ceilidho · 3 days ago
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language
masterlist
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He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  
At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 
But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 
Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.
“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 
John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 
The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 
“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”
The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 
When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 
Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 
The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 
“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”
The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 
Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.
“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 
Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 
“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 
And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 
He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”
John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 
Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 
“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”
“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”
The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 
John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 
The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 
You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 
Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 
A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 
You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 
“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 
The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 
A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 
Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 
The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 
The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 
You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 
Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.
Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 
In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.
“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 
You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 
“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 
Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 
“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 
You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 
The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.
“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 
The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.
When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 
John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 
There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 
“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  
Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 
His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”
Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 
Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 
You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 
“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 
John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 
“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.
John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 
With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 
Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.
You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 
The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 
More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 
“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 
“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”
Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”
So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 
And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 
Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.
“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”
You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 
John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 
He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 
Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 
There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.
You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 
These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.
Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 
John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”
Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.
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giannaln4 · 2 days ago
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GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day fifteen.
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Good Girl + Wearing His Clothes During Sex (2k words)
summary: The last thing you needed was your boyfriend distracting you from all the work you needed to get done, but he knew just the way to get your attention.
warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, established relationship, oral (f receiving), praise, dom!lando, unprotected sex.
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The big hotel room felt overwhelming as you sat on the desk with your laptop in front of you. This is what you had to put up with for travelling around the world to support your boyfriend. You wouldn’t say it wasn’t worth it, but it was the time difference that was really killing you. 
You hoped to have enough time to enjoy Brazil and its beautiful activities, but sadly, this wasn’t the case, since you now found yourself feeling stressed, with a million things to do, and wearing one of Lando’s shirts that rested just above your thigh to put up with the hot weather.
Lando was laying on the bed, staring at you as you typed away; he was growing a little desperate. You promised you would be done in time for lunch, or at least to spend some time together, but it wasn’t looking like that would happen for who knows how long.
“How is it going?”
“Uh- not great,” he sighed as you said this. There were many reasons he brought you with him, and watching you work was not one of them. “I’ll be over soon, I promise.”
“How long?”
“Baby, I’ll be done in time for lunch, okay?” You said again, looking at him momentarily.
He looked at the time, assuming he wouldn’t have to wait too much since it was almost lunchtime. He decided to stop bothering you and just let you do your thing, knowing that if he distracted you, you’d take longer, and he just needed you to himself as soon as possible. 
An hour went by, and it didn’t look like you would be done any time soon; he hated to admit it, but he was almost at his limit. He realised it wasn’t fair to feel that way, but he honestly couldn’t help it. He decided to give you 15 more minutes, mentally setting a timer to drag you away from your computer, and when the time was done, that’s exactly what he did, or at least that was his intention. 
“Okay, time for lunch. What do you feel like eating?” He said it in a tone that felt like he wasn’t giving you an option to reject him. 
“Just 30 more minutes, baby, I promise.”
“What? That’s what you said almost two hours ago.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I just need to send this one thing and I’m all yours.” You looked at him with a soft smile, hoping he would understand.
Instead, he grunted in annoyance. “Baby, please. Is that office falling apart without you?”
“It is, by the looks of it.”
“Come on. Let’s have lunch and then you can come back to work. I’m starving.”
“Lando,” you stared at him more seriously now, feeling like a mother telling their kid away, going back to your laptop after a few seconds.
Were you being serious? He thought as he stood there, still looking at you and waiting for you to give him some attention. But you didn’t, so he would have to come up with a better plan. 
He stood behind the desk chair, wrapping his arms around you as he planted soft kisses on your jaw. This made you melt instantly, but that feeling quickly went away when a notification popped on your screen. With that, your attention went back to the screen.
But he wouldn’t give up so easily. His mouth travelled further down, paying special attention to your neck.
“Not now, Lando. I’m quite busy.”
He turned the chair around, so now you were facing him. “You need to take a break, my love, you can’t keep going like this.”
“I’m almost done-”
“That’s what you have been saying, not only today but literally every day.” He was giving you his best puppy eyes, hoping that would make you break. 
“I know… no, don’t give me that look.”
“Please, one hour is all I’m asking for. We’ll order room service so we don’t even have to leave the room. Is a win-win.”
He kneeled in front of you, his hands landing on your thighs as he started kissing your exposed skin. You were considering it; in one hand, stopping for an hour wouldn’t hurt anybody, but then again, if you stopped, that means you would eventually have to come back and finish later.
That internal battle was soon forgotten when you felt one of his hands creeping up between your legs, quickly finding your clothed core. You let out an involuntary moan, closing your eyes as you enjoyed his touch.
“See? You need to relax,” he whispered, his kisses becoming wetter the closer he got to the inside of your thighs. “Lift your hips for me.” Lando hooked his fingers in the hem of your panties, sliding them down your body and throwing them somewhere behind him. With all the patience in the world, he used one of his fingers to play with your clit, circling it softly as he looked up at you, a smirk forming on his face when he saw how much you were enjoying it.
“Want me to keep going?”
“Y-yes,” you breathed out, swallowing hard as your small hand fell on his hair.
He decided to cut out the teasing now that he could see how desperate you were getting, burying himself completely between your legs and planting a kiss directly on your clit. The moan you let out was glorious, and it only encouraged him to keep going. He then started to properly eat you out, licking and sucking just the way you liked it. He directed his tongue to your dripping hole, collecting all your arousal and then licking up your slit, bringing it to your sensitive clit.
“Shit, so good,” you moaned, and you could feel him smiling at the effect he had on you.
God, his tongue was really doing wonders. Repeatedly, he was lapping at your clit and then gently sucking on it for a longer period of time, which he knew was what you enjoyed the most, teasing it with the tip of his tongue from time to time. A few minutes went by as he repeated this process, adding a finger inside you when he felt you clench around nothing.
The added pleasure made you arch your back and push his head closer to you, although that was impossible. You couldn’t help it; you could feel your orgasm so close yet so far. It was probably the stress; Lando was right, you were overworking yourself day after day, and this was probably just what you needed.
Another thick finger was added as he picked up the pace, and you began to feel the familiar tightening of your orgasm approach.
“Lando- fuck.” Your eyes were squeezed shut as your legs that rested on his shoulder began to shake, gasps and pants escaping your lips as you started to see stars, your orgasm hitting you shortly after. 
You could hear him moan faintly, the vibrations prolonging your climax as your tiny clit pulsed against his tongue. Your entire body was combulsing so much that you were sure that if Lando wasn’t holding you with one of his strong arms, the chair wouldn’t be standing anymore.
When it became too much, you pushed his head away, breathing heavily as you came down from your high. But he was starting to get needy himself. He shifted on his feet and carried you in his arms, immediately kissing you, and you could taste yourself in his mouth. 
He walked towards the bed and softly placed you down, stepping away for a moment to undress himself. You admired his muscles flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head, his eyes never leaving your body. His intense gaze made you feel exposed, reaching down and trying to shove the shirt over your bare bottom half while he stood over you. 
God, he really had you in the palm of his hand, because the way he chucked had you pathetically leaking down your thighs and onto the bed. 
“Can’t get shy now, sweetheart, I’ve seen all of it,” he reminded you, making your cheeks go red as you recalled the events that took place in the chair across the room just minutes ago. 
You timidly nodded, paying attention to how his hands moved to undo his belt and pull his pants down, along with his underwear. His smirk grew darker as you pressed your thighs together; the way he affected you never went unnoticed, and he always yearned to give you more.
Once he was finally done, he hovered over you, his lips immediately finding yours. You involuntarily moaned against him, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer. In a swift movement, he rolled you over so you would be on top, dragging your hips lower to get you to sit on his desperate cock. 
Your hips started slowly moving, relieving some of the neediness he was feeling; his moans joined yours, and as you got more into it, your hands reached for the hem of the shirt you were still wearing.
“No, keep that on for me, yeah?” He stopped you, pulling it back down. You nodded and placed your hands on his chest instead, nails digging at his skin.
“Mhm, need you,” you moaned, lifting your hips and guiding his cock to your entrance. That action sent a throb through his already aching abdomen, an incredibly deep moan coming from him as you sat back down. 
“Fuck, so perfect for me.” He whimpered, his hands finding your waist to guide your movements. This made his shirt roll up, uncovering your pussy and part of your tummy; he could practically see himself inside you as you bounced on his cock.
You had your lip trapped between your teeth as your hands were now placed on top of his, your eyes shut as you arched your back, allowing him to have a better view of how his huge cock disappeared inside you. He could watch you ride him forever; you were always so good for him.
“Good girl.” You let out a loud moan at his words and clenched his pulsing dick inside you, making you open your eyes and look down at him — a look somewhere between surprised and embarrassed meeting his eyes.
Lando didn’t share your feelings of embarrassment at all; in fact, he was going insane at the reaction two simple words got out of you. Oh, he was going to use that to his advantage.
“Like it when I call you a good girl?” Fuck, another loud moan. “Yeah, are you being a good girl for me?”
“Ah, yes,” you breathed out, your pace picking up at every word he uttered. 
“Keep going, baby, you are doing so good.” A broken moan vibrated from your chest, only making him more amused.
You did as he said, maintaining a rhythm that felt so good for both of you. However, after a few seconds, he felt like it wasn't fast enough, because the next thing you knew, he had planted his feet on the bed and thursted up into you, his grip on your waist tightening and breaking your rhythm, smirking at the broken moan you let out. 
“I need- please,” you moaned desperately as you felt him hit your g-spot over and over again. He watched with darkened eyes as you threw your head back and screamed his name. 
“Come on, wanna keep my cum inside your tummy?” As if he could drive you even crazier, one of his thumbs landed on your clit. His teeth flashed in a grin when you nodded, pressing harder. “Cum with me, baby.”
As soon as he said those words, the coil in your stomach tightened before breaking completely, more broken moans and a few curses slipping past your lips. He cried out when his orgasm followed soon after, filling your pussy with his hot cum. 
You fell forward onto his chest, his hands caressing your back under the sweaty shirt. “Good girl,” he muttered one more time as he pressed a sweet kiss to your head.
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withonly-sweetheart · 2 days ago
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calm tf down with re4 (og) leon. wow haven't updated this in a while huh... inspired by this post that randomly showed up on my dash (i dont even play lads... anyways)
lowkey lost interest near the end if anyone has got ideas on how to make it better please lmk i hate the end.. unoriginal jj fr!!!
as always nsfw mentions ahead <3
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you feel out of place in the environment. a red blot in what is supposed to seem like a vivid setting, yet the frills of your gown barely stretch past your knees, and you're struggling to hide your discomfort. you don't belong here and yet your boyfriend...
leon, charming as ever, is perfectly at ease, chatting with someone on the table adjacent to your shared one, as if he goes on meetings with the president's daughter in his free time. a spool of envy threads up your throat at his steady flow of conversation, how the woman he's speaking to seems to melt at his words.
he turns back to you, grinning madly, yet his expression softens at your own. "what's wrong?"
"nothing." you keep your reply short, bitter like the bile rising in your throat. the fabric around you seems to constrict your air, wrapping around you with a vise-like grip.
he watches you sputter. "are you sure?"
"yes." it'll take more than that to convince at first, your training officer; a man that's known you for more than a year, and your boyfriend, a man who knows you inside and out.
he tried his best to get you out of this, he really did. he told them to give it to officer redfield, but when valentine was a no-show, of course it was handed to the cop at the end of the line and his skitterish rookie.
leon doesn't blame you. hell, he was like this when he first started. he recalls his missions going to shit half the time, officers screaming in his face. he learned to adapt to that, that if you want to be the best, you have to make your voice heard. you struggle with that.
even now, you're struggling to tell him what's wrong. he should know his fucking girlfriend better than that, so he watches your face contort, flipping through emotions like you can't decide exactly how you feel, settling on a look of apprehension and disgust.
"what's the matter, don't like the dress?" he muses.
"it's fine," you mumble in response. "let's just get this over with."
you don't understand why he won't just drop it. you've said that you're okay multiple times, can't he just take the hint? some part of you realizes you're not being too subtle about your thoughts.
taming your expression, you force yourself to look away from the ruffles of your skirt, palming the fabric, the friction somewhat calming you as you stare at what is supposed to be a criminal.
a felon, convicted of murder and assaulting a fellow cop, and yet all you see is a father gazing with the utmost adoration at his daughter as she strolls up the stage, towards the back, to her waiting groom.
they unlink arms, and you force yourself to see the man with aged eyes, much like your own father's, dressed in an orange and black jumpsuit. never a tuxedo.
not like what leon's wearing, the same covered arm that you've watched twist hands behind backs and cuff them, same arm that rattles in preparation to fill out reports, only to shove them to you. leon's not a big fan of paperwork, that much is safe to say.
but you keep feeling eyes on you. you aren't the star of the show, that beautiful, perfect girl up there is, with her shining eyes and glowing skin, with lips that slowly encapsulate her husband, wedding rings exchanged in a ceremony that drags on longer than it should.
you don't scorn her for it. this is her big day, and you're glad she's getting the attention she deserves. everyone should be watching her, all eyes on the gorgeous bride.
so why do leon's eyes keep flitting back to you?
"what are you looking at?" you finally find the courage to spit it out right when the guests disperse to find family members, friends, and of course, congratulate the bride.
"you." you blink.
"no shit, but why?"
"you seem... off." leon tilts his head. "you seeing something i'm not?"
"well..." you trail off and don't finish your sentence, leaving him hanging by a thread you hope breaks soon.
soon enough, the father gathers everyone back to the stage, and you uncross your legs, tapping a frantic beat onto the floor. your heart jolts in your chest as the man tosses you a knowing look.
as if on instinct, you scoot your chair closer to leon's, and without batting an eye, his hand protectively curls around your arm. you wish you could break eye contact with the suspect to give him a questioning look, but his stance is unpredictable, and you'd be lying if the warmth from leon's hand doesn't seep through skin and calm your nerves a bit.
"i'd like to say... thank you," he says, thick accent coating his voice as he continues, "for coming to my little girl's wedding. this was such a special day to me, and i hope she enjoyed it just as much as i did."
he turns to welcome her rushing hug, trailed by her new husband and what you assume to be the rest of her family. you hope that all is as it seems, and that there is no threat.
leon doesn't seem to think the same, judging by his creeping hand towards your waist, lying on your thigh and slowly making its ascent upwards. he's searching for a gun.
and you grit your teeth. yet another mistake. "shit."
"what's wrong?" he asks, voice hushed.
"i forgot to bring one," you admit.
"one what?" he says, humming in response.
"a gun," you hiss quietly, trying to keep your voice low as to not attract any unwanted attention.
he turns his face, a smirk curving his lips.
"i'm not looking for one."
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‘Movie Night’
Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 
Index:
Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!
Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!
Chapter 2 - Bruises | ‘Movie Night'
word count - 10.6k
Trent slumped down next to Noah, running a hand over his hair, his thoughts all over the place. It had been hard enough leaving you upstairs, seeing you so vulnerable, so close. Noah nudged him, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Mate, seriously—what is the deal with you two?” Noah asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s putty in your hands, and you’re practically breathing down her neck. Thought you’d snap eventually but you just keep dragging it out.” Trent let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch. 
“I don’t even know, mate. I can’t keep this up. Every time I’m around her lately, it feels impossible to just… be her friend.” He shook his head. “But Jack would kill me, you know that.” Noah burst into laughter, shaking his head. 
“Trenty, it’s been years of this. You’re acting like this tension is new! This is, hands down, the longest and most intense case of foreplay I’ve ever seen. Even Jack’s gotta know by now.” Noah smirked. Trent rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty grin breaking through. 
“Yeah, but it’s different now. She’s… she’s not just Jack’s sister anymore. It’s like she’s looking at me the same way I look at her.”  He groaned and then he let out a shaky breath, feeling exposed for the first time. “And tonight—I feel like she’s slipping, no? Just hard to leave her room after all that. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Noah leaned in, eyes glinting with amusement. “Mateeee.” Trent groaned once more for good measure. 
“Bro, you gotta sort this. You can’t go on like this forever.” He clapped Trent on the shoulder. Trent chuckled, a little embarrassed but unable to deny how much he wanted you. 
“I know. But I’m just trying to play it smart, you know? I don’t want to hurt her but Jack’s my boy.” Noah raised an eyebrow, laughing harder. 
“Play it smart? Just try not to trip over yourself sneaking back upstairs.” He teased. With one last laugh, Trent let himself sink into his thoughts of you, wondering how much longer he could hold himself back.
Another night of drinking to forget came. You knew it wasn’t the healthiest method, but it was maybe the most fun. The club was packed, pulsing with the beat of the music and the energy of people letting loose on a Saturday night. You had dragged Layla along with you to have a fun night out, a chance to unwind and forget about all the stress from the past week. You were in good spirits, laughing and dancing with Layla, letting the music take over. But everything shifted when you spotted him—your sort of ex, a footballer for Manchester United, Josh. If playing for that club wasn’t enough of a reason for you to hate him, he also was just an awful person.  He was standing by the bar, surrounded by his friends, looking as arrogant as ever. You tried to ignore him, but it was clear he had seen you too. A smirk tugged at his lips as he pushed through the crowd, heading straight for you.
“YN!” he called out over the music, a mocking tone in his voice. “Long time no see.” You forced a polite smile, not wanting to cause a scene but you knew this was being done to be rude.
 “Hey,” you replied shortly, hoping he’d get the hint and move on. But he didn’t.
“What’s the matter? Not happy to see me?” he jeered, leaning in closer than necessary. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, could see the malice in his eyes.
“I’m just here to have a good time with Layla,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “I’d rather not—” But he cut you off, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You were always such a good girl, Y/N. Too good for the likes of me, right? Or maybe you’re just playing hard to get?” He sang in an obnoxious tone. You’d ‘split’ because you didn’t like each other enough. It was sex and that was about it. Josh particularly didn’t like that no matter what, you’d never look at him the way you looked at Trent and so he blamed the split on you. Despite him ending it, it was your wrong doing apparently.  
“She doesn’t want to talk to you, yeah? Fuck off.” Layla stepped in, sensing the tension. He sneered at Layla before turning his attention back to you. 
“What’s the matter, YN? Still pining after Alexander-Arnold? Aye just get it through that pretty little head, he’s never going to want you.” The words stung, sharper than you expected. You rolled your eyes and he didn’t take kindly to that. Even though you didn’t care for him anymore, his cruelness cut deep. Tears welled up in your eyes despite yourself.  Josh had never been the kind to hold back, not even in public. You had seen glimpses of his temper before, but tonight, it felt different—meaner, more deliberate. His words were mocking as his fingers gripped your arm with a force that made your skin sting, and as he leaned in closer, his words grew more venomous.  "What, are you going to cry now?" he spat, tightening his hold on you. His grip was firm, biting into your flesh with enough pressure to bruise. You winced, trying to twist free, but he only tightened his grip, his nails digging into your skin. He was holding you close to him, he was angry in a possessive way. You could feel the bruise forming under his touch, a dark mark that would remind you of this night long after it was over. You hated how he could make you feel so small, how he could strip away every ounce of confidence with just a few words and a harsh grip.
“Please just stop,” you snapped, your voice breaking. You tried to yank your arm away again, but he only pulled you closer, his lips curling into a cruel smile. He pulled you away from everyone so it was just the two of you. You felt a wave of shame, not just for the scene he was causing but for yourself—for letting him do this to you, for putting up with it, for not having the strength to push him away once and for all. Layla didn’t know what to do. So often you had said it was fine with him but right now it felt anything but.  You didn’t know why you even put up with him, why you had let him into your life at all. He had always been like this—aggressive, dominating, possessive,always needing to control every situation, even when you were out in public. It was as if he thrived on belittling you, on reminding you of every perceived flaw, every mistake you’d made.  He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. 
“You’ll be nothing without me, know that?” he hissed, his grip tightening painfully. You flinched, the pain radiating up your arm. “You’ll always be nothing.” The tears blurred your vision, and you hated yourself for letting him see you cry. You hated how he still had this power over you, how he could reduce you to this—a sobbing, broken mess in the middle of a crowded club. You hated how he could strip you of your dignity with just a few cruel words and a tight grip on your arm. Somewhere in the haze of your thoughts, you found the strength to pull away. You jerked your arm back with a sudden burst of energy, managing to break free from his grasp. You stumbled back, cradling your bruised arm against your chest, the sting of the fresh bruise radiating through your skin. You looked up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving with a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration.
“I’m done. We’re done” you choked out, the words barely more than a whisper. “I get it. Just let it go, okay?” You whimpered. He just laughed, a dark, hollow sound that sent a chill down your spine. 
“You’ll be back, babe” he called after you as you tried to leave, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You always come back.”  You hated that you had gone back to him before, that you had let yourself get tangled up in his web of anger and possessiveness. The sex had been good—at least, that's what you told yourself. But he had cheated on you more times than you could count, though you were never really sure if it counted as cheating. Your relationship had always been undefined, a messy entanglement of emotions and misunderstandings. He was hypocritical, a storm ready to explode any time he saw you so much as smile at another man. And yet, there you were, always caught in the crossfire of his jealousy and rage. It didn’t matter what he did, his whole goal was to just have complete control over you and Trent threw a wrench in that. He especially hated Trent. It wasn't just because they played for rival clubs, though that was part of it. It was deeper than football. He saw the way your eyes lingered on Trent, the way your face softened when you spoke his name. He knew there was something there, a connection that went beyond friendly banter or casual attraction. Trent was everything he was not—calm, kind, successful in a way that made others admire rather than fear him. And you—God, he could see it—your feelings for Trent were written all over your face, in the way you laughed at his jokes, in the way you always seemed to find yourself at his side. He resented Trent for being everything he wasn’t and for being the object of your affections. You ootd to keep Josh’s behavior hidden from your brother, somehow managing to mask how fucked up it all was. Jack didn't know how deep your ex’s temper ran or how controlling he could be. But if he knew.. If Jack knew or even his friends knew but probably especially Trent knew… all hell would break loose.  So you’d learned how to swallow back the stories, pretending that everything was fine. 
“Can you just leave me alone,” you managed to say, your voice breaking. 
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” He leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Does your brother know you slut yourself out for his best friend? What’s your dad think of that... Being a whore for the boys your brother trusts most… and your mum.. Oh well.. You wouldn’t know what she thinks of her slutty little daughter.” That was the last straw. You hated that you even trusted him enough that he had that bit of information about your life. You felt the tears spill over, and you turned and bolted, pushing your way through the crowd. You needed to get away, to breathe, to clear your head. Your heart was pounding, and your vision blurred with tears. You stumbled trying to get to the back hallway of the club, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Layla had seen enough. 
“Fuck you!” Layla screamed rushing over but when she turned to try to follow after you, you were lost in the crowds. Unbeknownst to you, Trent had been at the club too, celebrating with a few of his teammates. He had seen you running, and had noticed the distress on your face. Without a second thought, he followed you, his concern outweighing any questions about why you were there or what had happened. The flashing lights of the club blurred around you, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to spin faster with each passing second. The pounding bass reverberated through your chest, matching the erratic beat of your heart. You felt dizzy, your thoughts swirling like the flickering neon signs above. The laughter and shouts of the crowd melted into a distant, muddled hum as your vision began to swim. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and unchecked, as you stumbled through the throngs of people. The room felt like it was closing in on you, walls shrinking as the faces around you became distorted, like a nightmare you couldn’t escape. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one catching in your throat as you fought the rising tide of panic.
You could barely think straight, your mind a haze of confusion and pain. Everything felt wrong—your body, the people around you, the pounding music that seemed to pulse through your veins. You wanted to escape, to find a place where you could breathe again, but everywhere you turned, there were people, faces, eyes. It was too much, all of it pressing down on you, squeezing your chest until you thought you might break. Your legs felt heavy, your steps unsteady as if the ground were shifting beneath your feet. You pushed through the crowd, desperate for air, for space, for anything but this suffocating chaos. Your tears blurred your vision, and you wiped at her eyes, her hand trembling. Then, through the haze, you felt it—strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. At first, you panicked, thinking it was someone else, another stranger trying to touch you, but then you caught a familiar scent, a mix of cologne and something uniquely comforting.
Trent.
Your body sagged with relief, your knees nearly buckling beneath you as you collapsed against his chest. His arms were solid and warm, encircling you like a protective barrier against the chaos of the club. You felt his hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as he whispered soothing words you could barely hear over the music. Then for the first time, Trent saw a bruise forming on your arm. His face was a mask of concern, his eyes darkening with anger as he took in the sight of you, your arm marked with the telltale signs of aggression. 
"Y/N," he whispered, stepping back before reaching out to gently lift your arm, his touch featherlight but steady. He turned it over, revealing the bruises that had already started to bloom in shades of purple and blue. His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened just enough for you to feel his rage simmering beneath the surface. "Who did this to you?" You tried to pull away, tried to hide the evidence of your shame and pain, but Trent wouldn't let go. It was so obvious it came from someone grubbing you too tight, being too rough in a way no one wanted. His hand held yours firmly, his thumb brushing against your skin as if he could erase the marks with a touch. 
"Please," you muttered, your voice breaking, "stop." you weakly begged.
"Y/N…" he insisted, his voice low and steady, but with an edge that made it clear he wasn't going to let this go. "Who…" He snapped demandingly. Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, the weight of everything crashing down on you. Trent's face hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in you attempting to tell him what just happened but he couldn’t focus on anything but how sad you looked, how broken. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as if to shield you from the world, from the pain, from everything that had ever hurt you. In that moment, you felt safe for the first time in what seemed like forever. His arms were your refuge, his strength your solace. Trent's blood boiled with a fury he rarely felt, his hands shaking with the need to do something—anything—to make Josh, who he knew it had to have been, pay for what he'd done. But then he saw your tear-streaked face, your lips trembling as you tried to hold back sobs, and all that rage took a back seat. His anger didn't matter right now; you mattered. Your body shuddered with each sob, and Trent felt a pang of helplessness in his chest. He wanted to tell you everything would be alright, that he'd take care of everything. He wanted to promise that no one would ever hurt you again. But he knew that words wouldn’t be enough, not now. So, he just held you tighter, letting you cry into his shirt, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey, you're okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the noise, anchoring you to the present. You buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you from drowning. The tears kept coming, but they were different now—less frantic, more a release of all the tension you had been holding onto. Trent’s embrace was a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on. The world around you seemed to fade, the thumping bass and flashing lights dimming in comparison to the steady, comforting rhythm of Trent’s heartbeat against your ear. You could feel his warmth seeping into you, calming the storm that raged inside you. In his arms, you felt a safety you hadn’t known she needed—a reassurance that, despite everything, you weren’t alone.
“Just breathe for me,” Trent whispered, his voice soft and close to your ear. “I’m here. You’re safe.” You tried to do as he said, taking a shaky breath that caught in your throat. But with him holding you, the air seemed easier to draw in, the panic slowly ebbing away. The tears continued to fall, but now they were softer, quieter, as if his presence was slowly soothing the hurt you felt. For a moment, there was only you—no noise, no crowd, no chaos. Just the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his embrace. Trent held you tightly, his grip firm yet gentle, his touch grounding you in a way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. You stood in there struggling to catch your breath as Trent's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke, grounding you in a way that felt comforting and electric all at once. He tightened his hold, his chin resting on the top of your head, and his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back. But even as he tried to comfort you, a battle still raged inside him. Part of him wanted to go find Josh right then and there, to make him pay for every single bruise on your skin, every tear he'd caused. The other part of him—the rational part—knew he needed to stay with you, to keep you safe and calm. And then there was the question he couldn't push away: Should he tell Jack?  Jack was his best friend, but Jack was also your brother. He deserved to know that his sister had been hurt, but Trent also knew how fiercely protective Jack was of you. If he told Jack, there’d be no holding him back, and things could spiral out of control. Plus, he wasn't sure if you'd want Jack to know—if you'd want your brother to see you in this vulnerable state.
"I got you," he whispered as his thoughts spiraled, his voice filled with a tenderness you hadn't felt in a long time. "I got you, okay?" You felt something break in that moment-a wall you'd kept up around yourself for so long. And when his lips brushed the top of your head in a soft kiss, something stirred inside you, a longing that had been quietly simmering for years. It felt like an opening. Your heart raced as you pulled back slightly, your gaze finding his, and in the dim light, his eyes softened, a silent understanding passing between you. You hesitated, but then, almost instinctively, you tilted up, pressing your lips to his. It was a tentative kiss at first, a question in every touch of your lips against his. Trent tensed, caught off guard, but he didn't pull away. He wanted this so instead, his hands found your waist, his fingers digging in ever so slightly as he kissed you back, the warmth of his mouth melting away the hurt that had clung to you since your ex's cruel words. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together, like a fuse that had finally been lit. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, years of unspoken attraction finally bubbling over. His hands roamed, his grip on you tightening as he leaned into you, pushing you up against the cool brick wall behind you. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, felt like it was meant to be, like you'd waited your whole life for this moment. God, he wanted this… but not like this. This was wrong. So then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back, his breathing heavy as he looked at you with wide eyes, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper. 
"What...Y/N… what are we doing?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, his fingers still lingering on your skin. The conflict in his eyes was clear, and it sent a pang through your chest. But you didn't care about the doubts racing through his mind. You leaned in again, refusing to let go of this feeling. To remind him how very right this wrong was. The kiss was softer this time, gentler, but just as consuming. You poured everything into it—all the years of longing, the quiet, unspoken feelings, the ache you'd felt every time you saw him with someone else. And for a moment, he gave in, his lips moving against yours like he'd been holding back for years. You could feel him wanting more but then, with a deep sigh, he pulled away once more, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady his breathing. "Y/ N... we can't. I can't," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry. I just..." He muttered. The rejection cut deeper than you expected, the pain raw and immediate. Your eyes burned with fresh tears as you took a shaLay step back, your heart pounding with a mix of heartbreak and anger.  
"Fuck you!" you cried, your voice trembling. It felt like the walls you'd let down were crashing back up, each one harder than before. You turned on your heel, ready to escape before he saw you fall apart completely. But he reached out, his hand grazing your arm, as if he couldn't quite let you go. You recoiled, stepping back, your expression a mix of pain and anger. 
"Wait," he pleaded softly, but you yanked your arm from his grasp, your heart shattering as you disappeared into the crowd, leaving him behind with the lingering taste of regret on his lips. Trent’s heart ached seeing the tears well up in your eyes again.  You turned and ran, pushing your way back through the crowd, your vision blurred with tears. You didn’t care where you were going; you just needed to get away from him, from the humiliation and the heartbreak. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you fled, but you didn’t look back. Trent watched you go, his heart sinking into his stomach. He wanted to run after you, to explain, to somehow make it right, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He knew you needed space, needed time to cool off. But as he stood there, the guilt and worry gnawed at him. He had never wanted to hurt you, but in trying to protect you, he feared he had done exactly that. The sounds of the club grew louder around him, but Trent felt miles away, lost in his thoughts. He knew he’d have to find a way to make this right with you, to explain himself, and to make sure you knew how much he cared. But for now, all he could do was watch you disappear into the crowd, your absence leaving a painful ache in his chest. Trent leaned back against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Some of his teammates who he was out with came over. They were giving him confused looks, clearly curious about the scene they had just witnessed. From their perspective, he had chased after to a a teary-eyed girl, who then kissed him like her life depended on it, and then, just as quickly, pulled away with a broken ‘fuck you.’ They had questions.
“Mate, what was that about?” one of them asked, laughing awkwardly, unsure how to react to the tension still lingering in the air.
“Bro, was that…” Another piled on cautiously, recognizing you. Trent ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the flood of emotions. He glanced toward the crowd, desperately scanning for you, but you’d disappeared into the sea of people. His chest tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of what just happened settle in. He couldn’t explain it, not to them, not in a way that made any sense. 
“Yeah, was Jack’s sister.” He muttered after he took a deep breath, eyes still flicking toward the direction you’d gone. The second those words left his mouth, Trent knew something had shifted inside him. It wasn’t a lie, not really, but it felt bigger than that. It felt like a realization he’d been avoiding for too long. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You were his everything. And the truth of that hit him like a freight train, leaving him standing there, breathless and rattled.
“Fuck, mate. That’s complicated.”  One of his teammates whistled, finally connecting the dots.
“Yeah,” Trent breathed out, his mind racing. It was beyond complicated. Jack was his best friend, and you… you were the girl who had been slowly slipping from childhood crush to something deeper, something dangerous. He shook his head, his thoughts swirling. The way you’d kissed him tonight, the hurt in your eyes, the fire in the way you’d pulled away—it was like everything had boiled over, and Trent had been too slow to catch up. He’d rejected you, not because he didn’t want you, but because he wanted you too much. He couldn’t handle the idea of hurting Jack, of crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. But now, standing there with his teammates still glancing at him for answers, he realized that line had already been blurred for a while. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You hadn’t been for a long time. And now, Trent wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise. As the music pulsed around him, Trent felt a shift. He needed to find you, needed to figure out what came next, no matter how messy it got. Because, after tonight, he knew he couldn’t go back to seeing you as just Jack’s little sister. You were more than that. You always had been. 
After leaving Trent behind, you had stumbled back into the chaos of the dance floor, your heart pounding and your emotions a tangled mess. You had felt rejected and humiliated, and in a haze of frustration and alcohol, you made a poor decision. You spotted a man at the bar—a tall, handsome stranger who had been eyeing you all night. Without much thought, you walked up to him and struck up a conversation. His flirty smile and eager compliments were a welcome distraction from the pain you felt. When he suggested you leave together far sooner than appropriate, you didn’t hesitate. You just wanted to forget, to numb the ache in your chest caused by Trent's rejection. You told Layla you felt sick and had needed to leave. She knew it was a farce but she also knew she couldn't stop you. She assumed it was just Josh being an ass she had no idea you had just kissed Trent. She called and called to find you; to leave with you but you just texted saying it was all fine. But as the night unfolded and you found yourself in the stranger's bed, you quickly realized how hollow it all felt. The sex was awkward and unfulfilling, a stark contrast to the passion you had imagined when you thought of Trent. You found yourself comparing the man to Trent in every way—his touch, his movements, the way he spoke to you. Every comparison only made you miss Trent more. You knew deep down that Trent would have been different—gentler or maybe rougher but definitely more attentive, more real. Tears stung your eyes as you lay there, regretting your impulsive decision. This was a low. By the time morning came, you left the stranger's place without a word, feeling emptier than before. You hadn’t heard from Trent since that night. Part of you was relieved, thinking it was better this way—less complicated. But another part of you ached for him, for his presence, for the safety you felt in his arms. 
You’d stumbled in through your front door just after dawn, your steps heavy and uneven, your head pounding with every movement. Jack was already up, a coffee mug in hand, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lazy grin. 
“Rough night?” he joked, his eyes barely glancing up from his phone. “You look like you’ve been through hell.” You tried to muster a response, but all that came out was a soft hum, barely audible over the sound of the coffee machine. Your shoulders slumped as you shuffled over to the fridge, your body moving on autopilot. The sting of tears was still fresh in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall again, not in front of him. Jack finally looked up from his phone, his grin fading when he saw the look on your face. He straightened up, setting his mug down on the counter, his brow furrowing with concern. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.  You just hummed again, the sound weak and empty. You didn’t have the energy to explain, didn’t want to get into it with him. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you closely, but you kept your gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding his gaze. Jack took a step closer, his concern growing. “You sure?” he pressed gently, sensing something was wrong. “You don’t look so good.” You just shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest aching with the effort of holding everything in. You needed to get out of there, away from his questions and his worry. You couldn’t deal with it, not now.
“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was a lie, and you knew he could see right through it, but you didn’t care. You needed to be alone, to let yourself fall apart without an audience. Jack watched you, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, but he didn’t push any further. He just nodded, letting you go. He knew you knew he was there if you needed him. 
 “Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back. “But if you need anything...” You nodded, not waiting for him to finish. You turned and headed upstairs, your steps heavy and slow. As soon as you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.  The weight of the night before crashed down on you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that tore through your chest. The shame, the regret, the confusion—it was all too much. You’d thought you could handle it, thought you could keep it together, but now, alone in your room, it all felt too heavy to bear. You cried until there were no tears left, your body shaking with the force of your sobs. And when you finally stopped, when the tears finally ran dry, you were left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest and the haunting memory of Trent’s rejection.
You were absolutely mortified. You had kissed Trent. How could you have done something so reckless? You laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling on Layla’s bed at her place, your mind racing in sheer panic. Every nerve in your body felt on edge, replaying that moment over and over. What was worse was that it never happened before, not even close, but something had come over you—like instinct taking over reason—and now you regretted it. Layla shifted beside you, sensing your turmoil. 
“Come on, it won’t that bad,” she said in an attempt to soften the blow. You groaned, rolling onto your side to face her. 
“No, Lays. I can never, ever see him again.” The words came out in a rush, your voice cracking under the weight of your embarrassment. She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. 
“That’s not true.” She told you. You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest, your breath shaking. 
“It is! I crossed the line. And he… rejected me.” The last part was barely a whisper, like speaking it aloud made the sting of it even worse. You felt your face grow hot, the emotions swelling until they spilled over. The rejection was unbearable, and before you knew it, tears slipped down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” you said, your voice wavering between a sob and a chuckle. Layla immediately wrapped you in her arms, pulling you close. 
“No, it’s not just tiredness,” she murmured into your hair, holding you tightly. “This sucks. The boy you like just said no. That’s a lot to handle, but we move.” You stayed in her embrace, taking in her warmth, but her words only made your heart ache more.
“I’m not even sure if I just like him,” you admitted, voice small and hollow as you pulled away slightly to look at her. Layla’s face twisted in confusion. 
“What?” she asked, blinking, and then a knowing look crossed her face as she softened. “Oh no. Babe…” You swallowed hard, blinking back more tears. 
“I mean, I do… but it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just like.” The weight of the word hung in the air between you both, unspoken but understood.
“You love him,” Layla said quietly with a frown she couldn’t control, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But maybe right now, the feeling of love is for your friend.” She paused, her eyes full of sympathy. “You don’t need to hurt yourself imagining anything more, okay? Not right now.” You bit your lip and nodded, the tears still threatening to spill over. You were exhausted, heartbroken, confused.  You knew you loved Trent as Jack's best friend, as a friend of your own but you had never had an intimate relationship to say you loved him any deeper than that. The thought of those feelings right now though were making you sick.
“But what if I can’t face him? What if it’s too awkward?” Layla shook her head and gave you a reassuring squeeze. 
“You’ll bounce back. Trent’s nice. He’s not going to make fun of you for this or make it weird. You two have been friends for too long for that.” But deep down, you couldn’t shake the sting of rejection. Maybe Layla was right—Trent wouldn’t make fun of you, but things weren’t the same anymore. Not after this.
When Jack invited Trent along with all the other boys over for a movie night a few days later, Trent was hesitant. He knew you might be home, and he wasn’t sure how you’d feel seeing him. But Jack was his best friend, and Trent figured maybe it was time to face the music. As Trent walked up to Jack’s front door, his nerves were on edge. He took a deep breath and knocked, his mind racing with what he might say if you were there. The door swung open, and Jack greeted him with a grin, pulling him into a quick hug.
“All good, mate?” Jack said, stepping aside to let Trent in. But Trent only hummed. He managed a smile, following Jack inside. He glanced around the living room, half-expecting to see you curled up on the couch. But the room was empty. “Y/N’s out,” Jack said casually, noticing Trent’s quick survey of the room. “I think she’s been a bit off lately. Haven’t seen much of her.” Trent nodded, trying to hide his relief that you weren’t home but sadness Jack noticed things were off.. 
“Yeah, I haven’t seen her either,” he replied, his voice steady despite the churn in his stomach. Jack grabbed a bottle of water and handed one to Trent.
“She seemed pretty fucked up when she came back from a night out but didn’t tell me much, though.” Trent took a long sip of his water, not sure how to respond.  Jack and Trent were sitting in silence on their phones only best friends could sit in whilst waiting in the kitchen for the other boys to show up. Trent kept glancing toward the hallway, waiting for the moment you would come home. He wanted to see you, to talk to you, to somehow make things right. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of you, a sense of unease settled in his chest. The sound of a key turning in the front door caught Trent’s attention. He tensed, his heart quickening as he heard the door open and close. A few seconds later, you appeared strutting through the house, your face mildly flushed from the summer heat outside. You froze when you saw Trent sitting there, your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. 
“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice tight.
“Hey,” Trent replied, his eyes locked on you.  Jack, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. 
“Hey, Y/N. Weird vibe but erm.. Lads are watching Shawshank tonight. Want to join?” He asked, trying to lessen whatever awkwardness just flooded the room. You shook your head, avoiding Trent’s gaze. 
“No, thanks. I’m just going to head to my room.” Jack looked between the two of you, frowning slightly. 
“You sure? You haven’t been out here much lately.” He cooed gently. 
“I’m sure,” you smiled sympathetically at your older brother. You appreciated him caring but this was far from something he could help with. You turned and disappeared down the hallway without another word. Trent watched you go, the weight of your unfinished business hanging heavy in the air. He knew he needed to talk to you, to explain himself, but he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen. For now, all he could do was sit and wait, hoping for a chance to make things right.
You had spent the last few days trying to keep yourself busy, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t get Trent out of your mind. Trent, on the other hand, was torn between worry and respect for your space. He had tried to find you that night at the club, but it was like you had vanished into thin air. He didn’t want to push you, especially after how things had ended between you. Still, the thought of your hurt and alone gnawed at him. Trent thought about that kiss everyday and how much withstraint he was having to practice. He wanted to rip your clothes off, he had to stop his hands' magnetic pull to grab your ass. It was a typical movie night—Jack had all the boys over for another film. They’d yell through the whole thing and gossip in a way they’d claim only girls did. You knew the drill by now, but tonight felt different. You hadn’t seen Trent since that moment, the kiss that had turned everything upside down. You tried to ignore how awkward things were between you and trent but you were dying of thirst and you weren’t sure if dying of embarrassment of dehydration would be worse, You settled on dehydration so you moved quickly through the house, attempting to avoid where all the boys were, but Trent wasn’t going to let it go. He heard you try to sneak into the kitchen.
“Y/N,” he called out quietly, coming into the room behind you and taking a few steps toward you. You froze, your back to him, the tension thick in the air. You could hear Jack in the cinema complaining about something, completely oblivious you’d hoped. You weren’t ready for this, not now, not when your emotions were so raw.
“Please, I don’t want to talk to you,” you said firmly, your voice low, trying to keep the emotion out of it.
“Y/N, come on… just give me a minute,” he persisted, his voice filled with a quiet plea.You whipped around, eyes already welling up. 
“Trent, I really don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, trying to hold your composure. “Frankly, I’m having a hard time even just seeing you right now, so please,” you begged, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. You could feel your chest tightening, the tears threatening to spill. His face softened, but he didn’t move.
“I just want to talk. Please,” he said, sounding desperate now, like he was grasping at straws. But you couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with Jack just a few rooms away. You shook your head, blinking back tears, but one escaped anyway. 
“I don’t want to talk,” you choked out, your voice shaLay, as the tears began to build along your lash line. Trent stood there, helpless. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do, caught between wanting to comfort you and knowing that he couldn’t—not here, not now. You could see the frustration and guilt etched on his face, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. But you just shook your head again and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, stuck in the mess that neither of you had any idea how to clean up. And the worst part was, Jack was still there—completely unaware of the storm brewing between you two, his heart left open to wounded arguably as much as yours if you couldn’t sort this.
Trent thought about that drunk, tearful kiss at the club every single day. It replayed in his mind over and over, the taste of it, the way your lips had trembled against his, the way your hands had gripped onto him like he was the only thing anchoring you. He hadn't even expected it—had been caught off guard by how much he wanted it too. But then, the reality had hit him hard. The restraint he had to practice afterward felt like torture. It felt like trying to fight a g force the way his hands moved on your body. He wanted to rip your clothes off that night, to give in to the magnetic pull that constantly drew him to you. But he couldn't. Not like that. Not when you were drunk and emotional. Not when it could ruin everything. Now, the moment haunted him, and he was stuck in the limbo of not knowing what to do next. What if you regretted it? What if that kiss had meant something completely different to you than it did to him? And what scared him the most-what kept him up at night-was the realization that he didn't just want the kiss. He wanted more than that. He wanted you in a way that wasn't just about desire or physical attraction. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, who you leaned on, who you could trust with all the messy bits of life. But what if he'd already blown his chance? What if that kiss had been the beginning of the end rather than the start of something more? 
This tension carried on for days. Neither you or Trent making any further attempts at sorting it. Trent sat at a restaurant with Jack and Noah one night, completely lost in his own thoughts. His fork hovered above his plate, food untouched, as he stared blankly at the table. Jack, noticing how quiet he’d been, shot Noah a look. They’d been trying to get him to open up all night, but nothing was working.
“Mate, seriously, what’s going on?” Jack finally asked, setting down his drink. “You’ve barely said two words.”
“Yeah, you’ve been in your own head all night. Go on.” Noah chimed in. Trent talked nonstop all the time so this was very out of character and it’d been going on for over a week. Trent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure if this was something he should even bring up, especially not with Jack sitting right there. But the weight of what happened between him and you had been pressing down on him for days, and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He ran a hand over his hair, debating how to word it without setting off alarm bells.
“Have you ever…” he began slowly, his voice low, “turned down a girl and then immediately regretted it?” He sheepishly asked his eyes, flicking to both boys trying to gauge their responses. 
“Nah, mate. If I turn her down, it’s for a reason.” Noah, always the confident one, scoffed.
“Yeah, once or twice. Why?” But Jack, ever the romantic, leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful nod. Trent’s eyes flickered between them, his stomach churning as he chose his next words carefully. He had to be vague, had to make sure Jack wouldn’t catch on.
“There’s this girl…” he started. He hesitated, feeling the weight of his own words. “She kissed me, but she was drunk, so I pushed her away. Now she’s pissed, and she won’t talk to me.” Trent hesitantly explained. Trent wasn’t normally shy talking about women so this whole thing was very confusing for his friends.
“So why did you turn her down if you’re this worked up about it?” Noah’s brow furrowed.
“Because she was drunk!” Trent said, frustration lacing his voice. He looked down at the table, unable to meet their eyes. “I didn’t want it to be like that.” Jack shrugged, clearly puzzled. 
“That’s more than valid, mate. If she was drunk, you did the right thing. Why wouldn’t she understand that?” Trent groaned inwardly, knowing he couldn’t explain the real reason behind his frustration without giving too much away. The truth was, he didn’t want just a drunken kiss. He wanted more than that—something real, something that wasn’t just swept under the rug as a mistake.
“It’s complicated,” he muttered, his voice trailing off. Noah, always the one to push for action, smirked.
 “Next time you see her, just go for it. Easy.” He looked at Trent like he had solved his issue no problem. Trent couldn’t help but laugh at the simplicity of Noah’s solution. If only it were that easy. He wasn’t just dealing with any girl—this was you, Jack’s sister. It wasn’t something he could just ‘go for’ without thinking about the consequences. Jack, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward with a more serious expression. 
“Mate, just talk to her. Tell her you actually care about her and that you want it to be something she remembers, not something that happened when she was drunk. Simple as.” Trent’s heart sank. Jack had unknowingly hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what he wanted to say to you, but how could he? How could he tell you that he cared about you—really cared about you—when Jack was right there, completely unaware of the storm brewing between the two of you? He tried to keep his expression neutral as Jack gave advice, but guilt gnawed at him. He was about to take his best mate’s advice and use it to get closer to his little sister. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and it made his stomach twist. But he couldn’t keep running from the situation. He had to talk to you, had to tell you how he felt before it drove him insane. Noah, oblivious to the deeper layers of the situation, laughed and gave Trent a light punch on the arm. 
“Yeah, man. What’s the worst that could happen? You talk, she listens, and you two figure it out, I imagine she’s leng.. Get her in bed. Done.” Noah quipped and Trent’s guilt worsened. He forced a chuckle, but his mind was already elsewhere. What was the worst that could happen? Jack could find out. He could lose his best friend. You could reject him, or worse—tell him that kiss was nothing more than a drunken mistake. The thought made his chest tighten. But Noah’s lightheartedness didn’t calm Trent’s nerves. Jack’s advice, however, echoed in his mind—talk to her, tell her how you feel. Trent knew it was the right move, but the fear of rejection, of ruining everything, loomed over him like a dark cloud. As they finished dinner and paid the bill, Trent’s thoughts were already on what was coming next. He was heading to your house after this. You’d be there. Jack would be there. And somehow, amidst it all, he had to figure out how to have that conversation. As they walked to the cars, Jack patted Trent on the back. 
“You’ll be alright, mate. Just don’t overthink it.” Trent forced a smile, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t shake the anxiety bubbling inside him. Jack’s words rang in his ears, and he knew he had to take the advice, but how? As Trent drove to your house, the weight of everything pressed down on him. He was about to walk into a house where everything could change in a matter of minutes. He wanted more than a kiss, more than just a fleeting moment—but what if you didn’t? What if that kiss had meant nothing to you? You only said you didn’t want to see him… were you just mad. He couldn’t tell.  Pulling into the driveway, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had to talk to you. He had to try, even if it scared him to death
Trent awkwardly made his way into the living room, his heart pounding as he spotted you already seated on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you. You looked adorable and it made him sadder. You were curled up in the corner, your eyes glued to the TV, but he could tell from the stiffness in your posture that you were aware of his presence. The soft glow from the screen cast a flickering light over your face, highlighting the tension in your jaw and the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should sit down. But with a deep breath, he took a seat next to you, careful to leave a respectful gap between you. The silence between you was thick, almost tangible, and he could feel the awkwardness settling over you like a heavy blanket. 
“Hey,” he said softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. You barely acknowledged him, giving a short nod without looking away from the TV. 
“Hey,” you replied curtly, your tone clipped. Trent’s heart sank a little at your cold reception. Never in his life had you greeted him like this and it was starting to eat at him but he couldn’t blame you. He knew he’d hurt you that night, and he was ready to face the consequences. He could imagine what he would feel like if you said no to him. Still, the distance between you now felt like a chasm, one he was desperate to cross. He kept his eyes on the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the show, but he was acutely aware of every small movement you made—the way you shifted slightly, the soft sound of your breath, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He wanted to say something, anything to bridge the gap, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Minutes passed in silence, the tension between you unyielding. Trent’s mind raced with what he could say or do to make things right. He didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to overstep, but he also didn’t want to let this moment slip away without trying. Finally, gathering his courage, he reached out and gently placed his hand on your leg, just above your knee. It was a tentative touch, his fingers light and hesitant, but it was enough to make you stiffen slightly under his hand. You glanced down at his hand, then up at him, your eyes wide with surprise.
“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “I didn’t mean to upset you that night.” He cooed gently. Your gaze remained on his hand for a moment longer before you sighed, your shoulders relaxing a fraction. 
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For… trying to kiss you. I was drunk and— Clearly that’s not something you want and I get that…” You earnestly and awkwardly were trying to apologize but Trent couldn’t help but chuckle softly, interrupting you. 
“You honestly think I didn’t want to kiss you back?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. He kept his eyes on the TV, a coy smile tugging at his lips.  “Trust me, Y/N, it took everything in me to stop.” You looked at him, a flicker of confusion mixed with curiosity in your eyes. 
“Then why did you?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. Trent’s smile faded slightly as he turned to meet your gaze. 
“Because you were upset and not in a good place. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, especially after what that asshole did to you.” You flinched at the mention of Josh, the hurt from his cruel words still fresh in your mind. You looked away, your eyes downcast. 
“He… he said some awful things. It wasn’t great,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Trent’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, his touch becoming more reassuring. You sat there, your heart pounding as Trent's words hung in the air. He'd never spoken to you like that-direct, unfiltered, like he'd been holding back for too long. The way he placed his hand on your thigh, his fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of every inch of contact, sent a spark straight through you. Your mind raced to keep up, to make sense of what was happening, but he was already pushing forward, his tone low, serious, like he needed you to understand.
"That kid's a fucking idiot for losing you," he said, his voice tight, almost angry. "Saying whatever he could to make you feel small... he doesn't know shit about you, and you know that. Right?" You nodded slowly, words caught in your throat. It was true-you did know, somewhere deep down. But hearing it from Trent felt different, grounding, and it made the sting of your ex's words fade, bit by bit. Trent's hand stayed warm on your thigh, a quiet promise in the small gesture. You glanced up at him, your eyes searching his face. You could see the sincerity in his expression, the way his brow furrowed slightly with concern. 
“You really think that?” You asked quietly, your voice tinged with disbelief. Trent nodded, a small, earnest smile playing on his lips. 
“I know that. You’re smart, occasionally  funny,” he teased with a glint in his eyes and your lips curled,  “you’re the sweetest girl I know, and—” he hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly, “—gorgeous. You’re fucking gorgeous. Anyone who can’t see that is a fucking donut.” He kept his eyes on the TV, trying to play it cool, trying to be nonchalant in case anyone else happened to come into the room but he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He risked a quick glance at you and saw a soft smile slowly spreading across your face. The sight of it made his own heart lighten, the tension between you beginning to ease.
"Trent.." you started, wanting to say something, anything, but he shook his head slightly, a glimmer of intensity in his eyes.
"You're beautiful," he interrupted, each word sounding heavier than the last. It was like he'd been carrying them around, waiting for the right moment to let them out. You felt your cheeks flush, a mix of nerves and thrill rushing through you as his gaze stayed locked on yours. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so it’d be impossible for anyone else to hear, his hand firm on your thigh. "And just so you know... that's not the way you get bruises. Never again. I'll fucking kill him if he ever comes near you." His eyes were dark, protective in a way that felt both comforting and incredibly dangerous. Then, in the midst of the tension, he smirked, the intensity softening into something else, something teasing. "The only bruises you ever get are from not being bored in the bedroom. Yeah?” Your breath caught, your face flushing as his words registered. You recalled telling when you split with Josh citing boredom in the bedroom as a problem but you were surprised he remembered that. Surprised he just said that to you. Before you could respond, he gave you a wink, that same smirk lingering as he stood up and walked away, leaving you stunned, heart racing, and desperate for him to come back.
You laid in your bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts about Trent. You could hear the low rumble of laughter drifting up from downstairs where Jack, Trent, and their friends were still hanging out. But your thoughts were miles away, lost in memories of Trent and all the moments you’d shared over the years. You closed your eyes and let the images flood your mind. The way he’d smile at you from across a room, a mischievous glint in his eyes, or the way he always seemed to find a reason to touch you—a hand on your shoulder, a playful nudge, his arm brushing against yours when they sat close. You thought about all the times he’d said sweet things to you, little compliments and comments that you’d always brushed off as friendly banter. You tried your entire life not to take the pet name ‘pretty girl’ too seriously, you always thought maybe he said that to every girl but now it felt personal and just for you. Was he talking about bruises in the bedroom in a sexual way, yeah 100% but did he mean that he would give them to you? Leave love bites on you? Your mind was racing.  But, lying there in the dark, you couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more to it. Your heart fluttered as you recalled the feel of his hand on your leg earlier tonight, the warmth of his touch and the firm yet gentle way he’d reassured you. You shivered, a pleasant tingle running through you as you thought of all the times his hands had been on you, even in the most innocent of ways. His touch always left a lingering warmth, a sensation that seemed to seep under your skin and settle deep within you, leaving you longing for more. You bit your lip, a wave of desire washing over you. In your longing haze, you wondered if maybe you’d been missing something all along. Had Trent been flirting with you all these years, in his subtle, teasing way but in all seriousness, did he want something? Was there something real to your relationship that you hadn’t let yourself see? Was it more than teasing? The thought sent a thrill through you, a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. Your fingers itched to reach for your phone, and before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed it from your bedside table. You couldn’t shake what he said to you, Trent had made it clear-it wasn't that he wasn't interested. Now, you were ready to take the risk, fully aware that all the boys were together. It was dangerous, maybe even reckless, but that only made it more exhilarating. They were watching a movie in the cinema room, the lights dimmed, everyone absorbed in whatever action scene was playing on the screen. You were upstairs in bed, restless and buzzing with anticipation. You flipped your phone camera to 0.5 to catch yourself at a high angle, tits prominently displayed in your thin bralette, the flash making your nipples obviously visible. You typed out a message, your fingers moving faster than your brain could catch up.
"Is this the appropriate place to get those bruises you were talking about?"
You pressed send, heart pounding in your chest. The silence afterward was deafening as you waited for a response. It was insane you just did this, but you couldn't back out now. A part of you wished you could retract it but there it was… ‘read.’ Trent opened the message, his heart skipping a beat. He blinked, unsure if he'd seen it right, unsure if you had actually sent it. This was the first time you'd ever texted him directly. Sure, you'd always been in the group chats-always flirty in your usual playful way-but nothing like this. The last personal message you'd sent was your order for a takeaway months ago, and before that, it had been something for your birthday and then passport details for a trip that seemed forever ago. A trip you weren’t sure why you were invited on to begin with but it was one where you'd teetered on the edge of something more with him but never quite tipped over. Now you had pushed things over that fragile edge with a stupid text. There was a reason for the limited texts though, because you knew it’d lead to something just like this. Trent swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the image, the words beneath it repeating in his head. He couldn't let the boys see this but he also didn’t want to look away. He couldn’t… but he had to.
Quickly, he swiped out of the message, his phone burning hot in his hand. He shoved the phone into his lap, screen down, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the visual of you barely in that bralette. He felt a slow, stupid grin spread across his face despite his best efforts. His heart was racing, and he could feel the tension building inside him. He knew things were spiraling. He'd always told himself this was a line he couldn't cross, but now? Now, it felt inevitable. Trent moved, his thumb hovered over his phone. He dimmed the screen, adjusted his seat in the chair, trying to play it cool making sure the other boys were none the wiser. His mind was racing, wondering if this was you really finally putting your hat in the ring. And god, if it was... there was no way he could say no. Now, all that was left was his response. Trent took his time responding, trying to be as calculated as possible. You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for his response. The dots appeared then disappeared only to reappear, showing he was typing back, and your heart leaped into your throat. What was he going to say? Had you gone too far? You felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with a hint of fear. But underneath it all was a simmering excitement you couldn’t deny. You could practically feel the tension building in the air around you. Finally, your phone buzzed with a new message, and you hesitated before opening it, your pulse racing…
Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!
Next part - Chapter 3 - Crossed A Few Lines xx
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justagalwhowrites · 20 hours ago
Text
Halcyon - Ch. 18: I Fucking Heard You
You and Joel adjust to life apart. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 17, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.
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Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
Warnings: Angst. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI
Length: 8.3k
AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter
January, 2008 
He was going to actually do it this time. 
Joel was sitting outside your apartment building, drumming against the steering wheel of his truck, desperate to work out some of the anxious energy that kept building and building inside of him. 
But he just couldn’t keep it to himself anymore, he was done trying to pretend like he didn’t love you. He was going to say it. 
Actually say it. 
For real this time. 
He’d ignored it as long as he could manage, shoved it down and tried to kill it by going out with practically every girl in school for even longer. He didn’t want to ruin things between the two of you, he was terrified of that more than he was of just about anything else. You mattered more to him than anyone, he couldn’t lose you, especially not to his own stupidity. But he couldn’t keep how he felt separate from your friendship, either. He loved you so much he felt like he was choking on it, like it had to go somewhere outside of himself or he was going to lose his damn mind with it. 
So he’d finally worked up the courage to tell you. Rip the bandaid off. Maybe it wouldn’t blow up in his face, maybe… maybe you’d tell him you felt the same way. Maybe you’d grab him and kiss him the way he pretended you would when he thought about you when he was alone. Maybe you’d tell him you changed your mind about going across the country, maybe you’d go to college here in Austin and you’d move in together and he’d get to be next to you all the time. 
This, he decided, was the perfect night for it. There was a meteor shower he’d heard about on the news and he talked you into going to the park to watch it. It seemed right, telling you this with the whole galaxy stretched out in front of you. Things were changing tonight. He could feel it. 
He watched as you more fell than climbed out of your window, landing in the bushes and clumsily pulling yourself free of them before dashing to his truck. 
“What are you wearin’ Goldie Girl?” He teased as you got in, the collar of a second sweatshirt visible below your hoodie, the sleeves unusually bulky. 
“What!” You asked, brows raised. “It’s January! It’s cold! And… I couldn’t risk waking up my mom by going to the coat closet for my jacket.” 
Joel snorted. 
“I’m counting on you to keep me warm out there, Miller,” you said, buckling up as Joel started driving, his heart beating out a frantic rhythm against his ribs. “This whole thing was your idea.” 
“I got blankets,” he said. “Not gonna let you freeze.” 
As he drove, the two of you caught up on everything that had happened in the few hours it had been since you’d last seen him - no time at all, really, but it always dragged for Joel. It seemed like he was always just marking time until he got to see you again. He was almost always with you until curfew. Then, awake for an hour, sleep for eight, wake up and then just an hour before he was at your door again, picking you up to take you to school. Then it was three and a half hours until lunch - which you always had with him - then just an hour until your single shared class - newspaper, which he’d joined to make you happy - and then two hours until school was done and he was with you again.
You told Joel about Anna’s issues in school and Joel told you about his mom’s frustrations with his own grades. You rolled your eyes at him but smiled a little as you scolded him and told him you’d help him study, he just had to actually do it and he smiled and nodded along because he knew that. You were always trying to bring out the best in him. You were the only one who could.
“Oh, and, there’s the one really big thing,” you said as Joel parked his truck. 
“I got a big thing, too,” he said. Your eyes lit up at that, always ready to be excited for him. “Yours first.” 
“OK. So, you know Steve?” You asked, brows raised.
“Steve,” Joel frowned, trying to picture someone the both of you knew named Steve. 
“Yeah, Steve,” you said. “You know, Steve…” 
“You can keep saying his name all you want, I still don’t know who you mean,” he laughed. 
“Steve,” you said again, incredulous. “The yearbook editor, Steve.” 
“Oh!” He said, picturing the guy now. “Yeah, OK, Steve. Right. What about him?” 
“Well,” you said sitting up a little straighter. “He asked me out.” 
Joel just stared at you for a moment, blinking in shock. His stomach sank. He had the strange feeling that he was falling from some great height, not unlike what he felt when riding a roller coaster with you except there was no safety harness to keep him from tumbling to the earth. 
“What?” He said eventually. 
“Steve asked me out,” you said, chin up like you were proud. “I actually have a date, I’m not just hanging out with you for a change!” 
“You said yes?” He asked, his mouth dry. 
“Yeah, of course I did! We’re going to go to the movies,” you said, beaming, before you realized that Joel apparently wasn’t reacting the way you expected. You cocked your head, frowning. “Why, should I not have? Is there something wrong with him?” 
“No,” he said quickly. “No, sure he’s fine, I just… didn’t know you liked ‘im is all.” 
“I mean,” you shrugged. “He’s not bad looking and he’s funny and he’s smart and he writes… We have a lot in common. What’s not to like?”
Of course. Of course you’d go for someone more like you, someone who was smart like you and didn’t fucking struggle in school like he did, someone who wrote like you instead of just fucked around with their entire life like he did. Why on Earth would you be interested in him? Why on Earth would you waste your fucking time on someone like him when you were so clearly meant for so much better? Not that Steve was fucking good enough for you. No one was, Joel included. 
“Right,” he said. He thought he might throw up. 
“What?” You said, laughing awkwardly. “Are you OK? You look weird…” 
“Fine,” he said quickly. “Just… You know. Be careful, guys can be assholes.” 
“Yeah, you’d know,” you teased. 
“No, I mean it,” Joel said. “Sure he seems like a decent guy but…” 
“But?” You asked, brows raised. 
“He don’t deserve you,” he said. 
You smiled then, gently, reaching out and putting your hand on his thigh and giving his leg a squeeze. 
“You’re sweet,” you said. “And you’re worried about nothing. It’s high school. It’s a date. It’s not like we’re getting married. Oh, maybe we could all go out together sometime! Once you pick the new flavor of the week, I mean. I’ll actually have someone to go with now.” 
“Yeah,” Joel said, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah, that’d be fun.” 
He gathered up the blankets and set them out in the bed of his truck and he helped pull you into it, settling in just as the meteor shower started overhead. You pressed yourself close to him and he could feel the heat of your breath on his skin and fuck he wished it could have been him you said yes to. 
“Oh, what was your thing?” You asked, looking up at him from where your head was nestled against his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to derail the conversation…” 
“Oh, uh,” Joel said, scrambling for something - anything - to say. “Tommy… decided to take after his big brother and go out for football next year.” 
“Nice!” You said, looking back at the sky again. “You’re going to put him through his paces before, right? Teach him how to take a hit?” 
Joel scoffed. 
“Course,” he said. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t.” 
The two of you watched stars streak across the sky for hours. Joel set an alarm on his phone because he knew you’d sleep through one on yours and you snuggled close to him under the blankets. 
“You were right,” you said, voice sleepy. “This is really cool. Thanks for talking me into it.” 
“Course,” he said, resisting the urge to kiss you. “I’d do anything for you… Love you, Goldie.” 
You smiled against him. 
“Love you, too,” you said. 
He held you close and wondered what it would be like if you meant it the same way he did.  
***
September, 2023
“Aunt Goldie?” 
You looked up from painting Sarah’s toenails to see her watching you, her head cocked and a serious expression on her face, one that was partially obscured by the facial mask you’d applied before you’d started in on her nails during your at home spa day. 
“Niece Sarah?”
“Why are you and my dad still in a fight?” She asked. 
You just blinked for a moment, taking a moment to process her question. It caught you off guard - not that it should have. Things had been very different since her birthday party months earlier and Sarah was a smart kid. It made sense that she would notice. You just hadn’t prepared an answer - something that felt like a massive oversight now that it was in front of you. 
“What makes you think that we’re in a fight?” You said eventually, putting the brush back in the jar of polish before you dripped on the floor. 
“You never come over anymore,” she said. 
“Well, I live back at my own house now,” you said, starting in on her toes again. 
“Duh,” Sarah said and you could practically hear her eyes roll. “But even before you and Ellie lived with us you came over all the time and you don’t anymore. And my dad never comes here with me, he always just drops me off.” 
“We both have a lot going on,” you said, happy you had an excuse to not be looking her in the eye. “It’s not…” 
“I’m not stupid, you know,” she said and you looked up then, her gaze serious as she watched you closely. “I know something happened.” 
You finished her pinky toe and closed the nail polish with a sigh. 
“Sarah…” 
“My dad’s been acting different,” she cut you off, a little heated, and you frowned. 
“Different?” You asked. “Different how?” 
“He’s just…” she sighed. “I think he’s sad. He tries to pretend like he’s not and that everything’s normal but I know him and I can tell. I don’t know what happened but I think it’s stupid that you guys just aren’t talking or whatever right now. I wish you’d just figure it out.” 
You looked at Sarah, at her wide and hopeful eyes, and tried to figure out how to explain this to her.
How did you tell her that you weren’t sure how to move past how her father - the person you loved most in the world - apparently saw you? That you needed space from him because you couldn’t let yourself revolve around him anymore? That it wasn’t good for you to have your life so intertwined with someone who would, inevitably, go on to have a life outside of you?
It had been a strange two months, not seeing and even really speaking to Joel. 
The first day was strange. It was just you and Ellie and your cat in your house that had done nothing beyond collect dust in the months since your niece was born. 
Being there, alone, with Ellie made you nervous and you were sure she could sense it in you somehow, like she knew you were unworthy and letting her down by taking her away from the one fully competent person in her life because you were too selfish and couldn’t move past your own shit. 
To make matters worse, your mind kept going back to Joel and the strange life the two of you had made together in the months you’d lived with him. He’d become built into everything, the rhythm of your life out of sync without him and Sarah there, too. You missed both of them so much it hurt but it was especially painful with Joel. You missed the way the two of you would navigate around each other in the kitchen in the morning, his hand so often finding your hip or the small of your back when he needed to reach around you or move past you. The way you could hold your toothbrush out and he would put the right amount of toothpaste on it before going to bed at the end of the day. The way he would just open your beer for you when he got you one, because - while you didn’t need him to - he knew you didn’t like getting your nails under the pull tab of the can or twisting the cap on the bottles. 
Joel knew you. You’d been married a decade and you weren’t sure your husband had ever known you the way Joel did. He’d certainly never done things like that for you. Joel did. That was part of why that moment after Sarah’s party had caught you so off guard. You’d thought you meant more to him than that, that you were more than one of the women he’d pick up, have fun with for a night or a week or a month and then cast aside.
But then he shoved you against the wall in his kitchen and fucked you with his fingers like all you were to him was something physical, telling you how no one could fuck you like he did, as though that was the only thing that would matter. 
You tried to shove that keen loneliness that came with missing him down by focusing on Ellie and pouring your every thought onto the page. You just kept your niece as close as possible all the time, keeping her strapped to your chest as you sat at your desk to write until it felt like your brain was going numb or got your house cleaned up or made dinner or went for a walk just to get out of your own head for a bit. You hoped that all but smothering her with closeness would keep her from realizing the coldly obvious thing that was your desperation and it was a relief when you took her to the rehab facility to pick up Anna. 
This time, things with Anna and Ellie were smooth. Or as close to smooth as you could get with someone coming out of months of inpatient therapy and an infant. Anna seemed nervous with Ellie at first, hesitating and double checking everything, her eyes going from her daughter’s face to yours like she wanted your approval for how she was doing. 
“This is right?” She asked as she held the bottle while cradling Ellie in the way that Joel had shown you. 
“Yeah,” you smiled gently. “You’ve got it.” 
“Yeah,” Anna said, looking back down at Ellie and smiling a little, too. “I think I do.” 
You pulled back slowly then. 
The first two weeks, you were more hands on, doing at least 50% of the work of caring for Ellie, going with Anna daily to meetings and therapy, writing as much as you could and keeping Joel far from your mind. 
But, after a little while, Anna started to naturally take on more and more. The two of you went from splitting the overnight Ellie care to Anna handling everything. Slowly but surely, she took over everything and, by week five, all you were doing was watching as she cared for her daughter. 
“If you wanted to move back home, I think I’m ready,” she said one afternoon as she fed Ellie while you made some tweaks to the plot of your novel in your story notebook. 
“Are you sure?” You asked, setting your pen down, eyebrows drawn together. 
“Yeah,” she said. “Why, do you think I’m not?” 
“No!” You said quickly. “No, I think you’re doing great. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you.” 
“It won’t be like it was before,” she smiled, a twinge of sadness in her expression as she did. “I know her now. I know me now. I’ve got this, I don’t need to hold you back anymore.” 
“You’re not…” you began, but she cut you off. 
“I am,” she said. “You have a life outside of me and her and you put it on hold because I couldn’t get my shit together…” 
“You just needed help…” you interjected, but she ignored you.
“…And I’m so sorry I put that on you,” she continued. “I’ll owe you forever for taking care of my daughter when I couldn’t. But we don’t need your help now, you can go back to your life. It’s OK. I promise.” 
You didn’t have the heart to tell her that, really, you didn’t have a life. Outside of your work, your book and your cat, you had nothing. You needed her more than she needed you. 
You’d tried to start getting a life of your own, getting out of the house and doing things on your own, well before this conversation. The first time you’d left Anna alone with Ellie for a few hours, you’d gone out with Tim, the man you’d met at Sarah’s party. 
It was a fine date. It would have been a great one had it been someone else but all you could think about when you looked at him was Joel forcing you to come on his fingers in his kitchen as he said over and over that no one else could make you feel like he did. 
Things fizzled out quickly when you realized it wasn’t something you could really get over. Since then, you hadn’t bothered with Tinder or trying to reach out to Alyssa or anyone else in town. The only person you’d really texted outside of Sarah and Anna was Gale. 
You hadn’t responded to anything your estranged husband had sent since you’d moved in with Joel but then, one day, he texted you something that made you respond. 
I didn’t want you to find this out on Facebook, that seemed wrong, but I wanted you to know that I became a father. 
You stared at the message, just a few days after Anna had said you could move back home, reading it as you held your sister’s infant daughter in your arms. You thought about ignoring it, shoving the strange, hollow feeling that was taking over the core of you down deep, but then he sent one more message, one you couldn’t just pretend he never sent at all. 
I’m sorry it wasn’t you. 
You held it together until Anna was done in the shower, giving Ellie to her and making up some excuse that you were sure she could tell was bullshit - something about a headache and feeling nauseated - so you could hide in the room that had become yours in the time you’d been at Anna’s. You buried your face in the pillow and screamed until your throat was raw and you were choking on your tears, barely able to breathe. 
It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you, not for anybody. He had been everything to you once but you hadn’t been anything to him, not really. It had never been you. 
This, you thought, you should have been used to by now. You’d always felt like you were on the fringes of your own life, the people at the center of your world putting you on the edges of theirs. Gale, when you’d first gotten together with him, was the first person since Joel who made you feel like you were a priority, like you actually mattered. That feeling had faded with time but that, you’d thought, was just a byproduct of what a whole life with someone meant. Of course he didn’t send you good morning texts with poetry anymore or get you flowers just because or go out of his way to get your favorite tea. You saw each other all the time, why would he?
But you’d been sure that, at least with your husband, you were the priority. Until he’d given you divorce papers, even through the months of distance and cold behavior, you’d thought that you were the priority.
Then you realized, you’d kept thinking that, even after he left, even now. The way the divorce had dragged on, the way he kept texting and calling and trying, some sad, sick part of yourself had latched onto that. That you were the important thing, that you were what mattered. Your marriage may have failed but you took some cold comfort in the fact that you’d at least left your mark on him.
But you hadn’t. You’d stopped sleeping together hardly more than a year ago and your husband already had a baby with another woman. Even in your marriage, you’d been on the fringes.
When you stopped crying enough that you could see clearly, you emailed your attorney.
Give him whatever he wants. I just need this to be done.
You knew what that meant. The last divorce agreement his lawyer had sent yours included shared rights to your own fucking book, him keeping the house without buying you out, him keeping the entirety of the 401k. He was asking for a lot but all you wanted then was to cut the tie as thoroughly as possible. As terrifying as it was to live in a world that made it seem like your marriage had never happened, it was better than this. 
Your lawyer called you to be sure, to try to talk you out of it, but you didn’t care. He could have whatever percentage of book rights he wanted, it's not like you could have created it without him. He could have the house, it’s not like you could ever live in it without him. He could have the entire state of Rhode Island for all you cared as long as you’d never be faced with the sharp reality of your marriage.
You wrote furiously when it was done, the words pouring out of you in a way they hadn’t since you’d written Halcyon. You barely slept or ate for days, canceling classes and writing until there wasn’t anything left inside you to say. You finished the manuscript, 33 chapters of your love and pain sitting in front of you. You stared at it for a moment, the cursor pulsing at the end of the final sentence. 
It was over. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now, but it was done. 
You were numb when you were on your couch a few days later, staring at the ceiling with nothing but your cat to keep you company, when your phone rang. You answered it without bothering to look at the screen, content to even talk to a telemarketer for a few minutes if it served as enough of a distraction.
“Hello?”
“What the hell is this, baby doll?”
You sat up fast enough that your head spun, pulling your phone away from your face to see Gale’s name on your screen. You put your ear to the phone again.
“What the hell is what?”
“This,” he said and you could hear the shuffle of papers on the other end.
“You realize we’re not on facetime, right?”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “This, the new divorce agreement your lawyer sent mine, what is this?”
You frowned, putting the call on speaker before going to your most recent email with your attorney and skimming the agreement. Your frown deepened.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” You asked. “I thought you’d be happy, I…”
“You think this is what I want?” He cut you off, sounding heated.
“Isn’t it what you asked for?” you asked. “I don’t think I missed anything, you should have everything you wanted, and…”
“What I asked for is outrageous,” he said. You heard him put something down with a little too much force on the other end – probably a mug, knowing him – the sound of the ceramic on wood sharp. “I knew that when I asked for it."
"OK," you said, pinching the bridge of your nose, taking the phone off speaker and holding it against your ear again. “What else do you want? Do you want me to say you won or something? Because…”
“I want you to reconsider,” he said.
You just sat there for a moment, blinking in shock.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said. “What is this. Why are you giving in to me like this.” 
It still took you a moment to process what he said before you could manage to answer. 
“I’m just trying to give you what you want,” you said, voice thick. 
“You’ve never done that before,” he said. “Hell, even when we were together you never did that, you never just gave into me unless you wanted it, too. Why now.” 
“You…” you sighed. “You’re a father now, you have… there’s someone else in your life now, you have another life now, Gale, and you should live it. I’m holding you back, I don’t want to hold you back, I…” 
“You’ve never held me back,” he said. “I’ve told you that.” 
“Well, clearly I wasn’t right for you in some way or we wouldn’t be where we’re at right now,” you snapped without meaning to. “I’m not the one who wanted to separate, that was you.” 
“Yeah, well, I fucked up,” he said and you had to bite your tongue. “I was… I’ve never been with anyone as long as I was with you…” 
“Yeah, me ether,” you said voice still sharp. “I was with you for more than a third of my life Gale.” 
“I know that,” he said, speaking more gently than you. “I should have known better, I should have understood how things would change and I should have embraced your success instead of letting it hurt me…” 
“My success hurt you?” You asked quietly. 
He sighed heavily. 
“It did,” he said. “You thrived commercially in ways I never could. I envied that, so much that I couldn’t stand being around you.” 
“That’s it?” You asked. “That’s what made you leave me, the fact that I sold more books than you did?” 
“No, of course not,” he said. “But it’s… it’s what started it.” 
You almost laughed to keep yourself from crying because of course it was the one success you’d found that broke your marriage. Why would it be anything else? 
“That’s not what I was trying to do,” you said. 
“I know,” he said. “I was wondering if…” 
“Does Carla know you’re talking to me?” You asked, cutting him off. 
“Does she need to?” He asked. “You’re my wife.” 
“And she’s the mother of your child,” you said. “I’m not going to be the other woman in my own marriage. You need to figure out what you want.” 
“And if I want you?” He asked. 
You sighed. 
“You have a family now,” you said. “Think before you blow it up.” 
But ever since, Gale had been a bigger presence in your life than Joel. He’d started acting like he had in the early days of your relationship, sending you romantic texts and having flowers delivered to your house. 
Part of you knew you should resist it, that this wouldn’t lead anywhere good. There was a reason things had fallen apart once before, you knew they would again. But going back to him would be so easy. He was comfortable, familiar. There was a life the two of you had together that you knew you could fit back into now, if you wanted. It might be complicated - he had a child now - but it was there, right in front of you. 
You just weren’t sure if you wanted it. 
So you started talking with him. Not a lot, not like it had been before, but you were texting daily. He wanted to know about your book, how your classes were going, about your life in Texas. Part of you was waiting for the other foot to drop, for him to decide that he didn’t want you again, but he was consistent and that, at least, was something. 
Meanwhile, your only contact with Joel was in a group chat with Sarah. 
You might have needed space from Joel but you couldn’t just cut things off with Sarah. It wasn’t fair to her, you knew she was attached to you. Plus, she had become like a niece or daughter to you in the year you’d known her. You knew the names of her friends and her favorite songs and the books she liked. You loved her. You’d had to keep in touch. She regularly came over to watch a movie or have dinner and she called you at least three times a week to ask for help with homework and tell you about her life.  
While you kept up with Sarah, you never really directly spoke to Joel. You only texted in the group chat to confirm that it was OK for you to pick up Sarah and what time she needed to be back, or when Joel would drop her off and pick her up at your place. 
But you’d opened up your texts to send him a message directly at least once a day and every time you just stared at the last thing he’d sent you: I’m sorry. It was sent just hours after you’d left his house with Ellie weeks before. 
You weren’t sure what the hell you were supposed to say to him, what you were supposed to do with that apology. Were you supposed to accept it and pretend it had never happened? Were you supposed to actually have him explain to you, on no uncertain terms, how he saw you and what he wanted from your relationship? Could you handle actually hearing him say it if you did? 
You didn’t know. So you left it alone, the message glaring at you, the date stamp going further and further into the past with every passing day. 
And that’s where your relationship with Joel sat, frozen in time, as his daughter watched you closely. 
“You should come over tonight,” Sarah said. You raised your eyebrows and she stared you down. “When you drop me off. Just come inside, say hi, have dinner. It’s think he said he was going to grill.” 
“I’m sure he already has everything planned out for tonight,” you said, returning to the work of painting her last nail and closing the polish. “I don’t think it’s a good idea…” 
“Please?” She said, her eyes wide. She had to know what she was doing, looking at you that way. She was too smart for her own good. “I miss you.” 
You sighed. 
“Alright…” 
“Yes!” She punched the air in victory. 
“But just to say hi,” you said and her face fell a little. “I don’t want to impose.” 
“Psh, family doesn’t impose,” she waved you off. You looked at her, incredulous. “What? That’s what Uncle Tommy says when he wants to stay for dinner.” 
You snorted. 
“Yeah, I bet he does,” you said. “Alright, once your toes dry, we’ll go to the bookstore and get you home.” 
“And you’ll come inside?” 
“And I’ll come inside,” you said, even though the thought made your stomach knot. “Promise.” 
You took her to the bookstore, just wandering through with her and picking out a few new things for her - because you weren’t above buying a kid’s love - and got in line, where you passed a table of best sellers. 
Halcyon was sitting there, out in paperback now, one copy sitting face down so your portrait was visible on the back. Sarah frowned and picked it up, examining it for a moment before her face lit up. 
“Aunt Goldie!” She said, thrusting the book at you. “That’s you! I didn’t know you were famous!” 
You shushed her, someone in line in front of you turning to look at you. 
“OK, well, I’m not famous,” you said, taking the book from her and setting it back where it belonged. “I just wrote a book that people liked, that’s all.” 
“My dad said you wrote a book, I didn’t know it was a famous book,” she said. “Can I read it?” 
“Absolutely not,” you said, nudging her forward as the line moved. 
“Why not?” She pouted. 
“Because, as much as I love you and know how good of a reader you are, I wrote the book for adults,” you said. “You can read it in 10 years. Maybe.” 
“Well, will you tell me what it’s about?” She asked. 
You sighed, not entirely sure how to answer that question. At least, not to Sarah. 
“It’s…” you paused. “It’s about love and figuring out who you are with it and without it.” 
“Oh,” she crinkled her nose a little. 
“What?” You asked, laughing a little. 
“Sounds kinda boring,” she said. “Sorry.” 
You snorted. 
“No, you’re right,” you said. “It probably is boring.” 
You paid for the books, the person in line behind you stopping you on your way out the door to sign a copy of your book they’d just bought, Sarah beaming as she watched, and drove to Joel’s. 
You took a moment to steel yourself as you sat in his driveway. You hadn’t been in Joel’s house since you’d left. Any time you picked up or dropped off Sarah, you just sat in the car and waited for her to come to you or watched her until she was safely inside. You didn’t dare actually go in the house. That, you knew, was a bridge too far.
But you’d overcome bigger obstacles. You could do this, too. 
You pulled yourself together and followed Sarah inside. 
Nothing had changed. The blanket that was made by Joel’s mother was still draped on the end of the couch, his work boots were in a heap near the door, a beach towel from the pool was drying on a chair outside that you could just see through the sliding glass door. In spite of the knot in your stomach, this place felt like home. There was comfort here because the people you loved were here. 
“That you baby girl?” Joel called from down the hall. 
Your heart stuttered.
“It’s just me,” she called back.
You heard the telltale sounds of his footsteps as he made his way to the stairs. 
“For dinner, did you…” he said before he froze, looking up from his phone to find you standing there, in his living room. 
You smiled tightly. 
“Hi Joel.” 
***
You were here. 
In his living room, you were here. You were here and you weren’t ignoring him and maybe he hadn’t fucking ruined everything. You were here and holy fuck you looked good, just in shorts and a tank top and fuck, he wanted to touch you again. 
Instead, he just swallowed that driving want and cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter as he did. 
“Hey, Goldie.” 
You smiled. Not in that usual way you had, one that was quieter and stiller but still there. 
“I told Aunt Goldie that she should come over and stay for dinner,” Sarah said. 
“Oh,” Joel said, looking between you and Sarah. “Well, baby girl, Aunt Goldie’s been real busy lately and…” 
“She already said she could stay for dinner,” Sarah said, almost smirking. “And I know you guys aren’t in a fight because you’ve both said you’re not in a fight and you’d never lie to me about that, right?” 
Joel looked at you, a little desperate, and you just gave him a small shrug. 
“Right,” she finished for him. “So that means she can stay for dinner because there’s no reason she can’t and oh, look! Vanessa is calling me so I’m just going to go into my room until dinner is ready and talk with her and not listen to whatever you two are going to talk about. Bye!” 
She ran upstairs, taking them two steps at a time, leaving you and Joel standing there awkwardly in his living room. 
“Sorry,” he said at the same time you did and you both laughed awkwardly.
“She’s conniving, that one,” you said. 
“Little trickster,” Joel agreed. 
He just watched you for a moment, happy that he could see you - actually see you, not just picture you like he usually did now.  
“I should have called,” you said after you were both quiet for a moment. “I shouldn’t have just… It doesn’t matter that she wanted me to come over like this, I should have called and…” 
“No, it’s fine,” Joel said quickly. “You’re always welcome here, Goldie, you don’t need to call.” 
You smiled, small again, but it was there. 
“Thanks,” you said. “I should have at least brought something, though, I know you weren’t planning on me being here… I can just go, I don’t…” 
“Think we can find enough food in this house to feed three people,” he said, stepping closer, smiling a little. “Stay, if you want. I’d… I’d really like it if you stayed.” 
“OK,” you said and you smiled like you then, small at first but then wide and bright and welcoming. “Then yeah, I’ll stay.” 
Falling into you again was so fast and so easy. You followed him to the kitchen and the two of you made awkward, stilted conversation for a minute or two but, before long, you were perched on the counter while he made burger patties from the ground beef in the fridge as you told him how Ellie was doing and he told you what he’d been up to since you’d left. 
Which, he had to admit, he was embellishing a little because, without you and Ellie, his life had been pretty gray. 
After you left, it took a few days before it felt like he could do anything but take care of Sarah and stare at his phone. He’d texted you an apology, something he immediately regretted. He should have figured out a better way to say it instead of just “I’m sorry” and kept his mouth shut until he did. He kept hoping that you’d reply, that you’d give him a chance to say something better than “I’m sorry.” 
Eventually, he gave up and tried to figure out how to live without you again. It was harder than he’d expected it to be. He’d done it before when you’d gone more than just a few miles down the road and he’d lived through that, this shouldn’t have been any worse. But it was. 
Your lives had become so entangled, so in step, you were missing in everything he did. There were reminders of you everywhere and in everything, so much so that he needed an outlet. 
So, he started playing guitar more.
It hurt at first because, for some masochistic fucking reason, he kept being drawn to songs about heartbreak and loss. But eventually, he got to the point that he wanted to do something besides wallow. It took him some time to figure out what the fuck that meant but, eventually, he settled on the perfect thing: his business plan. 
Part of him wanted to believe that he was doing it only for himself. That this was what he wanted, it was the next step he needed to take to make his life - and the life he was building for his daughter - what he wanted it to be. 
But that wasn’t true, you were in this, too. This was what he needed to do to be worthy of you. Maybe, if he could actually fucking make something of himself, you’d want him the way he wanted you. 
So he’d put together the damn business plan. He put together the business plan and thought up a name and made an appointment at the bank to apply for the loan he’d need to start the company to begin with. He did everything he had to to make something of himself. He did it because he’d been wanting to be something since he’d first held his daughter. He did it because you gave him the courage and the drive to do it. 
He didn’t tell you that part of it but he did tell you about the business stuff and he couldn’t help but be a little proud as he did. 
But it was strange being close to you again like this, in ways that weren’t as intimate as they’d been just a few months before. He couldn’t just touch you as he cooked, trailing his hand up your thigh or his fingers over the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist where he could feel the pulse of you. Even with that odd distance, it felt like you should be close to him all the time, like he shouldn’t need to catch up with you like this because he should just know. He should just be living all of this with you.
“I’m so glad you guys aren’t fighting anymore,” Sarah said cheerfully when she finally emerged from her room for dinner, the three of you gathered around Joel’s table with cheeseburgers standing tall on your plates. 
You looked at Joel, brows raised and nose scrunched and he sighed before looking back at Sarah. 
“We weren’t fighting, baby girl,” he said. 
“Oh, sure,” Sarah nodded sarcastically. 
“He’s right. As much as I would love to just hang out with you and your dad all day, I’m afraid I do have a job,” you said. “And that means I have to be somewhere else at least some of the time.” 
“I’ve just decided that I’m not going to let you guys not talk to each other for my whole life again,” she said. “So say whatever you want, I’m just glad Aunt Goldie is back.” 
She got up and gave you both a squeeze. 
“I’m going to go do homework,” she said. 
“Believe that when I see it,” Joel scoffed. 
“And you guys have fun,” she said, ignoring you both before heading to her room. 
You watched her go, an amused smile on your face until you heard her bedroom door closed. 
“She is too smart for her own good, for the record,” you said. 
“Tell me about it,” Joel laughed. “Fuck if I know where she gets it from, too. Sure as hell ain’t me.” 
“You always underestimate yourself,” you smiled a little, watching him now. Joel shrugged. “Is it weird to say I’m proud of you? For the business stuff I mean?” 
“Nah,” Joel waved you off. “Not weird. Couldn’t have done it without you.” 
“Yes you could,” you said. “But I’m glad I got to be a part of it.” 
“Want to be more of a part of it?” He asked. “Because no one but me has read this business plan and, I’m not gonna lie to you Goldie girl, that’s making me pretty damn nervous.” 
You laughed a little. 
“Yeah,” you said. “I’d be happy to.” 
Joel just watched as you went through the documents, a serious look on your face, and you made some notes on scratch paper as you went, weirdly anxious about what you would say. Because what you thought mattered even more than the damn bank. 
“This is good,” you said when you finished, nodding slowly. “I have some questions but I think this is really good, Joel.” 
“Yeah?” He asked, brows raised. 
You smiled, one of your smiles, the ones he loved so much. 
“Yeah,” you said. “You’re getting that loan, Miller. You’re about to be Joel Miller, proud founder of Miller Brothers Construction and Contracting, how’s it feel?” 
He laughed.
“Pretty damn good,” he said. “But I do want your notes, I really want to do something right for once in my damn life.” 
“Sure,” you laughed. “But I have had a beer and four glasses of iced tea since I’ve been here so I have to pee first. Think you can manage to wait for like… two minutes?” 
“I guess,” Joel groaned. “Cave to your basic human frailties, God you’re so lame.” 
You rolled your eyes at him but ran off to the bathroom and Joel watched you go, his eyes lingering on your ass and he tried to not picture you naked in his bed, remembering the way you looked when you slept naked and kicked the covers off in the night and he could see every inch of your skin beside him. 
Your phone vibrating on the table pulled him out of his own head and he was about to call your name when he frowned, seeing the name on screen. 
Gale was calling you. 
Fucking Gale. 
He watched it ring out, staring it down like it was a threat. 
What the fuck were you doing talking to fucking Gale? You weren’t speaking to the guy when you’d been staying at Joel’s. What was he doing calling you now? 
“Alright,” you said, clapping your hands together once before punching the air as you made your way back to the kitchen. “Let’s do this thing, Miller!” 
“Why is Gale calling you?” He asked. 
Your face fell. 
“What?” You asked quietly. 
“Gale,” he said, feeling himself get madder than he should. “The fucking asshole you’re supposed to be getting away from, Gale. Your ex-husband, Gale.”
“He’s not my ex-husband,” you said, shoving your hands in your back pockets and squaring your jaw. “We’re still married. And it’s not your business who I talk to…” 
“Not your ex-husband?” He asked. “And not my business? It’s not my business, right, great…” 
“Are we doing this again?” You asked, brows raised. “Really? You’re going to be pissed that I’m seeing someone…” 
“You’re fucking seeing him?” He asked, getting to his feet. “You’re getting back together with your ex-husband, the same one who treated you like shit? Jesus Christ, Goldie!” 
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” You snapped. “But I do know that he’s coming here tomorrow so we can talk and he’s going to help me with my book and…” 
“Why!” He cut you off. “Why the fuck are you going back to that… that… fucking asshole? Goldie, you’re so much BETTER than him! You don’t…” 
“He’s my husband, Joel!” You all but yelled. “He’s someone that I promised to be with for the rest of my life and that means something, I can’t just pretend it didn't happen! We’ve been talking and…” 
“And what?” Joel snapped. “What, he start manipulating you again?” 
“Again?” You asked, incredulous. “What do you mean again, you don’t know anything about our relationship, you don’t know what he was like then, what I was like then! You don’t know that part of my life, stop pretending like you do!” 
“And why don’t I know it, hm?” He asked, just pissed off now. “Tell me, why don’t I know that part of your life when I know all the others, why don’t I know that part?” 
“Don’t,” you said, sharp and cold. 
He didn’t listen. 
“Because you left! I don’t know because you left, you left me here like I was nothing, like I didn’t fucking matter to you and yeah, maybe I didn’t but…” 
“No, fuck you,” you spat. “You don’t get to pretend like you’re just some innocent in all this…” 
“Then what am I?” He demanded. “Tell me, I’m fucking dying to know how it’s my fuckin’ fault that you took off across the damn country, changed your damn number, blocked me on goddamn Facebook when I LOVED you…” 
“Don’t,” you said, tears at the edges of your eyes. “Don’t do that, don’t say that kind of shit to me…” 
“Say what?” He asked. “Tell you the truth? Because…” 
“Because I’m not just some girl you fuck and cast aside, Joel!” You got in his face, tears falling now. “So don’t feed me the same lines you feed them because it won’t work and it’s not fair to me or to our friendship and…” 
“What lines!” He asked. “I’m not feeding you any fucking lines, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 
“I heard you!” You yelled, breathless, forceful enough that Joel stepped back from you. 
“What?” He whispered. 
“I heard you,” you said. “When you were talking with Ricky, under the bleachers after prom, I heard you. I heard how much you regretted that night, I heard what you thought of me, I fucking heard you, Joel. So don’t act like you didn’t do anything, don’t act like I meant something to you because I know I didn’t. I know what I was, I know I was just some stupid girl you regretted fucking, I heard you. I know what I am to you, deep down, so forgive me if I’m not exactly desperate to talk through this shit with you. I’m sorry the fact that someone out there wants me, actually wants me, is so inconvenient for you!” 
You snatched your phone from the table and stalked toward the door. 
“No,” he said, going after you. “No, Goldie, listen, I…”
“I’m really not interested in hearing more of your bullshit, Joel,” you snapped. “I can’t, I just don’t have it in me to hear you talk about how much you regret me anymore.” 
You paused in the doorway, looking back at him as he scrambled to find a way to say something - anything - that would make you stay. 
“Good luck at the bank,” you said. “I’m sure you’ll get what you’re asking for.” 
You were gone before he had a chance to respond. 
A/N: I'm so sorry this took a million years. Thank you for being patient as my job put me through the wringer and grad school just beat me over the head repeatedly.
This was a BIG moment for Goldie in particular! She FINALLY said it, the reason why she left and why she thinks he doesn't want her. She reopened the wound and now the ball is in Joel's court. We'll see what he does with it :)
Taglist: @kaseyconnour
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crescenthistory · 1 day ago
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heyyyy I’m just so in love with how you write Barty so I wanted to do two request if that’s okay! B6 and D8 (if it is with the series you already making even better!) and I love your writing I so much🤍🤍
hi lovie, thank you for your support<3 i've already written for both of these prompts, so i kinda reworked this, but kept the general vibe of sleepiness and fluff and the dynamic
Words: 2k
Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, remus pov near the full moon so joint aches and lots of anxiety, breaking curfew, I Need Everyone Near Where I Can Protect Them mindset, some minor suggestive quips, background wolfstar, just fluff really
Note: part of the grumpy!reader universe, set after the reveal to friends in and what about it?, but can be read as a stand alone drabble<3
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The nearer the full moon crept, the deeper Remus’ protectiveness seemed to root itself into his heart, spreading out into his bloodstream. A wolfish instinct, if you could call it that, to keep his pack close. If his friends were out of his line of sight or, even worse, out of reach for his smell, anxiety burst through Remus’ body until he was left jittery and dizzy. 
That left him in the Gryffindor common room, a good 20 minutes after curfew on a Thursday evening, leg bouncing restlessly as he watched the portrait hole with hollow eyes. 
Sirius beside him had a hand on his knee, originally intended to quell its tremor, and once he realised that would not happen, it remained there as a support. The black haired boy seemed largely unbothered by everything, but the tension in his body betrayed him – though Remus was growing suspicious he was worried about something entirely different than he was. Namely, about him.
Across from them, James was draped over a grandfather chair, head repeatedly falling as he nodded off before he jerked himself back awake.
“How much longer are we going to stay here, Moons?” he managed to get out in between yawns, already worn out from quidditch practice earlier.
“Until our friend is safe in bed.” Remus squared his shoulders haughtily, leaving no room for argument. Then, “Where is she?” he muttered to himself, so quietly Sirius only barely caught it and had to fight back his sympathetic coo.
“Y/N is fine, baby,” he whispered, the hand on his knee shaking it slightly. “It’s not the first time she’s staying out late. Hells, we do it all the time, too!”
And Remus knew that. Of course he knew that. Every other time of the month, that knowledge would have allowed him to shake his head fondly at your antics, heading off to bed excited to hear about your adventures tomorrow.
Alas; this was not any other time of the month.
“I should go find her,” Remus thought out loud, groaning as he got up from his seat too quickly and his joints gave various sounds of complaint.
“Moony, there is no need–” Sirius started before cutting himself off, apparently thinking better. “My love, if there is anyone who can navigate Hogwarts after dark, it is that minx. The shadows would be scared off by her glare alone. And she won’t appreciate your interruption of whatever she is off doing now.”
“Or who,” James whispered through his sleepiness, horror seeping into his voice.
Sirius’ groan at the thought mirrored him. “Merlin’s beard, yeah, she’s probably off with Junior.”
“I don’t think I will ever get used to hearing that.” James righted himself slightly in his chair, dragging his hands up and down his face, failing at ridding it of sleep.
Remus, still standing, turned his hands outward in a dejected position. His friends’ derailing seemed to be of little notice to him. “But we don’t know. I need to know.”
“Rem,” Sirius whispered in that unbearably soft voice Remus thought himself the luckiest boy in the world to have directed at him. He got up from his seat, hands settling on Remus’ waist, both for comfort and for steading him, he suspected. “She is alright. She always is. And, whether I quite like it or not, if she is with Junior, she is double-y safe. If nothing else, that maniac is protective.”
Remus nodded, allowing himself some comfort as he gazed into Sirius’ silver eyes. “Yeah, she is, I know she is.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at Sirius’ lips. “But?”
“But I’m going to go get her.” Remus’ heart clenched a little in humiliation at how deep the wolf’s streak ran in him in these days, but he also would not let any discomfort get in the way of having his whole pack at home in their nests, where they belong. You can continue your adventures tomorrow.
“Yeah, I know you are,” Sirius relented, pulling Remus into a quick, squeezing hug to ground him. “I’ll go get the map and the cloak and we’ll go.”
Before Sirius could finish his sentence, Remus had accio’d both into his hands.
“No, that’s alright, I’ll go myself.” When Sirius looked like he was about to argue, Remus waved his wand a little in his face as if to say down boy. “As Head Boy, I can get away easier with being out past curfew – you on the other hand, would be shackled up in Flich’s basement before you could get a word out.”
“I have been out past curfew without being caught before, Moons,” Sirius guffawed in true Sirius-offence. 
“Not when picking up one of your best friends from nighttime adventures with one of your least favourite people.” Despite his anxiety and tire, Remus shot Sirius a wink and a small grin that told him I know you, Pads.
Sirius sat back down on the sofa with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly. “Be quick, or I’ll be the grumbly wolf.”
Remus bent down – biting back a small groan as his hip objected – and pressed a wet smooch to Sirius’ forehead and ruffled his hair. “You already are, love.”
When Remus walked towards the portrait hole, map and cloak in hand, he passed a snoring James with his mouth agape. He had a creeping sensation that by the time he came back, Sirius would have woken the poor boy by poking his finger into his mouth.
Cloak around him for extra measure, Remus silently slid down the halls of Hogwarts, fumbling the map open to find you. Just as suspected, a small Y/N L/N was in the astronomy tower with a certain Bartemius Crouch Junior, foot steps almost on top of each other.
He almost cursed his friend for choosing her romantic get-away spot at the top of such an awful amount of stairs before he remembered the spell you had crafted for him with Madam Pomfrey just a few weeks back. You had dedicated your free time to inventing solutions for Remus’ different aches – “what’s the point of magic if not to make your life easier, Moons?” – and while this one was still a work in progress, it allowed the field of gravity around his legs to be lifted enough to take some of the pressure off his poor joints. It worked way better than the countless amounts of times James and Sirius had tried to wingardium leviosa him to class.
As he neared the door that your names were sheltered behind on the map, Remus’ nose was appeased as your familiar scent once more flooded him. Barty’s too, for that matter, and though that was a less welcoming one, Remus had come to find he didn’t much mind it either. 
However, he did not hear voices, which puzzled him. Nor any other sounds that perhaps would have had him turning around.
With a careful hand, Remus opened the creaking door to the very top of the astronomy tower, peaking his tawny curls through the opening and trying to behave as a normal concerned friend and not an anxious, possessive wolf.
“Lupin; to what do we owe the displeasure?”
The voice had all of its usual crass wittiness, but an eight of its usual volume. In the wide windowsill across from Remus, the one that had a view of most of Hogwarts’ grounds, sat Barty propped up with a few pillows and you, sleeping soundly on his chest. 
One arm was held protectively around you, his free hand carding gently through your hair. Your face was slightly smushed against his chest, breathing soft and steady.
Remus doubted he had ever seen you look so serene. It almost made him feel bad for interrupting. Almost.
“Good evening to you too, Junior,” he whispered, as he slowly made his way through the room and over to your sleeping form. He swore he could see Barty tighten his grip on you.
“Should a Head Boy be breaking curfew like this? What would good old Albus say?” 
“Well, when a member of his house doesn’t come home at night, I believe it is a Head Boy’s duty to come fetch them.” Remus tried to seem unbothered, not wanting Barty to know just how anxious he gets when his friends are apart. “Albus would certainly approve.”
Barty hummed, looking from him and down at you. The soft smile that played over his lips did not escape Remus. “I would argue she is home.” Barty’s voice was teasing, but it felt quite real for Remus.
“Is that where your relationship is at now?” There was no teasing in Remus’ voice, just soft curiosity. Support, even, though he could never tell Sirius that.
Barty’s eyes flickered up from you again, facing becoming a bit more stoney as he realised his own sleepiness was making him a tad more soft than he wanted to be in front of the Gryffindor.
“Whatever. Well, as you can see, she’s safe. So you can sod off again.”
“She should come back to the dormitories, Junior. I’m sure she wasn’t planning on spending the night sleeping in a stony windowsill, that can’t possibly be comfortable at length.” 
“Firstly, she is mostly sleeping on top of me right now and I’ll have you know I am super comfortable,” Barty quipped, eyeing Remus. “Secondly,–” a breath “– no, she wasn’t planning on sleeping here, but she did fall asleep. So.”
Remus nodded slowly as he read between the lines, trying to fight his small smile at Barty’s expense – he was sure he would not have appreciated it. “You don’t have the heart to wake her.”
Barty scoffed, but his eyes betrayed him. He was caught. “I don’t have a heart period, Lupin.”
“But?” Remus asked, amusement lining his voice in a way he realised mirrored how Sirius spoke to him earlier. Knowingly, affectionately. 
“But look at her, Lupin. I can’t wake her.” While speaking, Barty seemed to gesture towards your sleeping form with the nod of his jaw, refusing to move his hands from where they were drawing circles on your back and playing with your hair.
Remus hummed in agreement, smile officially bursting free of his hold.
“Oh, sodder off,” Barty grumbled as he saw Remus’ expression, but there seemed to be little to no malice in his voice.
“Sorry, sorry,” Remus laughed softly, careful not to wake you with their conversation. “Just… this was not what I expected to happen three years ago when James confessed his feelings for Regulus to me.”
Barty seemed to scowl at the thought of his best friend and his Gryffindor. “They’re disgusting.”
“Yeah,” Remus said fondly. “And so are you two. Ain’t it great?” 
Barty grumbled, hand in your hair stilling to hold the back of your head. “I’m still not waking her up for you.”
“No need. If you’re careful with shifting her, you could carry her back to the dorms with me.”
“You want me to carry her all the way to Gryffindor?” Barty asked incredulously, looking at Remus as if he was stupid. “I appreciate you noticing my spectacular biceps, but that’s just not happening.”
Remus’ eyes twinkled. “Actually, I’ve got just the spell to make it easier for you.”
And so, Barty carefully shuffled you in his arms while Remus had his wand aimed at the both of you, helping ease the gravity off your form so that it would both be easier for Barty to carry you and for you to continue sleeping.
When you were bridal style in his arms, you shifted a little, burying your face further into his neck. “Sorry, Treasure,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline.
“Fuck off, Junior, let me sleep,” you whined, growing comfortable and tired once more. Remus had to fight not to laugh loudly.
“It’s not my fault, the cops showed up to end our fun.” Barty looked at Remus conspiratorially, who only rolled his eyes in return, as he led the way back to Gryffindor. 
“Stop saying stupid things and let me sleep, baby.” Your voice was already drifting off once more and Barty grinned widely at your slurred words.
“Yes, ma’am.”
It amazed Remus how much this boy loved being insulted by you. Your perfect match, evidently.
As you drifted back to sleep, and the closer your little trio got to the common room where his partner and best friend were waiting, the more Remus’ nerves seemed to settle. Everyone is where they should be.
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seunghansgf · 2 days ago
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Rough sex with seunghan?? Jealousy or maybe just stressed from work
sativa | hong seunghan x reader
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𐙚 plot! : seunghan had a stressing day of work due to practicing his group’s upcoming comeback choreo “boom boom bass.” you had volunteered to help him destress.
₊˚⊹ᰔ warnings!? : dom & sub dynamics! pet names! seunghan is a meanie dom >:( ! semi-overstim! rough sex! unprotected sex! (wrap ur willy or i’ll slap u silly!)
。𖦹°‧ if you are uncomfortable with smut of seunghan or smut in general, please do not proceed past ‘read more’ point! if you are aware of what you are reading then enjoy!
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seunghan had a long stressful day at work, which isn’t out of the ordinary for him especially since comeback was around the corner. but god shotaro and wonbin were running practice like it was the navy, constantly having to redo the choreography, going over each and every step in great detail due to wonbin’s perfectionist behavior. learning boom boom bass was fun at times but of course today had to be the day where wonbin was being incredibly sensitive about the crucial details for the choreography. seunghan decided to go over to your place for the night, not only to spend time with you but to also destress ( mainly to spend time though lol ) he had the spare key to your door and had let himself inside, you were nowhere to be found to his surprise. “asleep already?” he closed the door behind him as he removed his shoes and set his bag down, going down the hall to your bedroom before knocking on the door.
you got up from your bed and opened it to see your boyfriend standing there, oh how good he looked but you could tell he was stressed. you grabbed him by the hand and dragged him inside your room before closing the door, seunghan sat on your bed as he ran his fingers through his already messy hair. “long day i’m guessing?” you said as you crawled onto the bed again and wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind him, he could only nod and sigh, he hated days where he couldn’t feel any way of speaking without thinking he’ll just sound mean, you felt the energy he was having and sat next to him. “i can help you destress.” you said as your hand wandered on his arm, he was wearing a muscle shirt and his usual sweats, he gently grabbed your face and kissed you.
and now he has you under him, on your stomach and your ass up as his hands guided your hips to bounce on his cock, groans and moans coming out from him as your face was buried into the pillow. “aw come on, baby, you wanted this, no?” seunghan said with a tongue click before speeding his movements up again, your head lifted itself as you cry out in pleasure, your knuckles nearly turning white from how much you had been squeezing the pillow for the past few rounds, seunghan scoffed before reaching with his free hand to hold your head back by your hair. “answer.” he said, his voice laced with fake pity, he enjoyed getting off how easily you go for him, he couldn’t help but laugh earlier when he had gotten you to squirt simply with his fingers. he adores how pathetic you are for him. “hani.. ‘s too much!” you managed to finally whine out, you don’t know how much longer you could withstand being edged AGAIN, seunghan just shrugged and continued to plow his cock into your cunt, not a single care in the world. “aw, that sucks huh.” he laughed and watched how his cock slid in ‘n out of you perfectly.
“hani please!” you whined out again as you cried out in pleasure, it felt so good but god you hated how he kept edging you, it felt like torture. seunghan just moaned out in response, the feeling of your wet cunt around his cock always sent him into the clouds. “just a little more, baby, you can do it.” he said as he felt himself nearing his urge to cum in you again, his hand on your hip moving you quicker with his movements as his head tilted back from how good he felt. “wanna.. cum please..” you begged yet again, your body shaking from the overstimulation that hani’s been causing you plus the constant edging. seunghan thrusts got sloppy as he kept hold on your hair, his breathing heavy. “alright. fine. go ahead.” he finally gave in as he came in you, you finally cumming right after, the whines and moans you let out made him feel more satisfied with himself.
he pulled out and let go of your hair before cleaning you up with a warm towel and flipping you onto your back gently, as he cleaned you up, he kissed your forehead and smiled. “thank you.. this helped alot actually.” he said with a sweet smile on his face, you smiled back at him shyly. “of course, baby, anything for you.” you pulled him down to cuddle you and he gave him, laughing a bit. that moment was cut short of you both heard the sound of a call hanging up. yours and seunghan’s faces couldn’t even comprehend the shock that left your bodies. he grabbed his phone from the counter to see who was called.
it was sohee.
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sleeepybeary · 1 day ago
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☆ 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 ☆
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𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: Your painting skills are a little... off?
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,002
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“Hold still, would you? I need to focus” Agatha's voice was that of a shattering jar amongst the waves of pristine silence, an anomaly in the mix.
Why were you sitting in silence?
That question fell short of explanations as you stared into the blue eyes of your girlfriend - feeling absolutely enamoured at the way she looked. With a slight crease between her eyebrows and a pensive fog encapsulating her eyes - a wrinkle at the edges of her nose - she was absolutely stunning.
“But… I don't know if I can find it in me to remain posed” you responded in a hushed comment, blinking a few times as to capture her expressions change in smaller clips at a time.
She tuts, raising her brush covered in a black coating of paint and pressing it to the tip of your nose.
Your face was already slathered in a cool mask of paint, so to feel the brush press against your skin made little difference now - no longer sending a gentle chill down your spine.
“I'll have to hold you at brush point then” She grins, her teeth making a point to shine through her lips as she does so. “Now close your eyes so we can hurry this up”
Following her words, your eyes fall into a shuttered state, finding the strokes of her loosened wrist almost calming as it leaves a tickling trail across your eyelids.
A few minutes pass before Agatha claps her hands together in a self appreciative applause, holding the end of the paint brush within her mouth. She looked proud, a hypothetical badge of pride being gifted and handed to her self-esteem.
“Can I see now?” You blinked, watching as Agatha grew quick to fetch you a hand mirror, twisting it within her palm to reveal her art upon your skin.
Gazing back at you was your painted reflection. Your skin had reached a point of unrecognition through the ten minute long challenge Agatha had tricked you into, using one of her infamous “you know you love me?” lines.
You were depicted to be that of a cat, from what you could assume anyway.
“Don't you look adorable, my love?” She grins, finally placing the paint brush down.
“I'm… a black cat?” You tilted your head.
“Not just any black cat” she rolled her eyes, folding her arms “you're our black cat. You're Eve!”
Your eyes involuntarily scan the room, looking for any sign of your now adopted black cat for a comparison. Though, she was nowhere to be found.
“Anyway” she dragged her arms through the air, flicking her wrists, before she sat down in the chair opposite you. “It's my turn now”
Letting a sigh brush past your lips and enter the atmosphere, you stand and reach for your own paint brush, grabbing one of her larger ones to help apply the base layer first.
“Just so you're aware, I have absolutely no faith in myself that this will turn out as something you'd be able to guess without knowing the actual inspiration”
Agatha shakes her head slightly, a smile blossoming upon her features. “I'm sure I'll be able to guess. Don't you worry that pretty little face of yours”
Pursing your lips, your wrist begins to twist against the surface of her face, covering as much as you could in one go before drowning and soaking your brush in the hearty dollop of paint again.
Paint. Soak. Paint. Soak.
You followed the basic principles, being swallowed and utterly engulfed by the silence that yet again took a hold of your situation until the timer ran low on just a minute remaining.
At that point, a blended hue of white and green was being used as a construct for details, using them to draw lines and curves where you saw fit.
“I can feel how warm you are when you're this close” There she goes again, breaking the balance of peace once more.
“Has anyone ever told you that speaking your mind isn't always necessarily a good thing?”
She scoffed lightheartedly, peeking at you through her closed eyelids. “I'd say it's going pretty well. I mean, you decided to date me; if that's not what you call going well, then I don't know what could be classified as such”
You ignore her words as you push through the last remaining moments, finding your concentration poisoned with every passing stroke of paint as it gains in a distaste for quality.
“Times up, babe” Agatha mumbles, pulling herself away from you, her hand wrapping around your wrist. Her eyes glimmer in a coat of impatience once they re-open, her hand instantly taking hold of the mirror.
Though, as Agatha examined herself within her reflection, you took the moment to look over just what exactly you had created upon her once beautiful face.
You were aiming for a dragon, but with the random flicks and half complete lines that were supposed to be scales, she looks more like some slime monster if anything else.
Biting back a look of embarrassment, your self-restraint almost chokes you as your girlfriend's face goes through the motions of every possible expression to have ever existed.
At first, she looked ecstatic; then confused; then frustrated; then partly sad; and now she just looks like she's standing at some crossroad between all of the previous ones.
"I'm... a flower?" She glances at you from behind the mirror, a half-built grin upon her lips.
Groaning, you pinch the bridge of your nose, plaguing your fingertips with black paint in a smearing between skin as you do so. "You're meant to be a dragon..."
"I look more like grass!" She snorts out a boisterous laugh, her head tilting back slightly, leaving show for her half painted underchin. "We should get you to partake in those painting classes they hold every Tuesday"
"Agatha!" You gasp as your eyes grow wide. "That's for children!"
"Exactly!"
“You're actually so evil, you know that, right?” You glance away, holding eye contact with some old painting on the wall, avoiding the cheshire grin that she put up front for you.
"Maybe... but you wouldn't have me any other way. Now let me show you what you done wrong."
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gyratingpresley · 3 days ago
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You're mine.
Summary
Austin had been away filming Bikeriders for longer than you had liked. When everything was finished he finally got a break, and on the 14th of August a party Tom Hardy had invited you to was booming. The party is full of life, many men are staring at the woman glued to the king "Austin Butler." You. Austin's beloved wife, but there was one guy in particular that couldn't keep his eyes off you and it was unfortunately Austin's co-star Tom. Finally Austin had enough, dragging you away and eventually you went your separate ways for the night.
Sitting at the bar all by your lonesome and man shows up, Walt, he is gay, and suffering from husbanditis. You end up on the dance floor, and before you know it Austin is dragging you to the car, as soon as you get home, you don't know what will happen...
Warnings: Austin being aggressive, and protective, heavy smut (and I mean HEAVY) Young people get outta here, Asshole Austin/a little corrupt, AustinButlerxreader.
I AM TAKING REQUESTS!! (My first story, so expect mistakes!) Anyways, have a good read, Angels x
Austin had been away filming his new movie Bikeriders, and now that it was finished, he was getting a break from everything. You had been at home lonely, waiting for him to come back, and when he did, you had no idea how much he actually changed. It was now August the 14th, two days before his birthday, you had bought him a new pair of dress shoes for the party Tom had invited you to. "Austin?" You walked over to the bathroom he stood in, fixing his tie. "What's wrong, Honey?" Austin continued fiddling around with his tie as he spoke to you; "Nothings wrong, I just wanted to give you an early birthday present!" His eyes lit up at your words. He reached for the box, undoing the silk ribbon, and placing the top on the bathroom sink. The shoes were black, with some pink on the sides. "Y/n you didn't have to, baby. This is too much!" Austin put the box down and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, "They match your black blazer and pink shirt." You smiled and kissed him passionately. He deepened the kiss, licking your lower lip, demanding access, which you, of course, obeyed, opening your mouth just so his tongue could explore it all. Austin groaned against your mouth when you began to pull away. "Come on, Austin, we really gotta go baby, if we don't leave now, we might not get to the party." He smirked, giving you a peck on the lips, "We'll finish this later then.." he teased. The dress you wore was a black dress with some pink lace. Yes, to match Austin, he had given you his black blazer to wear over the top of your shoulders in case you got cold.
Austin had an arm around your waist, and as the two of you walked up to the casino, Tom had cleared out for the party. "I wonder if Tom Hardy is as cute as he was in legend," you giggled, teasing him the slightest bit. Austin slapped your ass, making you yelp. "Continue to talk like that, and I might just have to take you home now and teach you a lesson." You looked at him in shock, knowing he wouldn't forget about what he said, you knew full damn well you would be taught a lesson whether you liked it or not, and to be honest you felt butterflies in your stomach. The two of you walked in, trying to squeeze through the hordes of people. Finally, you found Tom, he was at a bar with a lady. "Tom!" Austin screamed, his voice barely a scream over the loud jazz and conversation. Tom turned to you both, a smile creeping across his face. "Austin! Welcome!" Tom gave him a very manly hug and turned to you, "Hello, you must be..." You smiled and took his hand that was extended out to you. "Y/n! Y/n Butler", Tom nods, "Your his sister?" Austin chokes on the coke he was handed, "Wife, not sister, wife." He corrects him. You laughed. As you began to talk to him about the movies he had been in, you couldn't help but notice his eyes. The way they would skim your body, often lingering at your chest, and you weren't the only one who noticed this, Austin had as well, he curled his fists into balls, trying to calm himself down, so that he doesn't go off, at his co star. "Hey Tom, uh, we're gonna mingle with some people." Tom nodded and pat Austin on the shoulder, sending you a wink and finally heading back to his lady. Austin hadn't had a problem with you being around men. Well, that was before he got the role as Benny, and now he always seems to get angry at any man who even looks at you. You even noticed during the filming of Elvis that he was changing. You looked up at Austin as he walked the two of you over to a group of people, "Austin, that was really rude!" He stopped in his tracks, his gaze turning to you. "What are you on about! He was the one staring at your tits! And really! Quite frankly, I don't like anyone staring at MY woman's- my WIFES breasts." You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek. "Look baby, I, I don't mean... I don't mean to be rude or anything. It's just that I knew you were uncomfortable!" He tried his best to convince you. Yes, Tom did make you a little uncomfortable, but you could handle it just by closing the top button of Austin's blazer. Austin pinched the bridge of his nose, now looking up at the ceiling, his Adam's apple more visible than ever. You scoff "I need a drink, you go mingle with people Austin, I'll find you later." He watched you walk over to another bar, finally raising his hands up in defeat and letting you have your moment, Okay! Yes! It did make you feel weird, and you kind of didn't like it, but it was rude of Austin to just sweep you away like that... wasn't it?
You sat on a bar stool, swirling a glass of champagne in your hand. Austin was on the other side of the casino, talking with some friends. Taking this time to look around the place, you saw people laughing, having fun gambling. God, you needed something to liven up this party. "Lonely?" A man question, raising his voice a little so you could actually hear him, looking to your side you chuckled. The man that stood beside you was stunning. He had brown curly hair, hazel eyes, and a beauty mark above his lip. "Yeah, I am definitely lonely," you responded, taking a swig from your glass. He smiled. "I'm Walter, you can call me Walt," Walter, hm, what a nice name you thought. "So, Walt, why are you alone tonight?" He blew air out of his mouth, almost sounding exhausted, "My husband, he has gone to talk with people... now, just hold on a minute? What is your name?" You giggled, "y/n! And I'm lonely because my husband has also gone to Mingle." Walter chuckles, rubbing your arm, "Well you're not lonely anymore!" Its been a long long time, played in the background, making it harder for you to hear him. You stand up, straighting out your dress, "Dance?" He seemed to perk up at your words.
A little dancing later and next thing Austin has your wrist in a vice grip, dragging you away from Walt and off the dance floor. "Austin! What the hell! I was dancing." You hissed at him, his feet walking quicker than you could keep up with. He was practically dragging you to the car. "Get in." He demanded, swinging the car door open. Before you could hop in Austin gripped your neck claiming your lips, "You're mine baby girl, all mine." He growled against them, giving you one last rough peck before heading over to the drivers seat.
A little over 20 minutes later you arrived at the penthouse, it was the longest 20 minutes of your life, the antagonizing wait for what will happen when you walk through those doors. Finally you heard the door lock. The hallway was silent, nothing but the faint sound of Austin breathing, he took slow steps towards you, one hand dragging up your back to grasp your neck, the other slowly snaked around your waist turning you around. His breath hot on your neck, "I don't like being played with."
"Austin, I wasn't playing with yo-"
"Don't fucking lie to me."
"He was gay!"
Austin went silent, his blood was boiling, what does it matter if he's gay?
"What does that fucking matter? Hmm?"
He rips the skimpy lace of your dress down, your breasts spilling out. He roughly grasps one, taking the pink bud between his ring adorned fingers, you squeal. "Who owns these? Hm?" Austin kisses them quickly. Your mouth opened to speak, but the words died at your lips.
"Who fucking owns them!"
"You do! You own them!
Austin lets out a throaty groan, "That's right, my breasts - He places a kiss to them - and my throbbing cunt - He slaps your wet core, making you yelp - to toy with." You do the mistake of letting out a scoff, his eyes darken to a shade you didn't know existed. As soon as he threw you over your shoulder you knew you were fucked. Austin smacked your ass as you squealed, "My fucking woman. Mine." He began to walk up the stairs towards your shared bedroom, you felt his cold hands pull up the bottom of your dress to press kisses to your thigh, you gasped as he bit down on the supple skin of your butt. "Austin!" you groaned banging your hands against his back. Reaching your bed he throws you down onto the plush mattress, Austin watched as you tried to scramble away, grabbing your ankles and yanking you back.
"Fuck! Austin!"
He tutted, "Language."
Austin slid his hand under you, flipping you onto your stomach. His hand met your ass with a loud clap, you jolted. His hand curled around your neck, bringing you up to him. "Who do you belong to? hm?" He growled, his breath hot on your neck. "You, Austin. You!" He chuckled darkly at your words. Austin smacked your clothed ass over and over again, the pain turning to pleasure as you choked out a moan. He stops. "Oh? You like this, little girl?" His voice rough, you gasp, he hasn't called you that since he was filming Elvis, of course you would normally call him "daddy", but this was no role play. The sound of Austin fumbling with his belt echoed in the room, it finally landing on the ground with a clink, "You want me to fuck you, little girl?" Your face was shoved into the soft pillows, it muffled your moans, Austin pulled the rest of your dress off, leaving you in your panties, his finger fiddled with the band of them, eventually sliding them down revealing your wet pussy. "So wet." He growled out. He drew circles on your swollen clit, your walls were throbbing, you needed him inside you. Austin flipped you around again, picking you up and wrapping your weak legs around his waist. Without thought he pushed his hard cock inside of you to the hilt. He groaned, collecting your moans with a kiss. "So fuckin' tight." His deep southern accent coming out to play, you had been so entrapped in his new look and sound for Benny, that you forgot how much Elvis, Austin, turned you on. "Yes baby!" You squealed as he thrusted into you relentlessly, "Oh god, keep going!" You moaned.
The room smelt of pure sex, that musty, sultry smell, it fed the coil beginning to form in your belly, Austin's hips snapped into yours, driving his cock deeper into you. The coil tightened as he bit your bottom lip, Austin's thrusts gained pace as he began to chase out his first orgasm, you cupped his face kissing him, both of you capturing each others moans. "Cum with me baby, cum with me." His words tipped you over the edge, both of you riding out the pleasure together, you felt the warm feeling of his painting your walls white. Austin's thrusts came to a shuddering halt. He grunted as the last of his seed spilled into you.
He wasted no time pulling out of you, you whined, feeling empty. You stood on your feet, knees almost giving out. Austin cupped your face pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. He backed you up back towards the bed, when your thighs hit the edge he pushed you down. "What are you doing?" You said, looking at him through lidded eyes, he hummed, kneeling down, "I'm hungry." those words slid off his tongue like honey, he spread your legs, one arm holding your pelvis down, the other toying with your slick folds, his cum was still leaking out of you, you gasped as he shoved his fingers into you, pushing his seed back in, "Better make me a daddy, hm little one?". Off came his shirt before he dived into your cunt like a starved man. "Austin! I can't, too sore! Too sensitiv-" He cut you off, nipping your clit, you squealed, "Yes you can. This is my pussy, I say when it can't take any more." He licked a strip up your folds, thrusting his tongue in. You moaned, biting the white sheets that covered the bed. Austin sent you into your next orgasm, rubbing your sensitive clit to help. Your legs fell limp onto the mattress, he stood up from the floor, smiling at you, so helpless. He left the room, grabbing a warm wet towel. "Here, baby." You moaned as the warm fabric brushed against your abused pussy. Austin pressed a kiss to your clit, standing again to walk into the closet, he pulled out a pair or pretty pink panties, a bow adorned the middle, he knew you hated sleeping without underwear. You hummed, sitting up, "Thank you." he slipped the panties over your legs, releasing them with a snap. He pulled you down into the bed, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.
"He was gay." You whispered.
Austin growled against your neck, "And your mine."
Let me know if you want a part 2...
Tagged:
Comment if you want to be tagged in my next story.
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thisapplepielife · 7 hours ago
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Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.
Not Just Sundays
Prompt: Sloth | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin Trying to Make it On the Road, Steve Back Home in Hawkins, Failing at Managing the Distance, Good Uncle Wayne, A Touch of Angst w/a Happy Ending
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Another night, another show, and another missed phone call that he promised he'd make over a week ago. Fuck. Time is just slipping away from him. From the studio to gigs to party after party. They've really got a good thing going, and slowing down right now just isn't an option. Once the ball is rolling, you gotta keep it going. Steve will understand. Steve always understands.
He's good like that.
Eddie knows Steve wants the band to make it. Succeed. Even if that means Steve's been getting a smaller slice of Eddie's attention right now. It won't always be like this, Eddie's sure, so for right now he's gonna strike while the iron is hot.
He'll call Steve tomorrow. For sure.
A week later, there's a note waiting at the front desk of the next hotel. An order to call home. Eddie looks at his watch, but doesn't really have time to call Wayne right now. 
"Make time," Jeff says, as if Eddie had said that out loud for everyone to hear. He didn't, he doesn't think, Jeff just knows him that well.
"Fine," Eddie says, and drags his ass off to one of the phone booths in the lobby. It's cheaper than using the room phone, he's sure.
Wayne picks up after three rings.
"I had a boy here last night, pretty upset after not hearing from you in sixteen days," Wayne drawls by way of greeting. It's a condemnation, and Eddie feels it. If he hasn't talked to Steve in sixteen days, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's called Wayne. 
Longer. Much longer.
"Shit," Eddie says.
"I'd say," Wayne answers.
"I'm just busy," Eddie says, and he knows it's an excuse. He could make time, he just hasn't prioritized it. Like getting out of Hawkins just spread his wings a little too far.
Wayne sighs. 
"What will it profit anyone, if they were to gain the whole world, but lose their own soul?” Wayne quotes, and Eddie leans his head against the glass.
"Are you proselytizing to me again, old man?" Wayne grew up with religion in a way that Eddie did not, and therefore can pull verses and lessons out of his coveralls pocket at any time. It's annoying.
Wayne sighs, "No. I'm not. Not really. But what good will it be to you, boy, if you make it to the top, and then take a look around, only to realize you're all by yourself?"
He's not all by himself. He's got Gareth and Jeff and Goodie. 
But he knows what Wayne means. Will the fame be worth it, if he loses Steve in the process? No. No way, and he knows that. He does. It's just been hard to juggle both right now.
"I'll call him," Eddie promises.
"It's not that," Wayne says, as if that wasn't the reason for his whole call.
"It's not?"
"Think long and hard, Ed. If you don't have space for him right now, if you don't want to make space, it's okay."
And Eddie starts to argue.
"Eddie. It's okay. But don't string him along while he waits back home. It's not right."
"What do you-"
"Shit or get off the pot, kid."
And Eddie laughs. They've moved from a sermon to Midwestern idioms. Great.
But he knows Wayne is right. 
Goddammit.
He calls Steve next, and he's not home. Which, that serves Eddie right. He doesn't leave a message, feels that's too easy. Steve will hear it, forgive him, and Eddie thinks he deserves to get a little bit of his anger. A little bit of his hurt.
They have a four-night break. He could run home. It's not that far. See Steve. See Wayne. Put out the fires he's caused.
Yeah. He's doing that.
Eddie throws some clothes in his duffle, as the other three watch him pack.
"And you'll be back by Thursday?" Jeff asks, and Eddie swears he will be. He knows the schedule. 
"Okay then," Jeff says, tossing the keys onto the bedspread, "go apologize."
Eddie will grovel, will beg if that's what it takes.
It was a long drive to think. The house is dark. He pulls out his keys and lets himself inside. It's kind of a mess, which is so unlike Steve. There are dishes piled into one side of the sink, and laundry sitting in baskets waiting to be folded.
Maybe he's just been busy at work. Picking up extra shifts or something.
Eddie dumps his bag in the bedroom, and no Steve there either. 
He needs something to do to keep his idle hands busy, and he starts the dishes. Folds the laundry, then moves on to running the sweeper. 
It's after ten, and still no Steve. Maybe he's staying at Robin's. It's too late to call her, she'll either be pissed or worried about where Steve is, so Eddie can't do anything except wait and worry that maybe he's too late.
Then a key's sliding into the lock, jiggling the handle, door swinging open, just before eleven. Eddie's been sitting on the couch in the dark.
And he doesn't mean to, but he scares the shit out of Steve.
"Jesus Christ, fucking hell," Steve snaps, clutching his hand to his chest like he's decades older than his years. Like he's terrified.
Well, that's probably fair. He spent his teenage years being chased by monsters.
"Sorry, sorry, it's just me," Eddie reassures, holding out his hands as if to prove that he's harmless.
He's not harmless.
He's hurt Steve, and that's a bitter fucking pill to swallow.
"What are you doing here?" Steve asks as he takes a couple big steps forward, barreling into Eddie's chest. He smells like sweat and, well, Steve. 
Eddie hugs him back, but feels like shit that Steve has so easily opened his arms, and heart, after Eddie's been so careless with him.
"Everything okay?" Steve asks, face presses into Eddie's neck.
"Yes, yes, I just missed you and I've been pretty shitty about showing that," Eddie explains, hugging him as tight as he can.
"Missed you, too," Steve says, "I'm glad you're home."
Eddie wants to know where he was, wants to know how he's passing the time. But isn't sure if he should barrel in and start demanding to know things. He's the one that hasn't been around, hasn't been reaching out, he probably doesn't get to start grilling Steve.
"I probably stink," Steve says, trying to take a step back, but Eddie won't allow it and just hugs him tighter.
"Love it, wouldn't change a thing," Eddie teases and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's chest.
He really wouldn't change a thing.
"Sunday night basketball," Steve offers, as if that's an explanation. 
"Yes, of course, that," Eddie says, teasing him a little more, and Steve giggles, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck.
"Mr. Clarke unlocks the gym. And the dads and old men in town get together and play basketball at the gym," Steve says, fingers digging into Steve's back.
Eddie laughs, "Mr. Clarke plays basketball?"
"Not well," Steve admits, biting him, just a gentle nip, and fuck Eddie's missed him. "But good isn't a requirement. Just gotta be outta high school and willing to show up."
Eddie should know this. Should know what Steve does every night, not just Sundays. 
"I'm sorry I've been scarce," Eddie apologizes, "I've been an asshole."
"You've been busy," Steve counters, "but I wouldn't mind hearing from you more often. Even if it's just for a few minutes."
"I'll do better," Eddie promises, and hopes that's true. Steve deserves for him to do better. Eddie wants to do better for him, for them, for their whole future, for their present.
Where he's a touring musician, for real, and Steve is playing basketball with Mr. Clarke for fun.
Eddie wants it all with Steve.
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If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
Notes: Sloth was interesting to approach! Of course, at first I was like, sloth = lazy. Then I read this:
"Sloth becomes a sin when it slows down and even brings to a halt the energy we must expend in using the means to salvation."
Obviously, I'm twisting the religious take here, but Steve's his salvation, and he can't neglect expending his energy to love him.
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angeliqueiguess · 24 hours ago
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“Focus!” (j.jh)
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018. whirlwind warnings: swearing, angsty
Y/n, determined to take the first step, headed back toward the office she had just left moments ago. From the hallway, she caught sight of Jaehyun still inside, sitting with his back to the door, motionless. She inhaled deeply, trying not to overthink it, and pushed the door open without looking directly at him.
Jaehyun spun around in his chair, startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to return. Until now, he’d been sure it would end the same way it always did: him trying to talk to her, something getting in the way, and then another missed opportunity—an endless, frustrating cycle. But this time felt different, and that tiny shift gave him a flicker of hope.
“Are you okay?” he asked, though he knew right away that it wasn’t the right question. The look on her face told him she wasn’t here to drag this out any longer than necessary. He adjusted himself in the chair, realizing he needed to cut to the point.
“Look... I get it if you don’t want to talk right now, but I need you to know I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just... need you to hear me out, even if it’s just for a moment, because—”
The door swung open, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Jae, I came as soon as I—” Johnny’s voice trailed off when he saw her. “Y/n...”
He stood there, breathless from rushing over. The sudden appearance of her brother made everything unravel in Y/n’s mind. Whatever courage had carried her back into that room dissolved in an instant. She stood abruptly, her body tense, as if trying to calculate the quickest way out.
She glanced between Johnny and Jaehyun, the weight of everything she’d been holding in pressing down on her chest. It was too much—too fast, too soon. She wasn’t ready to face them both. Not like this.
“I’ll talk to you later,” she muttered, her voice rushed and clipped.
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heels and strode out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind her. Johnny and Jaehyun called her name in unison, but she ignored them, her mind set on one thing: she needed to leave. Now.
Her steps were quick, almost frantic, as she made her way toward the building’s exit. Her thoughts swirled in chaotic loops, and the only thing she was sure of was that she needed to find some clarity. She needed Ten.
He would know exactly what to say, just like he always did. He’d remind her to ground herself, to breathe, to let everything go for a moment. She needed that—needed to feel the cool grass under her fingers, disconnect from the whirlwind in her mind, and hear the steady, grounding advice from the one person who always seemed to understand how to help her find her way back to herself.
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Meanwhile, back in the office, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Jaehyun paced restlessly from one side of the room to the other, dragging his hands through his hair as if that would somehow bring clarity to the chaos in his mind.
"I don’t know what else to do," he muttered, stopping briefly to glance at Johnny, who sat in the same chair Jaehyun had occupied earlier. Frustration dripped from every word. "I fucked it all up again. What if she never speaks to me after this?" His voice cracked slightly before bitterness took over. "Why did you have to show up?"
Johnny frowned, folding his arms. "Oh, so this is my fault now?" he snapped. "Sorry, Jaehyun, but if I remember correctly, you were the one who texted me."
"Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to show up," Jaehyun shot back almost yelling "God, I’m such an idiot…" He slumped into the chair, burying his face in his hands. "It’s been years, and I still can’t have a normal conversation with her because she never lets me." His sigh was long and heavy, as if hoping to exhale the frustration that had been weighing on him for too long—but it didn’t help.
Johnny studied him quietly for a moment, then said, "What I don’t get is… why don’t you just tell her how you feel already?"
Jaehyun lifted his head, staring at Johnny like he’d just suggested something ridiculous. A scoff left his nose as he shook his head.
"Right, because that’s so easy for you," he replied sarcastically. "Sure, just open my mouth, say what’s on my mind, and magically everything falls into place. If only it worked like that." He paused, pressing his lips together. "It’s not that simple for me, Johnny. I... I still... love her, fuck... saying it out loud feels impossible."
He shot to his feet and paced towards the glass door, as if movement could somehow keep the overwhelming emotions at bay.
"Jaehyun," Johnny called, making him stop and turn. "You can’t keep running from this—neither of you can. But you need to know... someone else is getting ahead of you. Fast."
Jaehyun clenched his jaw at those words, his worst fear, Taeyong keeping her from him, inching closer to reality.
"I know," he murmured, the sadness in his voice unmistakable. "And that’s what I'm gonna change."
Without waiting for a response, Jaehyun pushed the door open and walked out, leaving it to swing gently behind him.
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prev//next masterlist
Angie's note: i’m so so so sorry i said i was going to post this after the last one (i was studying lol) i hope u liked itt and don’t forget to drink water and to stay healthy 🩷🩷🩷
Taglist: @apolloxxivmin @aerivrs @chan-yeoldelling @livingdoll-hara @cryingforjae @heavenjae @milanco @sibwol @neocupidd @minkyuncutie @miniature-tragedy @kukkurookkoo @kodasity @injunnie-lemon @thegracerammy @hahaechans
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nemo-writes · 1 day ago
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🔥𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹 (𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂) ; 𝘇𝗲𝗿𝗼🔥
✘ various! tf141 x reader ; zombie apocalypse au!one-shot series
✘ chapter summary; you and your small, weary family narrowly escape danger. suddenly, an unexpected encounter ends up leading you into a safe haven, where survival demands loyalty and sacrifice.
✘ warnings; graphic violence, character death and blood
⚠️ one-shot masterlist
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All remnants of life lay muted beneath the blanket of snow that covered everything in sight.
You trudge forward with increasing difficulty, holding your baby niece, Paulina, close to your chest, wrapped in layers of tattered blankets. Beside you, your teenage nephew Hugo, struggled to keep pace. Your breaths came out in sharp, frosty puffs, the biting cold seeping through every gap, lingering with an ever-growing hunger.
“I-I don't know how much longer I can g-go.” Hugo panted, lips pale and eyes heavy.
“You have to.” The words leave you as a dry heave. Paulina squirms, as if sensing the tension in the air.
Suddenly, the shadow of a figure appears in the distance, barely visible through the thick foliage of the forest snow. It's one of your pursuers, armed and ready to intercept your small group.
As quickly as you can, you pull Hugo close and hand her his sister and your thinning bag of supplies. You point sharply towards the nearby slope, a spot for them to hide while you distracted your incoming pursuers. His eyes are wide, mouth agape and ready to refuse. Caring very little for his objections, you push him away and hard. “Shut up, and go!”
You watch him leave, his form disappearing into the snow, before moving towards a nearby tree. With a determined shove of your shoulder, you make a heavy pile of snow fall, covering the footsteps of your nephew. Grimly satisfied, you took off in the opposite direction, hoping to lead the pursuers away from the children.
As you scan the forest, a sharp movement from your left catches you off guard. Before you can react, two of them are on you.
With a surge of adrenaline, you lash out at the closest one, catching him off guard with a thick swipe of snow. He stumbles back, but the second attacker was quicker. He lunges at you with a knife, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light. You twist your body, clumsily avoiding the thrust, and use the momentum to deliver a kick between his legs. He curses loudly and doubles over, but before you could capitalise on the opening, the first man recovers and drags you down by the hair.
“Fucking bitch! You’re done now!” The impact knocks the wind out of you, but you fight through the pain, grappling fiercely with your assailant in the snow. Your hands find his throat, and you squeeze, a violent mix of adrenaline and desperation giving you strength. He struggles, his hands clawing at yours, but you hold on, feeling his resistance weaken.
A sharp pain explodes in your side as the second man drives his knife into your shoulder. You cry out, releasing your grip on the first attacker's throat and to clutch at your bleeding wound.
The two men regroup, their breaths coming in harsh puffs as they advance on you again. But before they can pounce, a distant whistle pierces the air, shrill and commanding. They freeze, exchanging glances of alarm. The second attacker curses under his breath, knife wavering.
The whistle sounds again, more urgent this time, and the men hesitate, torn between finishing you off and obeying the call.
Finally, with a frustrated growl, the first attacker spits on the ground and mutters, "We’ll be back." He turns to his companion, nodding towards the source of the whistle. Reluctantly, the second attacker sheatheds his knife and backs away, his eyes lingering on you with a promise of unfinished business.
You watch them retreat, every muscle in your body tense in anticipation of another attack. When they finally disappear back into the snowy forest, you allow yourself to relax, grasping your wounded shoulder in pain.
You turn and stumble towards the direction Hugo had gone, praying that he and Paulina had found a safe place to hide. The forest looms around you, silent and oppressive, as you push through the snow, the weight of your injuries and the cold threatening to drag you down.
Through the haze of snow and pain, you spot something in the distance. You push towards it, and reach a small hidden cave, its entrance partially obscured by a thick curtain of icicles. Inside, you find Hugo huddled around Paulina, his face pale with fear and worry. Relief washes over you as you collapse into the cave, the last of your strength leaving you.
Hugo rushes to your side, eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he whispers, his voice trembling.
You manage a weak smile, reaching out to touch his cheek. "We made it," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "We're safe for now."
As the exhaustion closes in, you cling to that thought, knowing that you had done everything you could to protect them.
. . .
"That's the last of them," says Ghost, voice low and steady. He wipes his knife clean on the crook of his arm, eyes sharp as he took in every detail of the scene. Three men and two women lay dead around him, the blood of their struggle staining the snow. He doesn’t bat an eye as he manhandles the bodies to go through their belongings, taking whatever was useful, and leaving the rest behind.
Ghost had no sympathy for raiders. But it was certainly strange, the lot hadn't ventured this deep since last Spring. Not only was the terrain tricky, but the group that dwelled further south had quickly come to learn not to step into their territory without expecting something like this to happen.
Beside him, Soap holsters his pistol, breath visible in the cold air. "T’easy," he mutters, brows furrowing in suspicion. "Something doesn' feel right."
His partner hums in agreement, gaze shifting to the direction from which the two extra men had come from. "These guys were sloppy, like they were distracted or rushed."
The duo move cautiously, following the barely visible trail left by the men. Soap leads the way, his senses on high alert, while Ghost covers their rear, eyes scanning for any signs of movement.
They don’t go far when they find the first big clue—signs of a fight. Soap crouches down to examine the mix of footprints and blood staining the snow. "One set," he comments, pointing to a big and uneven print, as if the person was favouring one side over the other. "An adult, injured."
Ghost and Soap press on, the trail leading them deeper into the forest. The footprints become more erratic, showing signs of urgency. Suddenly, the first footprints turn into two. Someone had clearly made an effort to hide the new pair.
Soap’s mind races as he pieces the scenario together. "They were being chased," he says, more to himself than to Ghost. "And they split up here."
Ghost’s expression is unreadable under his balaclava.
"They were in a hurry. And look at the spacing—someone was carrying a heavy load." He looks up, his eyes meeting Ghost’s. "A baby?"
His jaw tightens. "Could be."
Soap’s eyes narrow. "If there's a bairn involved, they won't last long out here in this cold."
They follow the trail until they reach a small clearing. The footprints lead to a partially hidden cave. Soap signals to Ghost, and they approach it cautiously.
As they draw closer, they can hear faint voices inside. Soap holds up a hand and creeps forward. Peering into the cave, he spots a young boy huddled with a baby in his arms. Nearby, a young woman lays slumped against the wall, blood staining the snow under her.
Soap steps back to the edge of the entrance, his expression unreadable. "Found them," he whispers to Ghost. "What’s our move Lt?"
Ghost hesitates, his cold eyes betraying a rare moment of uncertainty. "We can't afford to take them in"
Soap's eyes go hard, but there is a glint of stubborness in them. "They won’t make it out here alone. We've gotta help ‘em."
They had a mission, a duty to their own survival. Ever since the world had gone to absolute shit, their group’s survival had been assured by them staying strong and detached. Ghost had dealt with their new reality better than most, but the same couldn't be said about the others. The end of the world was taking its toll, and he knew Soap was eager to find moments like this to vindicate his dwindling humanity.
"Mate…" Ghost starts, but he cuts him off.
"We dannae have to bring them back, just get them somewhere safe. You know it’s the right thing to do," Soap urges, his voice low but imploring.
Finally, Ghost concedes. "Alrigh’, but you’re taking this to Price and Laswell by yerself."
Soap smiles grimly, clapping Ghost on the shoulder. "Understood, Lt. Let's get them out of here."
They enter the cave quietly, their movements deliberate and non-threatening. The boy's eyes widen in fear as soon as he spots them, but Soap raises a hand in a gesture of peace.
"We're ‘ere to help," he said softly. "Yer safe now."
The boy hesitates, his grip tightening on the squirming baby. "Who are you?" he asks, voice shaky.
"Friends," Soap replies gently. "We're here to help you."
As they move closer, the woman stirs, wincing in pain. Soap kneels beside her, ready to assess the wound on her shoulder. Her eyes widen at his sudden appearance, and with a sudden burst of energy, she lashes out, her nails catching him on the cheek. He stumbles back, more surprised than hurt.
Ghost already has the barrel of his gun pointed to her head, ready to take the shot.
"Easy!" Soap exclaims, raising his hands in a calming gesture between the two. "We’re not here to hurt you. We're here to help."
Her eyes dart between the two men, distrust and raw desperation clear in her gaze. "Why should I believe you?" she spits, voice shaky but fierce.
Soap steps forward slowly. "We don’t have to take you with us, just get you somewhere safe. But you need medical attention, and those kids won’t survive out here alone."
The woman sways, her strength fading. The boy, still clutching the baby, looks at her with pleading eyes. "Please, Auntie. We need help."
Her resolve wavers, the blood loss making her compliant. "Alright," she whispers, barely audible. "Help us."
Ghost lowers his gun as the boy scoots over to give Soap some space. His features soften as he looks at them, especially the baby girl. Strangely, maybe even gratefully, she wasn’t crying, just watching him with wide inquisitive eyes. "Hey there, wee one," he coos, Scottish accent soothing. "What's her name, lad?"
The boy blinks, momentarily distracted by Soap’s gentle tone. "Paulina," he whispers.
“And yours?”
“…Hugo.”
"Good names," Soap said, smiling before getting to work on the woman. "She’s a tough one, ain’t she? Keepin’ you both warm and fed, I see."
Hugo manages a small nod, his grip on the baby loosening slightly. "Yeah…she's strong."
"Aye, she is," he continues, "we’ll help her, alright’?"
Soap moves quickly, immobilising her arm for the journey ahead while Ghost keeps watch at the cave entrance. She grunts, sparing him an icy glare, but otherwise says nothing.
"We need to move soon," Ghost says over his shoulder.
Soap finishes and helps the woman sit up, the children following suit. "We'll get ye to safety," he promises. "But we need to move quickly."
The woman nods weakly, her eyes full of determination. "I can walk," she says, her voice stronger now. "Just help me up."
Soap helps her to her feet, and together, they prepare to leave the cave. The journey ahead would be difficult, but they were ready.
. . .
The undead hordes had turned civilization into a chaotic, lawless wasteland.
In the early days, the military had tried to maintain control, to keep the panic from spreading faster than the infection itself. But it soon became clear that this was not a fight that could be won with conventional tactics. The undead didn’t tire, they didn’t fear, and they were hungry.
Price remembered the first time he had seen a city overrun. The streets of London had been choked up with the dead, everything crumbling under the weight of the destruction. The few who survived had no choice but to flee, to leave behind everything they had known and start anew. The ranch, with its fortified walls and organised routines, was one of those places.
Each morning at the ranch began with the change of the guard. The sentries in the lookout towers would report in, and a fresh team would take their place. Price always made it a point to check in with the sentries, ensuring they remained alert.
That day he’d found Laswell on his way to the towers. She was often holed up in the command centre, pouring over maps and discussing plans with their surviving intel officers. It was strange, but not exactly unusual, to find her outside on and about.
Gaz stood by her, leaning in to catch whatever the older woman had to ask of him. "—and I need you to check on the food supplies," she said, glancing up from her notes. "We need to make sure we have enough to last through the next few weeks."
"On it," Gaz replied, nodding to his approaching superior. “Captain.”
Price acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod, his mind already racing through the day’s tasks. "Gaz, Laswell," he said in a gravelly tone. "Anything new on the intel front?"
Laswell shook her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’d chopped it clean off after they settled into the ranch and had kept it short ever since. "Nothing significant. Some chatter from up north, but nothing we need to act on immediately.”
Gaz then turned to Price. "About Ghost and Soap—they’ve been out longer than expected. You think they might’ve run into trouble?"
Price shrugged as he considered his words. "It's possible. We need to be ready for anything, but I would not worry too much."
They continue walking side by side along the shoveled path, talking about everything and nothing all at once. A gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the frozen leaves overhead. For a brief moment, it felt like they could breathe easy. But just as Price’s shoulders began to relax, a shout from behind them shattered the moment.
“Captain! Lieutenant! We’ve got a situation at the gate!”
It was the voice of one of the young sentries, breathless and hurried, as she approached them from behind. Her face was flushed both from urgency and the cold, her rifle slung across her back.
“Speak,” Price said, already feeling a headache stirring in the back of his skull.
“We’ve got movement. Two figures coming up the road… looks like Ghost and Soap.”
Laswell's eyes flicked to Price. “And the situation is?”
The sentry bit her lip, clearly unsure of what to make of the newcomers. “They’re not alone. There’s a woman with them, looks like she’s hurt. And… kids.”
Gaz immediately looked over at Price. “What the hell are they bringing back this time?”
Price groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll bet they’re dragging trouble with them.”
“Guess we’ll find out,” Laswell muttered as they all began to make their way toward the gate.
As they arrived at the gate, the scene before them told a story even before they stepped closer. The sentries were on high alert, rifles raised but not aimed. A handful of medical personnel had appeared at the ready, tension radiating from the compound.
And there, stumbling toward them, was the source of the commotion—Soap and Ghost.
Soap looked grim, eyes tired, but his focus remained on the woman clinging to him. Closely behind him trailed a young boy—about thirteen or fourteen—looking scared but alert as he took everything in. And on Ghost’s back, wrapped tightly across his chest in the remains of torn rags, was a baby—its small form barely visible.
Price's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight. “What the hell happened?” he muttered under his breath, already knowing the answer but hoping against it.
Laswell was already in motion, stepping ahead to address the sentries. “Lower your weapons,” she ordered firmly. The rifles were lowered slightly, but still held tightly, the uncertainty of what was happening lingering in the air.
Gaz shifted his weight, obviously on edge. “We need to get them inside.”
The medics were the first to step forward, Taylor and Jensen pushing their way through the crowd, wheeling a stretcher with them. Taylor, a burly medic with a calm demeanour, was already assessing the situation as he approached the woman in Soap’s arms. “We’ll need to get her on the stretcher. Looks like she’s lost a lot of blood.”
Laswell stepped forward, giving the medic’s orders as they prepared to move the woman. “Taylor, get them to the medical bay. We’ll need to check the boy and the baby too.”
Taylor nodded, his face hardening. “On it.”
As the medic team began carefully lifting the woman onto the stretcher, Price turned back to Soap and Ghost. “Good work, but I don’t want to hear any more excuses about why you didn’t come back sooner. Got it? Also, I'm expecting a full debrief.”
Soap gave him a sheepish look, his breath frosty, but Ghost simply nodded as he handed the baby girl into the hands of a nearby nurse, the boy hovering nearby and watching the exchange.
“Alright, get them inside,” Price ordered, his tone firm. “We’ll sort this out later.”
. . .
Back at the med-bay, the sterile scent of antiseptic and muted murmurs of machinery ease you into consciousness. Your body aches, stiff and bruised, but your shoulder is definitely the worst. The pain weighs you down against the cot you're lying in. With a groan and squinted eyes, you survey your new surroundings.
The first thing you notice is Hugo’s face—wide-eyed and visibly relieved when he registers that you’re awake. Paulina lies cradled against his chest, her tiny form bundled up in new clothes, half-asleep with her small fingers curled around his shirt.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, leaning forward. “They… they fixed you up. Said it was just a matter of time before you woke up.” His voice shakes just a little. “Paulina and I… we’ve been waiting for you,” he adds.
A knot loosens in your chest, and you give him a weak but genuine smile, reaching a hand out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “I’m sorry, Hugo. You must’ve been so scared…”
He shakes his head quickly, his hand moving to cover yours. “We’re just glad you’re here. I… I tried to keep Paulina calm, kept telling her you’d be alright.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice, a testament to the weight he’s taken on in your absence.
As you shift to sit up, the door suddenly clicks open. A black woman woman with greying hair tied back and sharp, steps inside. She’s wearing a face-mask and simple green sweater and pants, and over it, a crisp white coat, her badge reading "Dr. Laswell."
She offers you a nod. “Good, you’re awake,” she says with a quiet authority. “I’m Dr. Sarah Laswell, head med-chief here. My team and I are making sure you and the kids are treated, especially after that ordeal. You’ll be okay, but you’re in quarantine for now.”
Her gaze softens, and she pulls up a chair beside your cot. “Your arrival caused quite the stir. Two of our best brought you in—that's almost unheard of.”
At her words, memories start trickling back, fragmented images of being helped, lifted by strong arms, voices murmuring assurances.
Sarah continues. “You’re on the ranch now—a community built from survivors. A mix of civilians and military personnel help run it, keeping it as safe and self-sufficient as possible.”
She pauses, eyes flickering over Hugo, her tone shifting to something more serious. “Now, there’s something important we need to address. Since you’ve been brought here, and especially because your nephew was awake for much of the journey, you all know our location. That means… you’ll need to stay.”
The weight of her words settles in your chest, leaving little room for debate. You look over at Hugo, whose gaze is steady and telling you he'll go with whatever you decide. Paulina simply beins to snooze in her brother's arm, unfaced by the sudden revelation.
You give Sarah a slow nod, your heart conflicted, but the decision is clear. You won't object, for your family’s safety, this place is the best option, a fresh start, no matter what came before. “I understand,” you reply, voice steady. “We’ll stay.”
Sarah then gives you a thorough rundown of your condition, her tone straightforward but gentle. She explains that the knife wound didn’t puncture too deep, thankfully, but it will still need proper care and time to heal. As she speaks, her gaze lingers on you with a knowing look, one that softens when she moves on to Hugo and Paulina’s health.
“Your niece and nephew are… doing well, remarkably so. Neither is malnourished,” she says with a slight nod toward them. Her tone is neutral, yet you catch the unspoken understanding between you. You’ve clearly been sacrificing your own needs to make sure they were fed, clothed, and safe. She doesn’t comment further, but you can tell she knows exactly how much you’ve poured into them. Her respect for you shows in the small, quiet acknowledgment, and it fills the room with a kind of warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.
After giving you the essential instructions for resting and healing, Sarah adds, “Once you’ve had a bit more time to recover, a few people from the community will come by to talk with you. They’ll ask about your needs, your skills, qualifications, that kind of thing.”
This catches you off guard. It’s been a long time since anyone asked you about what you needed or where you could fit in. Gratitude mixes with disbelief, and a hint of scepticism flares as well. Nothing has felt this… safe or welcoming since your sister was alive. The world after her loss has been so unkind, especially with the kids to protect.
But for now, you settle into the moment, letting yourself hold onto a fragile glimmer of hope for what this place could mean for you and for them.
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1moreff-creator · 1 day ago
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I would genuinely love to hear your thoughts on Ace and Teruko as friends. Like, I can see it working maybe? Outside of the killing game, preferably. (Given how it's too late for that, in light of recent events)
Hey! Certainly an interesting dynamic! Admittedly, Teruko's bad luck might scare Ace a bit too much for it to easily work, but it might be easier if Teruko can convince him of her apparent immortality. Ace would probably appreciate an immortal friend given his last friendship ended with Tayor six feet under :v
This got longer than I expected so we're putting in a read more!
Once the friendship itself is established (as you requested, outside of the killing game), it would probably be pretty fun! I kinda imagine it as the sort of friendship where they're constantly making fun of each other, to the point where it's hard to tell from afar whether they love (platonic) or hate each other. Just a lot of Teruko deadpanning at Ace's cowardly nature while Ace is constantly yelling at her, only for her to roll her eyes and throw jabs back. How does it work? Only they know.
Teruko's certainly the brains and impulse control of the friendship; Whit would probably joke about her putting a leash on Ace on more than one occasion. Teruko's probably one of the only people who can get Ace to calm down when he's mad at someone.
Meanwhile, Ace is constantly dragging her around, and Teruko enjoys the antics he gets them into. Provided her luck doesn't seriously injure everyone involved :v
There would probably be more gossip than you'd think. With Ace's penchant for eavesdropping, and Teruko not giving enough of a damn to stop him, they would talk so much shit about other people. I could even see Arei joining them on occasion. Though I imagine Teruko would have enough sense to cut the others off if they go a bit too far.
Ace doesn't mesh all that well with the friends Teruko would have in a non-killing game AU, aka Baking Squad + Mai probably (I'm obviously ignoring West Class Teruko theory for logistics purposes), unless Teruko is around. She'd probably be able to reign him in just enough for Min to tolerate him, Rose to vibe in the group, Eden's Eden so she'd try to be friends with Ace anyways, and Mai's Mai. If Teruko isn't around, Mai can substitute for Ace's impulse control since everyone loves her.
Teruko would also help keep the beef with Nico and Levi to a minimum, which probably wouldn't even be that big of an issue outside of the killing game anyways. That would also help Ace keep civil, if not good, relationships with Hu and Xander.
And while Teruko keeps Ace social life healthy, Ace keeps Teruko in good moods. Whenever she's feeling down, all it takes for her to laugh is walking in on Ace burning down the classroom to kill a spider while Nico and Xander are trying to get him to stop, Min is running in with a fire extinguisher, Rose is somehow sleeping through it as Mai and Eden try to wake her up, and Veronika's cheerfully sharing popcorn with a cackling Arei and a "so done with this shit" Arturo. Well, Teruko would probably freak out while the fire is raging, but laugh about it afterwards.
On angstier days, Ace and Teruko could definitely bond over people close to them getting hurt (Taylor and pick someone from Teruko's past) and feeling like they can't fight their fate. I have... no idea how that would work, but I can see a world where Teruko bullies Ace into trying to get his life together while Ace looks up to Teruko's strength in the face of adversity and tells her she has a better chance of changing her future than he has of changing his. Maybe. Really hard to tell how this would go.
Now I'll go over more specific headcanons of certain things I would imagine could happen if they were friends outside the killing game!
One time, when Ace had a race and he was worried he was going to lose to another jockey, Teruko put a bet of a single dollar on said horse/jockey (I don't know how horse betting works), as a joke to get her bad luck to help Ace. The jockey Teruko put a bet on fell off the horse in the race and almost died. They both agreed Teruko should never ever bet on a horse/jockey again.
Ace: Teruko! Get her the hell away from me! Veronika: Teruko! Do you want to join our horror movie marathon? Most of the class is joining! Teruko [not really interested, just wanting to mess with Ace]: What are we watching? Ace: That's not what-! Veronika: Well, I was thinking of starting with the Headless Horseman- Teruko [smirking, grabs Ace by the back of his shirt]: Sure! Ace: AAAH! [Ace ended up hiding behind Levi and Teruko as everyone, Veronika included, talked mad shit about the movie. Ace was the only one who was even remotely scared. The rest of the movie marathon, Ace was passed out, but the rest of the class enjoyed it well enough]
Teruko, hair smoking and soot on her face: Sorry I'm late, my apartment building caught fire an I had to escape the ambulance. I can't really afford a trip to the hospital right now. Ace, genuinely horrified and worried about his friend, look of shock on his face: ... Ace, now smirking: Skill issue. Teruko, smirking back: Fuck you. [They both laughed about it later, after Ace shouted at Teruko to take better care of herself]
Hope that's enough! Thanks for the ask!
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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 1 day ago
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i so badly want a wukong pov of being in the zoo, how long do u think he would get stuck in there? a day, two days? a week? a YEAR? would he be seperated from macaque? would he take the zoo monkeys with him when the curse breaks?
monkey orphans seem to be hand raised, which mean they would effectively replace reader with a zoo worker, imagine their reaction to THAT.
face mauling i assume. lots and lots of mauling
… Okay I took forever with this ask. But I am going to give a SMALL glimpse to how this would be. Only because it would be hilarious.
Blood dripped down the zoo keeper’s face as Wukong screeched in his arms, his little claws dripping with his blood. Loud growls and hisses were easily heard. They took you away, you weren’t in sight! Where did they take their precious darling!? The police had to practically drag you away from the two monkeys who hissed and chirped to get you to come back. It didn’t work, no matter how much they called you weren’t answering.
Another worker came up wearing large gloves which got torn to shreds almost immediately.
“What is this breed? I’ve never seen a monkey like this,” The man said as he jumped away while Wukong was dropped into a crate rather unceremoniously. Reader would never be this rough on a cub! How could these people be so cruel!?
With that thought he let out another feral growl, biting and clawing at the man who claimed to be a zookeeper. Growls left his throat, tiny but vicious as he attempted to fight against the humans around him. If he was himself, if he was whole he’d be able to fight against them, he’d be able to KILL them. Their blood would cover the ground easily, and there would be nothing left but blood and broken bones.
‘Macaque!!’ Wukong chirped loudly as his mate was tossed into a different crate. He let out a howl at the mere thought of them taking him away. NO NO NO!!
‘Wukong!’ Macaque chirped angry as he banged against the bars of the crate before it was picked up and he was taken away.
‘NO!!’ Wukong screeched trying to bang against the bars, letting out chirps, chitters and anguished shouts.
“It’s alight little one, we’ll reunite you once we finish with a check up,” A woman spoke up, dressed in a short shorts and a tank top. She looked at him with adoration in her large blue eyes, her long blonde hair tied up in a pony tail as she approached the crate.
Wukong immediately hissed as she approached, she was looking at him with kindness. HE WANTED READER!! He wanted Reader, now now now!! He wanted his darling to snuggle with him and give him scratches. He wanted her to cut him up fruits and give him all the attention he deserves!
He wanted his mate who was always by his side. He wanted his moon, he wanted his calm, he wanted his warrior. For the first time since the curse had started he felt truly and utterly alone. His chest tightened at the very thought, alone? He was alone in a world he didn’t know, with people surrounding him and staring at him like he was some creature to gawk at.
A cold silent fury suddenly built in his chest as the woman let out a coo. He wanted Reader’s coos. The woman was talking, some would call it a beautiful voice but to Wukong it sounded like nothing but nails on a chalkboard.
“Don’t worry, we won’t let that woman hurt you any more.” Hurt them? HURT THEM!? It was those words that sealed their fates.
In an instant there were screams, broken wood, and melting iron. Materials were scattered around as smoke billowed from the standing monkey demon. Like chains snapping away from his soul he knew he was back. He didn’t even have to move to know that the people around him no longer saw the small cute yet angry cub. No they saw what they should always see, the seething warlords with deep gold eyes, and golden fur that covered his body. A thick powerful tail snapped against the ground, the ground breaking from the single motion.
“Hurt me? You think you can keep MY woman away from ME? Maybe I should show you just what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Every words was pierced with nothing but cold fury. Deadly intent soon became clear as he walked towards everyone around him.
“A-A MONSTER!” The last words that filled the air before Wukong let out an enraged roar.
Blood coated the ground, blood dripped down his fangs, his claws and stuck to his fur. Bodies dropped like flies as Wukong slaughtered anyone in his path, traveling in the direction of his mate. Not that he needed to when he watched shadows wrap around every piece of building around them. His beloved’s shadows were always so beautiful to watch.
The sight of his mate was more breathtaking than he had remembered before. Snowy white fur splattered with blood as the shadow monkey made his way directly to Wukong. Their chains now gone they were able to look at each other, really look at each other again. A shiver ran down Wukong’s spine as Macaque wrapped his arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. It was quick, nothing like he REALLY wanted but Macaque’s words stopped him from taking more.
“Let’s go get our wife~”
“With pleasure my love.”
Sooo- This took WAY longer to write than I planned. Yeah over a month. I AM SORRY! But I finally got to it. Adulting is hard sometimes. But I’ve got the work for you.
And yeah, the curse lasts for less than a day in Reader’s world. Why? Because one of the biggest things that keep the curse active is that the monkey duo feels SAFE around each other. They are always together and never leave each other’s sides. However when the curse broke it didn’t just crack of creak, no the thing SHATTERED! So now the zoo has a monkey duo who wants nothing more than to find the woman that the ZOO separated from them.
Remember, Reblogs and comments are always welcome!!
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iliketangerines · 2 days ago
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one step two step
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a/n: i love women
pairing: kitana x gn!reader
warnings: nsfw (MDNI), lapdance, chest worship
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you spin around Kitana as she sits on her chair, and you shoot her a quick wink before standing behind her and trailing your hands up her body
it was something you had learned from Johnny Cage, something to liven up your sex life with Kitana and a way to get her to relax
she had been spending too much time in war meetings, trying to deal with the ever looming threat of Shao Kahn and Reiko along with Shang Tsung and Quan Chi
nights in the bedroom had been lonely, and she fell asleep almost as soon as the blankets were drawn up around her
of course, you had wanted her to rest, but you also wanted her after working so many countless nights
convincing Mileena hadn’t been hard surprisingly, she too had seen how hard her sister had been working the past few months, working day and night consulting with the guards and going on missions to try and track down the rogues
it had been much harder to convince Kitana to take a break from her work, and you nearly had to tie her to the chair to get her to relax and enjoy your show
but with the way her pupils are dilated, breath stuttering and heavy as her fingertips trail along your barely clothed figure indicated enough to you
she can barely take her gaze off of you, eyes roving over every inch of your skin dressed in ornate and intricate fabrics
your stomach and thighs are bared to the world, and Kitana can barely take her hands off off the flesh as you dance around her chair
her eyes follow you, and her grip on you grows tighter and tighter the more and more you dance
it’s nearly the end of your routine that you had spent so long working on, and you have to swat her hands away as they start to try and drag you into her lap
“my love, please, just-” Kitana reaches for your waist once more, eyes focused on the way the fabrics around you sway, and you dance just out of reach from her grip
“only a little longer.” you murmur in response as you continue, and she lets out a frustrated groan, thigh starting to bounce in impatience as she stares at you
but she lets you finish, and you smile at her, lowering your lids to try and look as sultry as possible as you reach out for her hands
Kitana grabs onto your hands, and you bring her to the bedroom and spin her around and push her to lay flat on her back
the sheets make a ‘poomf’ sound as she falls down, but she doesn’t resist, only propping herself up on her elbows as you crawl up on top of her and kiss her
she groans into it, lifting up one hand to grab onto the back of your neck and pull you in closer as you, and you sigh at the touch
your hands help support yourself, and eventually you pull away for a gasp of breath, blinking away the stars in your eyes as you lean your forehead against hers
her free hand goes to push into your shoulder and flip you both around, but you grunt and push her back down to lie flat on the sheets
“let me take care of you tonight. you’ve been working so hard lately, and i want to make you feel good.” your hands tug and pull at her top, revealing her chest, and you just manage to keep your gaze on her eyes
“please.” you plead with her, you know she’s about to something ridiculous, that making your brain melt gave her the greatest relaxation, but you really wanted to take care of her tonight
“...alright, my love. just for a few minutes.” she sounds disappointed, but there’s a slight tint of something curious in her voice as she stares at you
a few minutes was better than nothing, and you lower your head to her neck, kissing and nipping at the soft flesh
Kitana sighs into the feeling, and you hum into her skin as you move further down, sucking hickeys and tracing the scars from her battles with your tongue
she shivers underneath you at the feeling, and a slight smile decorates your face before you concentrate and move further down to her chest
wrapping your lips around one her nipples, one of her hands finally digs itself into your hair and tugs as you press the flat of your tongue against it
your other hand creeps up and tugs and pinches at her other nipples, and a moan escapes from her mouth
a sense of pride swells up inside of you as you continue to kiss her chest, and you try not to get too excited as you continue to swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud
rarely did she ever let you give her pleasure, preferring to have her way with you, to have control over you and wring orgasm after orgasm out of you
the only time you were allowed to touch her was to hold her hand as she fucked you or to pull at her hair as she went down at you
you glance up to catch a look of Kitana, and you’re startled to find her gaze right on you, pupils blown so wide that they’re nearly black
she looks desperate and ruffled rather than the usual composure you see her with, and you almost forget your task before her hand tugs at your hair again
your face flushes with heat, and you avert your gaze to sink your teeth into her breast and cause a slight grunt to leave her lips
removing your mouth from her chest with a small popping sound, you move to her other nipple, giving it the same amount of attention
it’s instinctual as your hips grind down into her, and her hips grind up into you as well
a moan escapes your lips, the vibrations traveling down and through Kitana’s skin, and a small groan exits her lips
her hand lets go of your hair, and you nearly choke on your own spit as you suddenly find yourself on your back, your legs held up by Kitana’s hands
“let me take care of you now, my love.” there’s a devilish smirk on her lips as she tugs off the bottoms of your outfit and sticks her tongue out to wet her lips before she goes down
you go to complain, but she squeezes at your thigh, and you shut up, your only warning to let her have her way with you for the rest of her evening
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igglemouse · 2 days ago
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authors note: ignore the day, it's wednesday!
It's me again! Yep, still very pregnant and like usual craving pancakes as if my life depends on the. They are a good way to start a Wednesday morning, I guess they are a good way to start any morning. Stacked fluffy syrupy goodness!
As for my past well, life is all about moving forward, right? So let's do that. Not talking about my past and no dragging up my history with former and now very dead drug lords. Whatever happened in Selva stays in Selva and that's where I'd like to leave it.
Oh, you want to know if I feel guilty about it? Of course not. It was either me or him and as far as I'm concerned I've saved so many lives by eliminating that man from humanity. The world is better for it. Still...the blood...
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"Wow, you are...scowling?" I remark in a somewhat tentative tone. It's rare to see Pascal's face twisted like this. Furrowed brows, dark eyes fixed on the plate as if it had wronged him, and without a word he's stuffing my glorious pancakes into his mouth. Not even savoring how perfectly made they were. It feels like he's just here to eat and nothing else but I can't help but ask; "Everything okay?"
His jaw tightens on a mouthful of food and I can see his adams apple drop as he swallows it as if he's a snake, ready to strike. "Did you see what they were saying about me last night?"
I blink. Of course I did not. As you know I do not follow fútbol. So I give my head a little shake. "No?"
This man kicks a ball for a living and I still do not get it. The world cares so much on every pass, every kick, every tackle, every card, and for me it is just a game. One he's going to make a lot of simoleons playing yet still. At least it brings me to the present and away from my past.
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"On social media they-" he starts, still pissed, but I aim to cut him off before he gets going.
"Mi querido, you really can't worry about what others are saying about you, random people. Most of those guys probably wish they were you. None of it is true-"
"If you saw my recent games maybe you'd know some of it is true," after that he goes quiet and clearly wants the conversation to end so it does.
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Since moving in with Pascal I've learned that when he is in a bad mood the best thing I can do is give him space and let him be. He likes to stew or better yet, he likes to work out his anger. Which is exactly what he does after breakfast but this time he's juggling the ball instead of taking it out on the now overused treadmill.
I spend some time cleaning the place since it's getting a little dirty and dusty and I do refuse to live in a dirty place!
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So you could say my day was off to a so-so start. Nothing terrible but nothing amazing either. I expected the rest of the day to move along as usual and basically just be a buffer before the big day comes. You know, delivery day.
Unfortunately, it was not going to be a great day because the moment I opened my mailbox there was a letter addressed to me and letting me know that since I do not have a permit to operate my food stand in the park that I could no longer do so.
That's odd. It was pretty visible and no one stopped me then but I think we all know what this is about and who is behind this. Not sure there is much I can do. I could get a permit and open it back up but I really don't need this right now so consider the matter tabled.
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But the day continues on, like it always does, indifferent to how I'm feeling and I'm feeling very hungry of course. I'm happy to dive into more pancakes and another meal as my mind is restless. Thinking and planning and worrying. She's close, I can feel it, she's just as restless, likely planning her own escape and I hope and pray to the watcher that she's ready for the world.
Across the table there is Pascal. Firmly seated and glued to his computer and his fingers tip tapping quickly on the keyboard. It sounds like he's replying and likely to a troll. I hope not. Word of advice, trolls live under the bridge and their entire goal is to stop you from crossing it. They are stuck there, under the bridge, hoping that you stop long enough so they can pull you off your path.
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I scoot over to him, grabbing his attention with just my presence but his eyes are still locked on the screen so I clear my throat to take all of his attention. Once I have it I tell him about the situation with my food stand, the bad news and the uncertainty of what I will do moving forward. I'm thankful I have him because if I were still living alone I'd be in deep trouble. His response to it all is a little concerning.
"You're going to be a mother right?" He says, as if that just explains it. As if the rest of my life is so obvious now. "I doubt you'd have time for that thing any ways."
I am blinking at him and sitting up a little straighter and doing my best to take in what he's just said to me. "Time? It's not just 'that thing' to me, it's my passion!" Oh, my voice wavers a little, so I have to stop to make sure this doesn't turn into an argument. "Y-yes, you're right, I'll be a mama first, always, but that doesn't mean I can't do other things too."
Now it is his turn to look surprised, as if he would never suggest such a thing although he literally just did. "Oh, Frida, I didn't mean it like that," and for a moment I believe him to be innocent.
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"Yeah," I begin again. Softer now, forgiving what I hope to be a slip up. "It's just...I was really enjoying it! It was mines. It was a testament to my drive and..." I stop and think about it. I could bring it back. Maybe one day I will but perhaps this is a sign too? "I think I'll start a SimTube channel. Martin can't take that away from me and-"
Pascal raises a brow and I realize this might be the first time he's heard of this plan of mine. "Oh? Why is that? Wouldn't that also take a lot of your time?" His tone isn't harsh or anything but the words still worry me. What is trying to say here?
"Y-yes," I stammer, quietly wondering if the question is innocent or if it should concern me. "But again, I don't want to be just a mother, you know? I still want to advance my career, my culinary career, you know?" I ask hoping he understands, giving him another chance.
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"I just don't get it," he says but there is a soft edge to his tone now. This is something I didn't expect. Maybe the trolls have him frustrated? "I'm going to sign a new and bigger contract soon so you really don't have to work at all."
I think my heart skips a beat. He did just say that, right? Younger me wouldn't have had an issue with it. Oh no, not at all. The idea of some professional athlete picking me up off the streets and providing everything for me sounds nice. Sounds perfect. Oh and by younger me I mean me a year ago. Now? Well, now I know I can survive by myself. I appreciate he's going to be rich some day but still I want to me more than just his sidekick.
"Oh?" so my reply starts off snappy. "And what will I do with all that time?"
"I dunno?" he mutters in such a nonchalant way that it kind of ticks me off. "I just hear being a mom is a full time job so why have two? Just a suggestion, that's all."
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But no, that's not all. I don't like his attitude towards this and so instead of letting the conversation get dropped I pick it up. "So you just want me here taking care of your children and home or-"
"Well Frida," Pascal is not bothered by my annoyed tone at all. "I'm going to be a world class athlete. Seems like its a privilege I'm offering," I'm about to say something because that feels almost like an insult to me. "It's not like that, I promise. Just saying! I think your first priority should be to our child and then the culinary stuff comes after, right?"
"Yeah..." I say glaring at him because he's right. A mother's first priority should be to her child, that is true, but isn't it true for the father as well? "I'm going to start a Simtube channel," I say with some determination.
He shrugs and smiles as if it makes no difference to him.
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Yeah, I know what you're thinking. That red flag is so big that it could cover a field but...it's just words, in the end, and no one is perfect.
I'm going to have this baby soon, VERY soon, and I'm driven to give her something I've never had. A family.
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