to a stop beside you but you did catch Diamanté, Baby 5, and Gladius standing on the other side of the deck, watching with expressions of varied levels of curiosity. Since this was only day on of the journey you braced yourself for this being the calm, anticipating their behaviour to heighten over the days at sea. “You look peaceful. You miss being out on the water that much?”

“Can you blame me for feeling a little nostalgic?” You asked with a small smile, looking to Doflamingo as he adjusted his position to still lean by the railing but also face you. “The last time I was on a ship was when my unit docked to begin our mission on observing your little enterprise at the warehouse.”

“How long were you stationed there until I showed up?” Doflamingo asked with a grin, the memory of your dazed and pained face lit by the warehouse fire realise he was the one your unit had unknowingly been pursuing flashing in his mind. Even then on the brink of passing out and accepting of your fate you’d been stubbornly defiant. 

“Nearly two months.” You explained, your smile lessening slightly. You were used to the routine tedium of keeping a low profile, watching for all activity, obeying the orders given on jobs like those but now that you thought on it and given that it was the last mission you’d ever have you couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it all. You thought fondly of your friends while also missing them but then would be hit with guilt. Did you even deserve to miss them when you were sitting and talking so comfortably with the man who was the reason they were all dead and gone. Quickly you cleared your throat and to distract yourself you added.  “Now that I think about it, I suppose I was on a ship after that, right? To get to Dressrosa.”

“We didn’t sail. I carried you back while you were unconscious and used my strings to get back.” At Doflamingo’s words you tilted your head in slight confusion. At the time you’d never questioned how you’d gotten to Dressrosa. For one thing, you were certain you weren’t going to be alive much longer and that you’d woken to Doflamingo demanding to know how he couldn’t hurt you if didn’t give you much time to think about it beyond using logic to fill in the gaps.

“Being away from Dressrosa for so long is a bit of a hassle isn’t it?” You asked, his words now bringing a new thought to you. You couldn’t believe it but you were now beginning to share Trebol's curiosity from the night before. “Why did you pick this event to go to? You get countless invitations. I’m sure there were many a lot closer to home.”

“I don’t know why, this one seemed the most interesting.” Doflamingo shrugged casually, not making a comment on how you’d inadvertently called Dressrosa ‘home’ and also chose to ignore the feeling that it brought him. “Didn’t look at the location until you agreed to go.”

“Still I wouldn't have minded if we went somewhere closer.” You explained before smirking. “They're all the same right?”

“Right but it’ll be interesting to see you navigate this as a guest.”

“I’ll have to be careful though, won't get away with half the stuff I normally do will I?” You grinned playfully. “Also means I have to behave around you too. Guess I should practice my ‘yes King Doffy’s and ‘anything you say, young master’s on the way.” For emphasis you straightened up to give him your best attempt at an exaggerated bow fitting his title.

“As much as I loved that display, you don't need to worry about doing that in front of anyone. Just be yourself. It’s not like they can do anything to you if you annoy them anyway.”

“Not worried I could be a target of those ‘clumsy assassinations’ you told me about?”

“When they see you’re with me they’ll know to leave you alone.” Doflamingo’s voice took on a hard edge, the threat of what would happen clear, not that it needed clarifying further. You saw how furious he was when a mere servant opened a door against your face by accident. The bloodbath and Doflamingo’s ferocity that would come should someone else try to kill you when that was his goal didn’t bear thinking about. Strangely you didn’t feel fear from him when he was like this, you never did. While you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary violence or death as possible, you knew Doflamingo would do as he wished.

————

The members of the Doflamingo family on the ship had begun to become more observant when it came to you and their ruler. Most of the time back on Dressrosa you tended to keep to yourself up until recent events took place so there were things they were only noticing or getting to see now. When they had watched Doflamingo approach, you turned without him even making a noise. Whatever it had been you were discussing it seemed relaxed enough but what caught their attention the most had been how close you both stood to each other and how you and Doflamingo looked solely on the other’s face as you talked. Even more interesting was how neither of your called attention or seemed to notice that Doflamingo’s hand was over yours for the conversation and that your finger was curled around one of his. 

Now they all sat in the ship’s lounge, relaxing after their dinner. Just as they would back in Dressrosa’s palace, they all settled into their own spots and contented themselves with idle chatter, a drink, and something to occupy them until they eventually would decide to go to bed for the night. Doflamingo took up most of one of the sofas all by himself, stretched out comfortably with a drink in one hand and the other draped over the back of his seat. Lazily he would twitch and arch his finger to move the chess pieces on the board between him and Diamanté who sat opposite him. 

You were the last to come into the room, having stopped by your room to grab a book. Entering you were already reading and immediately walked to the sofa Doflamingo was sprawled out on. You wordlessly dropped down onto the seat without checking if any space had been made for you, which to the silent surprise of the rest of the family there had been. The second you’d made your move, Doflamingo remained focused on the game while lounging but had adjusted his leg in time to make room for you to comfortably settle against the cushions and his side. With your back against him, you turned the page, continuing to read while Doflamingo made his next move in his game with Diamanté, neither of you uttering a word to each other. Both of you seemed completely unaware of how effortlessly domestic and cosy it all seemed but it practically slapped the others in the face. Part of them wanted to make a comment, even a light, teasing one but held back, unsure how either of you would take it. With the other members of the family back home depending on them to bring back all the juicy details, they didn’t want to risk ruining things by pointing out the unconscious moments between two of you especially on the first day. 

————

“Your family have been staring a lot today.” You noted as you climbed into the bed you’d be sharing with Doflamingo for the duration of the trip. It had already been mentioned and while you’d both slept in each other’s presence before, you couldn't help but realise this was the first time it was happening without you being sick or sleep deprived. Still you found no issue in it deep down, it just meant another slight shift in things was happening between you and Doflamingo. “Are they expecting something to happen?”

“Like what?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle, his family hadn’t exactly been subtle with their observations but even he couldn’t work out what was suddenly so interesting. 

“I dunno, they’re your responsibility so you tell me.” You shrugged with a yawn as Doflamingo switched off the light. 

“Sometimes they’re a mystery even to me. They’ll get bored and move on to something else, they always do.” Doflamingo explained and you nodded.

Ultimately it didn’t matter what it was that had them acting stranger than normal. Whatever their motivations they were going to continue until what they were waiting for did or didn’t happen. Anything was possible in their imaginations, Baby 5’s ridiculous suggestion that Doflamingo and you were going to marry on this trip was proof of that. As long as they didn’t get too in your face about it, you were happy to just let them continue as they were. Besides you were too tired to give them anymore thought. With another yawn, this one deeper and longer than the last you lay back more and felt yourself fall over to sleep, carried there by the sounds of waves hitting against the side of the ship. It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep to the familiar sound and given your earlier conversation with the man asleep next to you, it was no wonder that your mind conjured the images that it did for your dreams. 

It started pleasant enough. You were sat around a table with your unit sharing a meal, talking and laughing without any cares or worries. Then the laughter slowed and an almighty explosion came from the centre of the table, hurtling your body backwards through the air and plunging you into the coldest and darkest waters. You struggled and clawed with all your might to fight your way out of the depths but your limbs felt heavier and heavier with no sign of the surface in sight. Finally hands broke through the surface and hauled you from the water. You slumped onto the floor and took a few steadying breaths.

Lifting your head to thank your saviour you froze with the words lodged in your throat. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the young cadet that died in the warehouse explosion but it wasn’t as you knew him. Standing before you now was his burning body, the scorched remnants of his uniform melted to his skin and eyes literally ablaze as he looked down at you in fury, with laboured, crackling breaths smoke bled from his parted mouth. “Traitor.” You flinched at the low, agonising voice he now spoke with. “You’re a traitor.”

Numbly you sat cold and horrified, unable to speak. Trembling you could only stare helplessly at the cadet and shake your head. Suddenly he was behind you, charred and burning fingers clawing into your skull and forcing you to look forward. Against the fires of the destroyed warehouse debris you were faced with the bloodied and lifeless bodies of the rest of your unit. You didn’t see what had become of them personally but knew they’d died so in this nightmare, your imagination created the worst visions possible. Then they all spoke together, a chorus of haunting accusations. “Traitor.” “You forgot us.” “Dead because of you.” “Sided with the enemy.” “Our blood is on your hands.” “Your fault.” 

Their unseeing eyes blinked and their heads turned your way, their rigid, bloodied hands moving to drag themselves across the space between them and you. While the burning cadet held you firmly in place, the rest of the unit drew closer and closer chanting the chorus of “Your fault” over and over again until they were swarmed on top of you and smothered you. 

With a strangled gasp you bolted upright in the bed, kicking and pushing to try and rid the phantoms from your nightmare away from you but still their touch persistently clung to your skin. You jolted when the most determined phantom grabbed your wrists to stop your thrashing. At the sound of Doflamingo’s deep voice saying your name you blinked through your disoriented panic and swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to calm your rapid breathing. Finally you were able to remind yourself that it had all just been an awful dream and that the images weren't real but as rational as you were it all still had a vicelike grip on you. 

You were pulled forward and Doflamingo adjusted you to settle on his lap. He wrapped his arm around you and settled his other hand on the back of your head, settling you against his chest. Hearing his strong, steady heartbeat finally helped you to relax. Following his breaths as a guide you began to ease and the small shake in your frame settled. For the longest moment you remained against him, your eyes staring at nothing and only focusing on the warmth of Doflamingo’s body against yours. 

With a tired sigh you began to pull out of his hold. Now that you’d calmed from the nightmare you decided to let him get back to sleep. Except you stopped when his grip tightened. Silently Doflamingo lay down and kept you against him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I’m no stranger to nightmares.” Doflamingo told you, his fingers moving against your back in similar motions as you had with him when you proved he needed to relax more. “Only talk about it if you want. Or say nothing at all. It’s your choice.”

“Thanks Doffy.” You murmured, your voice already growing thick and in seconds you were drifting off to sleep in his arms.

————

While the nightmare hadn’t been brought up again and even though it didn’t happen again, the consequences of it were evident. For every night that followed, no matter what position you both settled into the two of you would wake fully rested and in each other’s hold; usually with your head on his chest. As always when it came to anything that could be perceived as soft or tender or actions fuelled by emotion, nothing was said about the sleeping arrangements. If anything, you both would merely convince yourselves it was for your own benefit; simply a way to have a peaceful night's rest and nothing more. For you both this was the best way to handle things, to just continue as you both were without looking deeper.

As you sipped at your morning tea you saw the outline of an island slowly come into view, a tiny dot on the horizon. Still far away but now a sign the first stretch of the trip would be over. So far the plan was to attend the party that evening, stay overnight at the host’s lavish estate and set sail in the next day. The time of your departure would depend solely on the hangovers of Doflamingo and the rest of the crew whose tasks involved sailing the ship back home to Dressrosa. You lifted the invitation again and inspected it curiously. There was no real occasion listed so it was an even greater mystery for what you’d be walking into and had no real way to prepare for it all. Still from what Doflamingo had said, it would be a gathering of people similar to him; those holding great power-most not attained morally- some nobility and even a couple royals or rulers of their own islands, others just so insanely rich they may as well have a crown on their head. Adding in the numbers of each guest’s entourage of supporters, bodyguards and fawning dates to make them look good it was most certainly going to be a large affair. Now a thought came to you that you maybe should have asked sooner. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“By your name, obviously.” Doflamingo smirked as he observed you set the invitation down and let out an unimpressed huff. “What other way am I to introduce you?”

“I meant what's my place here?” You asked with a roll of your eyes. “They’re bound to already know the members of your family and will know I’m not one of them. I don’t think you want these people to know you have a soulmate and even if they didn’t believe you to openly call me your soulmate seems…out of character.”

Doflamingo stared at you hard for a few moments. Quickly he moved passed your first remark and settled instead on the discussion of openly calling you his soulmate. You were right, most of the people who would be at this party only had their uses for what Doflamingo could exploit and manipulate out of them for his own profit or entertainment. They had no need for any private and valuable information about the depths of the connection he had with you. Plus a sinister thought crept into his mind; if it was made public knowledge some fool could try and use you to get to him in an attempt to gain the upper hand on him which was something he wouldn’t allow in any capacity. Still you had his mind spinning in another thought. “They don’t need to know you as anything other than my date, just think of it as the same situation when we dealt with our cheating pirate guests only without killing this time. Also, 'out of character’ how?”

“As far as these people know I’m your date, just some random person you’ve brought along to look nice and stop you from getting bored too easily. You don’t strike me as someone who’d remember a one-time date's name passed the next day, let alone call them something as strong as ‘soulmate’ for a pet-name at a party.”

Doflamingo’s laughter built in his chest at your observation. As to the point as your words were, they weren’t spoken to insult or offend him. They were a genuine statement, and a very clear view of him which had its drawbacks. It felt odd to be so seen by someone like this, to be known in this way. You were right, he cared very little for any previous lover or date’s feelings and their names were at best half-remembered the next morning or when he chose to kick them out of his bed when they’d served their purpose. “So what pet-name can I call you?”

“It’s only for tonight, right?” You asked with a casual shrug while lifting the paper to go back to reading it. “I’ve played the pirate’s lover before, remember? Call me whatever you want and I'll play along.” Doflamingo grinned broader and looked out the window at the island in the distance. Tonight was going to be fun. 

——————————————-

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[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter 6: Pink Camellias - Longing For You

Summary: Andy stops by on a particularly stressful day, and a different favorite customer gives you a bit of a rude awakening.

Word Count: 2442

Author's Note: Hey my lovelies! Thank you all so much for the positive feedback I've received from so many of you since the last chapter. Enjoy this chapter, this one and the next one are going to be on the shorter side to prepare for an upcoming behemoth i have planned ;)

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @wub-wub-wub-wub-wub @padfootblackswh0r3 @axel-the-boy-witch

fic under the cut <3

So far, your day was terrible, which meant it was on par with the rest of your week.

Everything you had detailed on that late night phone call to Andy a few weeks ago had only gotten worse. The date for foreclosure was slowly approaching, your debt nearly canceled out by the sheer amount of customers you were getting recently. You could only imagine it had just become an online trend to… be nice to your partner? Whatever the incentive was, it was helping out the business, but not so much your wallet.

You often brought your frustrations to Andy, and he was so supportive it made your heart ache. Even though he’d explicitly stated often that it was completely fine for you to vent to him like this, you apologized profusely every time. This is how talking to him would start, though after a few minutes they diverged to a million other topics.

This was exactly the kind of conversation you were planning on having when he visited you today. And you couldn't wait. A countdown of the seconds until he walked in was playing in your brain.

One, two, three.

You needed the break from your life that talking to Andy offered you.

_Four, five, six._

You craved the stability, how even if your life was crumbling before you, you would always be able to find him in the rubble.

Seven, eight, nine.

He wasn't your sole motivator to keep going, but he definitely helped.

Ten—

"Hey there.”

Uncharacteristically perfect timing.

You pulled your attention away from the clock on the wall to catch your first glimpse of him for the day. For the first time since you’d met him, he was wearing a hat, a black baseball cap with some logo on it you didn't recognize. His hair was tied back into a bun. Though he had his attempts at being stylish from time to time, today was not one of them, his zip-up hoodie and jeans making it evident that today was not a day where he felt like trying. Maybe he was having as crappy of a day as you were. Just in case he was, you greeted him with more enthusiasm in your voice than usual.

“Hi! How's it going?”

“Pretty alright, actually,” he started, before continuing his sentence with a question that seemed to give you a headache simply by hearing it. “How are you?”

You sighed before you spoke, grimacing just at the thought of your emotions.

“I am so stressed that talking about how stressed I am will only make me more stressed. I need a change of pace. And topic.”

He picked up what you were putting down immediately, something that had become almost like second nature to him. A good distraction.

“There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you, now that you've reminded me.”

Oh no.

The thoughts of what he could possibly have to ask you began to cloud your mind, and some of the various possibilities made your heart beat much faster than it should. When he started so say something again, there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. Unusual for you, since you’d grown so accustomed to him being more confident in your presence, but you let him speak.

“So… ehm… my birthday’s coming up in a couple of weeks. To celebrate, some of my friends and I are gonna go to the pub and I was wondering if you'd like to come along.”

To say you were relieved was an understatement. The wide smile on your face was an answer in itself, but you responded anyway.

“Andy, I’d love to.”

“Great! Grand. I’ll mark you down as saying ‘yes’.”

“There’s no way I’d say no. Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

A smile, almost the same as your own, grew on his lips.

“By the way, this will be a genuine get-together. You’ll get to meet some of my other friends, as well.”

You feigned shock.

“So it's not just me and this Alex fellow you talk about?”

“No. Contrary to popular belief, I do have more than just two friends.”

You both let out your own laughs, almost in unison with one another. To be joking around with someone you trusted and kept so close… for a moment, it helped you believe everything was alright.

“I’m excited to celebrate with everyone,” you said, sincerity returning to your tone. “Get ready for a present for the ages. For the history books, even.”

He shook his head in denial, stopping your excitement in its tracks.

“Y/N, you don't have to get me anything . I’m a grown man, I’ll live if I don't get a birthday present.”

“Well, I’m a grown woman and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't get you anything. So let me-”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the door ringing.

You peeked behind him at who had just walked in. You had to look down to meet her gaze, and when you realized you recognized her weathered face, you smiled.

“Violet! Great to see you! I’ll be right with you.”

Andy tilted his head at your exclamation.

“Violet?”

“Remember when I said you were tied for the title of my favorite customer with a little old lady? I wasn't joking. Meet your competitor.”

You watched as he looked over his shoulder, his head turning to be met with a small, older woman with gray hair and possibly the warmest smile you’d ever seen. Clutching onto purse with one hand like her life depended on it, she gave him a small wave.

“I think I’ll shut myself up for now. You have actual clients to get to.”

“Alright. I’ll come by your work tomorrow. Oh, and about your birthday. Just text me the time and the address and I’ll be there. With an amazing present because you can't stop me.”

A small smile, the kind that barely showed his teeth, spread across his face.

“Thank you. I will see you then.”

He waved goodbye, and you could’ve sworn you saw ink smudged on the side of his hands.

Both of you watched as he left, though with different intentions behind your gazes. You pulled your eyes away when he left, almost afraid to keep your gaze on him. Violet's eyes, however, seemed to linger, from shock more than anything else. Once he was out of both of your fields of vision, you returned to facing each other.

Violet had become part of your routine, and you slowly became part of each other's lives. Every time she came in, she talked to you about anything on her mind. Yet for the chatterbox that she was, she managed to be an enigma for you. She came in monthly, on the first day of the month, always ordering flowers as a centerpiece for when her “group of ladies” came around. You couldn't tell if she was in a book club or a coven, but neither answer would surprise you. In as sweet a tone as ever, she initiated your conversation.

“I’ve been here a thousand times, but I don't think I’ve ever seen that man before. Who was that?”

“Oh, that's Andy. He's my…”

You couldn't quite find the words to complete that sentence. Andy was your friend, obviously, but the word felt so odd, almost bitter on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. To save yourself any pain, you tiptoed around it.

“He works at the tattoo parlor a few blocks away. He visits me sometimes.”

“He seems like such a sweet young man.”

“He is! He really is.” You nodded.

Violet, despite her years of living and likely unlimited wisdom, found nothing wrong with her next sentence.

“I don't mean to pry, but I had no idea you were dating someone! How long have you two been together?"

Your eyes widened so much you were afraid they would pop out of your skull. What in the world could have made her ask that? Why did your palms get so clammy? Had someone turned up the heat?

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “No, no, no. Andrew and I… we aren't dating. We're just friends.”

The older woman raised a quizzical brow, as if she didn't believe you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Violet. I’d know if I was in a relationship.”

“Then, is he sure?”

“He's sure. too. We're not dating. We're friends. Friends.”

Were you trying to convince her or yourself?

She shook her head, accompanied by a tsk, tsk, tsk.

“What is it?”

“Dear, I’ve been around for… I’m not even sure how many years. I know a look filled with love when I see it. And the way that boy looks at you is the same look I’ve seen in loves that last lifetimes. It's the same look my wife gives me every single day. One of you should do something about that look.”

Her thorough analysis left you stunned. You attempted to put the pieces together in your brain, trying to mask your confusion as you did so.

“I’d never noticed that before.”

“Youth is wasted on the young. What’s the point of eyesight if you're not going to use it?”

You chuckled at that, though you also used it as a way to ignore the truth behind the statement. Did he look at you a certain way? Were you so deep into your oblivion that you just never noticed before? Or so deep into your own infatuation, too busy staring at him through your own eyes, to pay attention to how you might look through his? With all your newfound. overthinking all you could do was reply with a small, genuine smile.

“Thank you for that. I appreciate the advice.”

Violet was capricious in her conversation, easily distracted if you could get her back on the right track. In this moment, you utilized her fickleness to steer her back on track. Or at least, get the conversation back on the track you were comfortable with.

“Do you have a bouquet request?”

She thought for a moment, giving you a slow nod before she verbalized her answer.

“Well, it is starting to be spring time, and the girls and I just finished reading a Jane Austen novel, so love is in the air. Maybe focus on pink. I’ll let you handle the rest. I’ll be back later on to pick it up."

She placed the same vase she used monthly on the counter. It bounced back and forth between you two, exchanged each time you created a new arrangement. The only thing that changed was the color of the bow on the exterior.

“Sounds like a plan. Have a lovely day.”

“You too, dear.”

One last warm smile crossed her face before she went to leave. She shuffled her way out the door, leaving you room to get started.

Violet’s lenient instructions were perfect; it gave you a guideline, but mostly the creative control was in your hands. The only thing you had to keep in mind was pink.

The first idea your mind went to was pink camellias. They were in season, and with spring on the horizon, they were perfect. And you couldn't turn down adding them in when their meaning was so poetic. Longing for you. It tugged at your heartstrings just to think about it — how people from hundreds of years ago felt the same emotions, the same deep want or need for a person, as people do today. A feeling so strong they couldn't put it in words, or didn't trust themselves to say it. So they let a flower take its place.

Pink camellias had to be the focus.

Using the vase Violet had left behind, you worked the rest of your suggestions, mixing and matching until both beauty and semantics aligned. Pink roses, perfect happiness. Magenta zinnia, lasting affection. Mix in some white carnations for sweetness and innocence to break it up, and it was finished. The ladies were sure to love it, whether they were casting a spell or reading Jane Eyre.

For the first time in a few days, you wanted to feel calm. You had been too many things going on in your life for you to focus on being present.

There was so much stress looming over you recently. You were unsure just how much longer you would have your place of work. Your family and your friends all seemingly wanted you to be more ahead in your life than you were. You had a huge, almost debilitating crush on Andy, and he probably didn't reciprocate.

Andy. He had been there for you whenever you need to talk about all that was on your mind, his kindness never wavering. Even though he was receptive to you, there was still a sense of guilt for spilling your guts to him like that. You were there for him as well, of course, though he didn't have as many complaints about his daily life as you did. All his kindness and his attention only made you like him even more, only making you more nervous and stressed about liking him. It was a downward spiral, and an exceedingly dizzying one at that.

The flower shop was the only refuge you could have. When you weren't in a state of worry over orders or foreclosure, it was the part of your day that provided you the most comfort. You had the opportunity to make these beautiful works and showcase your creativity and here you were, taking it for granted. You needed to ground yourself, to take a breather, to be in the moment.

So in your moment of desperation, you turned to your flowers for comfort.

Being so exposed to the scent of the flowers every day for years meant you got used to them over time. You slowly got accustomed until you eventually couldn't even detect the unique aroma of your workplace.

You took a pause, and leaning over the arrangement, you took a deep breath.

You had literally stopped to smell the roses.

The more shocking part was that it worked. You had successfully grounded yourself by stopping to appreciate your surroundings. Surely that had to be a metaphor for something.

You were snapped out of your tranquility. Of course you were.

You heard a voice, slightly judgmental and maybe a bit concerned, from the other side of the room.

“What was that?”

You perked up at the sound of the bell above the door, and quickly pulled yourself away from the flowers.

“Nothing! How can I help you?”

[paracosmic-murdock]

vigilante like me

chapter eight: we could be the way forward, and i know i'll pay for it

pairing: matt murdock x black widow!vigilante!reader

summary: nights and nights of playing the hero as if that could redeem you that easily ended up taking you to new york, where you accidentally met the man who would turn your world upside down. a vigilante like you.

warnings/tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, mentions of murder and themes explored in the past couple chapters, mentions of reader being able to wear matt's clothes but it's not specified whether they're too big/too small/fit perfectly/etc., phd in applied flirting and ma in yearning studies, some smut (minors dni), takes place sometime during the blip, when born again comes out we might find out if my decisions of who were gone were right, spoilers/references of stuff and themes from daredevil (2015); avengers: infinity war (2018); avengers: endgame (2019) black widow (2021); and hawkeye (2021), but y'all must've watched all of those already so idc, yelena belova and the themes and events from the black widow (2021) movie are very relevant in this plot, song: cowboy like me (taylor swift)

word count: 3.6K

✰ chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter nine

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

“You alright?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“You're just acting weird,” you commented. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I am, yes.”

“Okay,” You let it go, not quite convinced but also not wanting to keep him from leaving any longer. “So, you're going out now?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine.”

The two of you sat in silence, both clearly hiding something, neither daring to give anything away.

“You went out,” Matt noted.

Your heart jumped in its place, which made him frown. Were you that affected at the thought of him knowing what you were up to?

“How do you know that?” you asked him, almost knowing the answer already.

“I smell a different fabric softener,” he replied. “Mine doesn't have any smell, and yours is coconut. There's also gunpowder. Coffee, the good one. Those weren't here before I left.”

You nodded. “I needed my clothes. And to protect myself in case they come for me… you know I couldn't take a punch if my life depended on it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Matt sat beside you. “I could've gone with you.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I don't want them going after you. I know they couldn't take you, but I'd rather not risk it.”

“Okay,” Matt replied. “Anything else you'd like to talk about?”

“Such as…?”

“Are you going out again?”

“I'm not,” you lied, and, for the first time, Matt heard your heart beat faster. “Are you?”

“Yes, like every night.”

You put your head on his shoulder. “What's wrong with you? You're acting weird.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

“That's not it,” You sighed. “Do you… regret what happened between us?”

He immediately turned to you. “Sweetheart, don't say that. Don't ever believe something like that, alright? I like you, and this between us, whatever this is is what I want. You're what I want.”

“Are you sure? Because-”

“I am sure,” he confirmed. “Now, why don't you go to sleep? I'll be back as soon as possible.”

“I will, yeah.”

Matt kissed your forehead and stood up, ready to get changed.

You watched him attentively. The way he hesitantly searched for his suit as if he didn't know where it was or how he stopped for less than a second to focus on you.

He eventually left his apartment, and once you thought he was far away enough, you searched for the voice messages Svetlana had sent you not too long ago.

“I found the address of the apartment they rented. They've been here for a few weeks now, so I guess they were carefully plotting how to get to you,” she began. “Let me know when you leave your place so we can meet somewhere and get there together. I'm not sure we'll find them just like that, but we'll start from there.” The first audio ended there, and you played the second right away. “Someone I know has access to security cameras all around Hell's Kitchen. I'm pretty sure he hacks them or something. I called him, and he said he'd look for them tomorrow morning so we can see if they left or what. You know he works with the Russians and they're close with the ones here, so I found one of them and mentioned I'm Fyodor's sister and to tell him I'm looking for him; gave him a burner cell number. I'll let you know what I find.”

Matt was listening to the entire conversation from the rooftop, and him suddenly going down the stairs made you flinch. “Shit, Matt! What the hell is wrong with you?! You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Are you going to kill Fyodor and Crosby?” he asked as soon as he reached the floor. Matt took off his helmet and left it on the coffee table in front of you.

You bit your lip, hesitant. “Matt…”

“I'm not gonna stop you, I just want to know.”

“What do you think I should do? Just let them beat me almost to death and get away with it?”

“I'm not saying anything, sweetheart,” He crouched in front of you. “Tell me what you and Svetlana are going to do to them.”

“We want to.”

He sighed. “You don't have to do it.”

“What do you think is gonna happen if I leave this to the justice system like you do?” you questioned. “I give them my ID and all that, they find out I'm not an official citizen yet, they send me back to Russia, and I get killed there. Then, they're taken into custody, they deport Fyodor and there he's not gonna face a single consequence because he has enough influence to be let out. And I don't know about Crosby, but I don't like the idea of him breathing.”

“I understand that,”

“Then what, Matt?” You just looked at him, and something in his eyes was just… different. “What will them in jail do for me and my peace? I need them to know they can't do whatever they want. What stops people like them from doing the crime is the punishment, Matt, and if they are immune to it, they will do whatever the fuck they want without a thought in the world.”

“Hey,” he called for your attention, and you just knew he was conflicted. His eyes on yours felt so heavy and afflicted, and you just wanted to know how to help him. “Tell Svetlana not to look for them.”

“Matt?” You cupped his face, trying to ease him. The idea seemed far too distant, but the look in his eyes, though blind, is one you know more than enough. It's like anguish in disguise pleading from behind the bars of one's pupils to be let out, figured out. Needing a peace you feel like you will never get back because you took something that wasn't yours to end with, and you must pay the price of that emptiness you left. “Did you do it?”

He pursed his lips and stayed silent.

His face spoke more than a billion words, and now you knew what was wrong.

“It's okay,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead against his. “It's alright, I'll tell Svetlana to stop looking for them.”

“Will you tell her I did it?”

You shook your head. “No, I'll make something up, okay? You're safe.”

“You can't take the blame for this.”

“Don't worry about a thing, Matt,” you assured him. “Tell me everything that happened and we'll figure it out. Just tell me everything.”

“I went to Fogwell's and Crosby was still in the alleyway where I left him,” Matt started. You took off his gloves and intertwined his fingers with yours. “I took him to an abandoned building near the dock and made him call Fyodor. When he arrived, I hit him and took him where I left Crosby. I asked them about what happened and I hit them because I had to. I knew I had to hit Crosby and make him regret assaulting you and trying to kill you, but the more he talked about everything, the madder I got. I couldn't stop, and I didn't until my hands hurt. By then, they weren't breathing anymore.”

“What did they say?”

He sighed. “That you had it coming. They insulted you and said they would do it again. Among other things.”

“Okay,” You left his couch and sat on the floor in front of him. “Where are the bodies? We gotta get rid of-”

“I threw them into the river.”

“I am sorry, Matt,” you said, feeling your heart break at the thought that he broke who he is because of you. “This was all my fault. I'm not even worth the bother.”

Matt shook his head. “Don't say that.”

“Matt?” You lifted his chin. “Stay with me tonight? Please?”

“I have to go.”

“I know that,” you murmured. “I know if you don't go out, people get hurt. I get it, but… I want you here.”

You had no idea how you could tell Matt how difficult it is going to be for him once he has to hit somebody else again.

“I can stay a little bit longer.”

“Okay,” You smiled lightly and kissed his lips. Matt smiled in the kiss and felt like everything will be fine someday. “Tell me something.”

Matt hummed, sitting beside you. “I wish I could see your face.”

“Wow, sir,” You smiled lightly. “You're not missing out on much. As for me, I wish I couldn't see your ugly face.”

“You're ruining my self-esteem.”

“Good,” You took his face in your hands and pulled him closer. “I really like you, Matt.”

“I really like you, too,” He smirked and drove his hands to your neck, stroking your skin softly until he kissed you. “Very much.”

Matt left not too long after that, not before promising he wouldn't eavesdrop anymore. So, you made the call.

“I thought you wouldn't call,” she said instead of greeting you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was out and forgot my phone at home.”

“It's okay. Where are we meeting?”

“We're not. It's done.”

“What? Did you-”

“They knew I was at my place, so they followed me to the dock where I was supposed to meet with a guy I know who was gonna help me find them,” you began, walking around Matt's living room as you tried to relive the conversation with him. “Suddenly, they approached me, but I didn't waste a second. I shot them both. They're now at the bottom of the river.”

“Oh,” Svetlana mumbled. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, just… shaken and sick of this life. Of running and having to do shit like this despite having been out of the Red Room for so long.”

“I get that,” she replied. “I am sorry about all of this. About my brother.”

“This was for you, too, Sveta,” you mentioned. “I hope we can be at peace now.”

“I hope so, too,” You knew she smiled. “Don't be a stranger, okay?”

You chuckled lightly. “The same goes to you.”

She hung up the call and you gave yourself the luxury of sighing in relief.

You wouldn't even think about the moment somebody else comes for you again. You're not alone now, right? There's Matt, and now he is your biggest concern.

Killing someone is that one thing you can never come back from. You know that better than anybody; taking a life, whomever it belongs to, changes you completely. Matt needs you now that he crossed the line you know he swore never to.

Especially because Matt did that in your name.

Now, you were in his bed, taking in everything around you.

Silk bed sheets, the good ones. A neat pile of laundry, ready to be organized. His phone, there in the nightstand. A lamp, new. It wasn't there before. You turned it on; it was dark.

Your heart jumped in its place, and you wondered if that is what they say in the movies that teenagers feel when they fall for the first time… Is it that you are falling or have you already fallen? You don't know that anymore, and maybe will never know.

You stood up, approaching the pile of clothes. They were his work suits and each was already on the hanger, which was labeled in braille and had English on the opposite side. You checked if they were all correct and hung everything in the closet.

Walking around the room wasn't enough to ease you now. You thought, perhaps, that there were sections of the apartment you were left to explore. He made you breakfast and dinner, and you went out for lunch with Svetlana.

Outside, you saw the bag he had brought from work. Curiosity got the better of you, and you went to the dining table and opened it. Grey curtains he doesn't need for himself.

In the fridge, a six pack of Stella Artois beers, quite different from the cheap ones you always saw him drink at Josie's.

A new mug. Blue, shorter and wider than his white one, probably so he could tell the difference between that one and his.

Before you could keep looking around, you heard his steps coming down the stairs.

“You're early.” you noted.

He took off his helmet, revealing a new cut in his left cheekbone. “Yeah.”

“Is everything alright?” You walked to him.

Matt nodded, but you knew better than to believe him.

You helped him unzip his suit in complete silence.

“Are you?” you asked again, putting your hand on his chest.

He chuckled softly. “Don't worry about me, sweetheart.”

“It's too late for that,” you replied.

Matt sighed.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay, we won't,” you said. “We'll sleep now. Or maybe talk about something else.”

Matt gave you a short kiss. “I'd like to sleep now. Let me take my pillows and-”

“Take them, where?” you asked him as if you didn't know what he meant and weren't plotting a way to get him to share the bed.

“What? Do you want to sleep in my bed with me?” He smirked.

“I do,” you confessed. “And I also would like to wake up with you in it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure you want me, darling.”

“Sure I do.” you confirmed with a smile, one wide, at that.

“You're smiling,” he mentioned, mimicking your smile. “God, what a feeling.”

“What feeling?” You laughed.

“When you smile it just… it's a whole other thing,” he began. His hand went to cup your face, as if touching you enhanced that feeling he was talking about. “Your heart beats faster, but it's still calm, and your body temperature rises ever so slightly. It feels comforting when close to you, like when the sun leaks through the windows in the morning.”

“I didn't know you were such a charmer.” you joked.

“I'm sorry for hiding that from you.”

You shook your head and kissed him. “God, keep them coming.”

“You can't possibly understand how much I need you to get well so I can take you out to dinner,” Matt pecked your lips, leading the way to his bed like you wanted. “I hope you kiss on the first date.”

“It usually takes me at least five, but I think I can make an exception for you.”

Matt hummed. “By the way, how are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed multiple times, yeah,” you mumbled, soon cuddling in his bed. “And it hurts way more that this is something that was purposely done to me. That he knew I had to be unconscious because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get to me like that, and that… a person I trusted did this to me, not to mention what I learned today that he did to his sister.”

“What did he do?”

“He and his father sold Svetlana to the Red Room,” you answered. “And that is shit, Matt, because… the Red Room was Hell on Earth. It was the kind of thing that makes you turn the TV off when you watch the news, it makes you want to throw up when you hear about it, or cry at the thought of your mother, sister or daughter ending up there. You grow pessimistic about humankind when finding out what the widows have done, and lose hope in this world completely when you realize what they did to us to make us do such things. They purposely gave their daughter and sister away when she was a little kid, and for what? Some pieces of paper with buildings on ‘em.”

You sighed.

“All the atrocities I've seen in this world could make you forget about the people fighting them everyday, or the people in the market selling you vegetables, or the owners of the coffee shop you pass by everyday. Or people like you,” you added. “Now that there's only half of us, you realize that there's more good people than bad people, and that it's not that simple. You know it because there's half as evil and twice as sorrow, and because you see how grief can change the path of any person for better or for worse.”

“But you're out.”

“Some days, it feels like I never left,” you confessed. “Some days, I wake up in such pain and so tired that I feel like this world isn't worth saving, that I've had enough. Those days, I decide for a little while that I won't fight anymore, but then… My neighbor's daughter is with him that weekend and she watches some Grimm Brothers cartoons about fairy tales that remind me of the messed up ones we used to watch there. I go out and step on branches, and it sounds like those bones I've broken… arms, legs, ribs, and necks alike. Fireworks sound like gunshots, history documentaries remind me that us widows took part in many of those. The ballet academy on my way to Fogwell's reminds me of those times we learned it and I was so afraid to mess up that I would have an anxiety no seven year-old should feel. The smell of hospitals reminds me of a wing in which they would take us to experiment on us sometimes, or when we got a hysterectomy done as some twisted initiation ritual. Blood, knives, guns, they go without saying. Little girls the age I was or other fellow widows were when we were taken. Screams. Darkness. Even words like target or just names, you know? In the Red Room, we were controlled by them to the degree that, to this day, we don't know which actions were ours and which, theirs. Some days, I just think that unawareness is bliss, and then… Then, I remember that a Widow is all I've ever been, and that I have no idea who I am outside a mission. I've never had a reason to question myself all that much, I just existed, worked, and tried to shut the voices in my head. Now, I feel like maybe there's hope for me. That I can live instead of survive.”

Matt kissed your forehead. “I admire you. I don't think many people who went through what you did could have the courage to be good after everything, but you do. Maybe you do fight, and it's not ideal for you, but you care. If you didn't, you wouldn't go out to help and take care of this city, you would pick fights and do bad things. As you said, good and bad… narrowing everything down to it is not simple at all. I met someone years ago, and, at the beginning, I thought he was some lunatic that mixed an intention with the worst way of execution. I thought he was insane because he killed so many people in cold blood; people who were bad, but I've always thought that justice is real. I know that punishment and deciding who lives and who doesn't isn't up to us. I think that most times, but when you are surrounded by so much depravity and evil, you question everything. He, uh- he did all of that because of his family. We know that killing the people responsible won't bring them back, but, deep down, you just know that it will bring you some comfort at least, however short it might be. He did all of that out of love and grief, and while I would never do anything like that and I would never justify his actions, I understand where he came from. Our intentions can be good or bad, but what really defines us is what we do with them… And it depends on the way you see stuff: you feel that you must fight, and you do it by saving others. Or, maybe, he saved others from the damage those people did and would keep doing, but he did it by committing mass murder. Some will condemn us or justify us, but the truth is that… it's not that simple, is it?”

“And it never will be,” you agreed. “You think you wanted me safe and that they deserved punishment for what they did, but you killed them. I think that, yes, you killed them, but I know I'm safe and so is Svetlana. You might see yourself as a murderer, Matt, but from the point of view of someone that was a victim of so much, I see you as a hero. There is so much goodness in you, and you can't let this take that from you. No matter what… you are not what you did last night, you are what you've done all these years for this city and its people.”

“I came back because, for a moment, I was there again, the moment their hearts stopped beating. First, I couldn't stop, and I couldn't keep going as soon as I came back to reality,” Matt said, finally letting out the reason that brought him back earlier than usual. “And I'm afraid I crossed a line, and that it will haunt me forever.”

“It'll pass,” You kissed his forehead. “One morning, every trace of this will be gone for good. For both you and me, and if you let me, I'd like to be there that day.”

Matt turned to you and took your hand, placing it where his heart is. “I'd love to be there with you, too. However long it takes, sweetheart, and I am serious.”

His heartbeat was steady and his eyes so telling that you wouldn't think he can't see you at plain sight. “I can tell that.”

He kissed your lips once more before holding you even closer and closing his eyes, ready to sleep. “The only heartbeat I care about now is yours.”

Wow.

taglist: @wh1sp @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[karaaeilish]

౨ৎ the last leaf; b. eilish

౨ৎ angst & fluff ` ౨ৎ artist!billie x ill!reader ⋆˙⟡ when the last leaf falls from the old ivy — your life will end. you’ve clearly decided this, until a miracle happens before your eyes

in a little district west of washington square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called “places.” these “places” make strange angles and curves. one street crosses itself a time or two. an artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

so, to quaint old greenwich village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and dutch attics and low rents. then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from sixth avenue, and became a “colony.”

the small studio you shared with your friend ava was located on the third floor of a five-story brick building. the view from the window, alas, wasnt a masterpiece of nature, pleasing the eye every day when the first rays of the sun illuminate the streets soaked by the night's rain.

all you saw was a dull, dim courtyard and a blank brick wall twenty steps away. old, old ivy with a gnarled trunk rotten at the roots had twined halfway up the brick wall. the cold breath of autumn had torn the leaves from the vines, and the bare skeletons of the branches clung to the crumbling bricks.

your languid, almost forcibly lifeless gaze had been directed at the window for the last twenty minutes, while ava was quietly but persistently discussing something with the doctor who had come to you for the third time this week. perhaps she thought that you would want to somehow eavesdrop on their conversation, but you, in fact, frankly did not care. you've decided everything for yourself. and maybe your pessimistic view of this situation was stupid and desperate, but it's the only thing that gave you hope. hope to calm down and finally go to a better world. where there is no fear, bitterness and illness.

quiet muttering under her breath becomes clearer, louder, and ava's gaze becomes more worried when she comes into your bedroom, saying something to you, most likely asking about your well-being for the hundredth time that day, as if at one moment something will click in your head, and a thin thread of light will frame your upset mind.

“twelve,” you said, and a little later “eleven”; and then “ten,” and “nine”; and then “eight” and “seven,” almost together.

ava looked out the window, puzzled. what was there to count?

"sweetheart.." she asks softly, quietly, almost maternally. her light hand falls on your shoulder, but at first you don't react, looking at the exhausted old ivy through a veil of approaching tears.

"six" you whisper, barely pausing between the quiet words. "five", then "four", and then you finally look at her. "when the last leaf falls, i must go, too"

for a brief moment, a suffocating silence hangs in the room, while ava tries to process your words, which are nothing more than the feverish delirium of a sick person. even if it was so, you sincerely wanted to believe in it. the disease will soon win and you’ll finally be able to rest from all this.

"you mustn’t, stupid" she abruptly jumps away from you, walking from one corner of the room to the other, then again approaching your bed, on which you lie motionless, only watching her every movement with your eyes. "your chances of recovery will increase if you finally understand that you’ll survive"

her eyes are mixed with anger and irritation, but also with a huge concern that pours out in every gesture of her hands. and you can't be angry with her. she clearly wants to see you alive more than you do yourself. and sometimes it’s worth using radical solutions to achieve this.

"and you know what? i'm going for billie. maybe at least she can set your brains straight" your eyes widen, your body finally shows noticeable signs of life when billie's voice appears in your head. a grumpy girl, unbearable to the point of foaming at the mouth and eternally angry at the whole world. but something about her fascinates you. you fidget awkwardly, carefully sitting up and leaning your back against the soft pillows. "you can't call her. ava, she can't see me like this!"

you raise your voice, but regret it a few seconds later when you start coughing and ava holds your shoulders, helping you stay in a sitting position. you know how hard and painful it is for her to see you like this.

“if she’s the only chance you have to believe in your recovery, i swear i’ll send her to hell after you.” ava pokes your shoulder lightly, not causing any pain but clearly driving home her point.

maybe you weren’t able to argue with her, maybe you just wanted to see that grumpy face you’re in love with too much.

billie appears in your room like a storm, barging in with a worried and at the same time terribly displeased face. her hands and clothes are heavily stained with oil paint, her hair is tied up in a high bun, but she managed to get even that dirty with light paint, causing a few stray strands of her bangs to stand on end. she still smells the same — sweet peach, oil, some kind of mix of different types of professional paint, and a hint of the bitter black coffee she drank in the morning. honestly, it's only now that you've realized that you have no idea what time it is.

"you're delirious," her voice shakes. you always know what that means. and it always makes you sad.

"and you’re trying to write your 'masterpiece' again?" her face goes from angry to more upset, and you realize you've hit the nail on the head.

for months now billie's been saying she's about to paint a masterpiece that will change the world, but every time she has nothing to show for it other than a torn canvas in the trash and some wasted materials. "i'll paint that picture, you'll see"

her face softens slightly when she sees the small smile on your face, unaware that it's her own.

"i'd like to see it" you whisper as she finally moves to sit carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to get the un-dried paint on her pants all over the place.

the first minute passes in quiet, as you both watch the three swaying leaves on the green ivy. your thoughts are unconsciously intertwined, hers, about your kisses on her plump lips, yours, about her hands caressing your face in the morning. and billie made you believe without a word that you could beat the disease.

in the second minute her hand goes down to yours, fastening your fingers in a strong, but such a gentle lock, giving bright hope in the impenetrable darkness. billie could rarely be seen like this — calm and affectionate, not shouting at anyone, not trying to annoy everyone, just because she had a bad character. no, with you she was different. completely different. a girl in love.

"the last leaf won’t fall. never" she says quietly, but confidently, that her whisper cuts the cool air of your room. pure thoughtfulness is written on her face, as if she is drawing her self-portrait in her head, knowing exactly how much her eyebrows are frowning, or her lips are pursed. although, it was more like the brush was in your hand. you painted every bit of joy on her face, and she let you take over her mind, capturing portraits of you.

"you're talking nonsense. strong winds and rain are forecast for the night." you protest, but your words don't seem to impress billie at all, because not a single muscle twitches on her face. as if she was absolutely certain of what she was saying. the last leaf won’t fall.

and she was… right?

the first thought that runs through your head the next morning is that you are alive. but what about the ivy? feeling a sudden surge of strength, you kneel on the bed, resting your palms on the wide windowsill, decorated with some silly pictures that billie drew during one of her visits to your apartment.

your eyebrows rise in surprise as you look at the brick wall and notice that the very last leaf, which was not promised life, remains on. still dark green at the stem, but touched along the jagged edges with the yellow of decay and disintegration, it hung bravely on the branch twenty feet above the ground. you cannot believe your eyes, but it’s there, it’s there! that last leaf was the one that meant your life.

but how? everything around you had suffered from the relentless wind, the endless rain, but not the ivy. a smile comes to your face, and hope comes into your heart.

the first day passed, and even in the twilight she could see the single ivy leaf hanging on its stem against the brick wall. and then, as darkness fell, the north wind rose again, and the rain pounded the windows incessantly, rolling down from the low-hanging dutch roof.

and still the ivy leaf remained.

after the first day passed the next few, which have more effect on your life than the last few months and heaps of medicines. your body blossoms like a lily of the valley, and a sincere smile plays on your face every day. ava's eyes sometimes tear up, seeing a spark of hope in every look you give her.

the doctor came again, examining you and proudly telling you that you can get better. and you could ask for nothing more. only to see billie's face again, to thank her. to finally dare and feel the sweet taste of her lips with a hint of cigarette smoke.

but that same day, in the evening, ava came to the bed where you lay, happily finishing knitting a bright blue, completely useless scarf, and hugged her with one arm - along with the pillow.

"i need to tell you something, dear," she began, hesitating slightly before continuing. "billie died today in the hospital from pneumonia. she was only sick for two days"

your body shrinks, your chest becomes heavy, and your breathing is difficult.

"on the morning of the first day the porter found the poor girl on the floor of her room. she was unconscious. her shoes and all her clothes were soaked through and cold as ice" pause. long, silent. "nobody could figure out where she had gone out on such a terrible night, but then they found a lantern that was still burning, a ladder that had been moved from its place, some abandoned brushes and a palette with yellow and green paints"

a clear picture is beginning to form in your head, but you are still in a state of denial and numbness. ava gently touches your chin, forcing you to look out the window.

"look at the last leaf of the ivy. haven't you ever wondered how it doesn't tremble or move in the wind? yes, my dear, thats billie's masterpiece — she painted it the night the last leaf fell"

based on "the last leaf" o. henry

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises