#i thought of this after tossing and turning for 3 hours

[ellswritings]

In My Corner

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4), (Part 5), (Part 6), (Part 7), (Part 8), Part 9, (Part 10)

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Lots of flashbacks in this bad boy, Punk says lots of steamy things, but other than that I think that’s it.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @scream4mami, @mandmilovehim, @dummylovewp, @insomnia-bookworm

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Phil Brooks wasn’t one for doomscrolling. He didn’t check his feed every hour. He didn’t care what the fans were posting. Most days, he didn’t care what anyone was posting.

But tonight? Tonight, something made him look.

He was sitting in the dark, hoodie on, thumb tapping absently at his screen. The hum of the space heater was the only noise in the room — soft and steady, unlike the pounding in his chest the second his eyes landed on the photo. Grainy. Poorly lit. Snapped from too far down the hallway to be clear.

But the moment? Undeniable.

Y/N, half-tucked into Colby’s chest, fists curled into the front of his jacket like he was the only thing holding her to the earth. Her head tilted, lips pressed to his in a kiss that looked like it meant something — long and slow, like the rest of the world had fallen away and she hadn’t even noticed. Phil’s jaw twitched.

The caption from the fan account didn’t help either:

wrestlechicx: And there it is. The kiss heard ‘round the world 👀🔥 Looks like Y/S/N and Seth Rollins are OFFICIAL. Thoughts??

📸: VisionaryVixen_

❤️ 119k likes_

He didn’t even know when he opened Instagram. He didn’t remember clicking on the post. But suddenly it was in front of him. Huge. Unavoidable. Mocking him. Phil stared at it, unmoving. There was a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite name. Not just jealousy — no, jealousy was too simple. It was… frustration. Regret. A thousand buried emotions digging their claws into his ribs all at once.

They weren’t together. Hell, they weren’t even friends. Not anymore. But the image of her smiling into someone else’s kiss — Colby’s kiss — lit something in him that felt dangerously close to fury.

He squeezed his phone, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Colby fucking Lopez. Of course it was him. Golden boy. Darling of the company. Always smiling. Always adored. It made perfect sense that he’d be the one she let in.

Phil exhaled sharply, tossing the phone onto the couch and pushing to his feet. He started pacing. The living room was dim, barely lit by the screen of the paused TV. He hadn’t even bothered turning the sound back on after her match. He had watched it — of course he had. And when she’d hit the stomp?

He’d felt it. In his gut. In his teeth.

The crowd had exploded. Commentary had gone wild. Kevin Patrick practically shrieked. The camera even cut to a kid in the third row with his hands over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.

Phil could.

He remembered the day he taught her that move. Back when they couldn’t stand each other. When she used to walk into the gym in tiny shorts and a scowl and challenge him to spar like she had something to prove. She always did.

He remembered adjusting her form — the curve of her spine, the placement of her heel. He remembered brushing his lips near her neck and pretending it was about balance. It wasn’t. Not really. He remembered the way she smiled when she got it right. And now she’d done it. On the big stage. At the top of the company. And she gave him the credit without saying a damn word.

That should’ve felt good. But all Phil could picture now was her curled up in the arms of a man who didn’t deserve her. A man who hadn’t been there for the grind, the wars, the evolution. A man who didn’t bleed beside her in the indie circuits. Who didn’t push her in training rings with stained mats and no cameras.

Phil ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavy. He’d reached out at Christmas. Called her. Said “Merry Christmas” like it didn’t still hurt. Like the silence between them hadn’t stretched so long it had its own name now. Like he hadn’t blamed her — still blamed her — for not following him when he walked. But maybe he wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t followed him because she loved this. Because she was built for this. And damn it, he loved that about her too.

But Colby? That made his skin crawl. Not because he was a bad guy. But because he was the safe option. The one who could stand beside her in press photos. Who made fans squeal and bookers smile. He was the nice guy.

Phil had never been the nice guy.

But he was the guy who loved her before the crowd did. Before the title runs and the main events and the viral clips. He was the guy who saw her. And now he was just… what? Angry? Bitter? Jealous?

His eyes fell back on the phone. A notification blinked. New reposts. New comments. Thousands of fans buzzing about the kiss. Screaming. Shipping. Making edits. Phil didn’t realize how hard his fists were clenched until his knuckles popped. He shouldn’t care. He wasn’t supposed to care. But he did.

He did care. Because some part of him — the part he thought he buried the day he walked away — still ached for her. Still remembered the way she laughed with her whole chest, the way she used to mock his music taste, the way she told him not to flinch when she stitched his eyebrow up herself in a hotel bathroom at 2am.

She was the only woman who’d ever matched him shot for shot, ego for ego. And now she was kissing someone else like it was nothing.

Phil sat back down hard on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Didn’t know how he’d earn her trust back. Or if he even could. But he knew one thing with a clarity that sliced through the fog in his chest.

He wasn’t going to watch her fall into Colby’s arms without a fight.

He’d made peace with losing a lot of things in his life. He wasn’t sure he could stomach losing her. Not again. Not like this. And for the first time in years, the chip on his shoulder cracked just enough to let something through.

Resolve.

He didn’t know where this road would take him. But it was time to stop pretending the fire had gone out. Because it hadn’t. Not even close.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The crowd was still buzzing as Y/N stepped through the curtain, adrenaline pumping through her limbs. She could still feel the heat of the match in her bones — a mixed tag against a smug heel duo that had gotten under both her and Phil’s skin backstage for weeks.

But that wasn’t what was spinning through her head. It was what Phil said on the mic after the final bell. It hadn’t been scripted. He’d turned toward the hard cam, sweat soaking into the collar of his shirt, microphone gripped too tight in his hand. “You know what the problem is around here?” he’d snarled. “It’s not us. It’s not the so-called brass in the back either — no, the problem is that we keep pretending this is still wrestling. When the truth is, this place has become nothing more than a circus with billion-dollar blinders.”

The crowd had roared — but Y/N had stiffened beside him, eyes flicking toward the production crew like a warning. He’d just torn open the curtain, even if only a little.

And Vince would’ve seen it.

Now, as she peeled her gear gloves off backstage, she realized Phil was nowhere to be seen. She turned quickly, scanning the crowd of staff, crew, and talent funneling back to catering or locker rooms. No Phil.

“Hey,” she called, grabbing the arm of a production assistant hustling by with cables in hand. “You seen Punk?”

“Uh…” the guy blinked, then winced like he knew something she didn’t. “I think he got called into the production office. Vince asked for him. Right after the segment ended.”

Her stomach dropped and without another word, she took off. Her boots echoed down the concrete hallway as she power-walked past catering, past the locker rooms, past the cue cards taped on walls and clusters of backstage agents whispering about what just happened. Her chest tightened.

When she reached Vince’s office, the door was cracked just enough for her to hear raised voices inside. “You think this is your personal soapbox?” Vince was barking. “You think you can just hijack live air with your little martyr monologues? This isn’t your show, Punk. It never was.”

She didn’t even knock. She pushed the door open hard enough to make it slam against the wall. Phil stood stiffly near Vince’s desk, jaw tight, arms crossed, his usual bravado replaced with an eerily still kind of rage. Vince looked furious — face red, hands gripping the desk, a folder pushed aside like it had been thrown. Y/N didn’t wait for an invitation. “If you have something to say to my tag partner,” she said, loud and steady, “then you can say it to me too.”

Vince looked up, irritated. “This doesn’t concern you, Y/L/N.”

“With all due respect,” she said sharply, stepping further into the room, “the second you summoned him here because of a segment I was part of, it started to concern me.”

Phil’s eyes flicked to her, something unreadable behind them. “I didn’t ask for backup,” he said, but there was no real bite in it.

She ignored him. “You want to lecture him about calling out hypocrisy? Fine. But don’t pretend he said anything people in the back haven’t been thinking for years. Hell, you should be thanking him. At least he still cares.”

Vince stood up straighter, like a storm cloud thickening. “Watch your tone.”

“No,” she snapped. “No, I won’t. Because I’ve sat through enough meetings where you’ve nodded and smiled at the yes-men while ignoring the people bleeding on your canvas every night. The only difference is that Phil finally said it out loud.”

Vince’s lip curled. “You think loyalty gives you a pass to disrespect this company?”

“I think honesty should. And if you respected us even half as much as you expect us to respect you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

There was a beat of silence. Phil hadn’t moved. Vince’s hands twitched, as if resisting the urge to throw something. “You’ve got guts,” he muttered. “But don’t think they’ll keep you employed.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then fire me.”

Phil’s eyes widened slightly. Vince flinched. “I dare you,” she said. “Go ahead. Fire the woman who’s been co-main eventing pay-per-views for the last year. Fire the only person in this building who actually keeps up with him.”

She jerked a thumb toward Phil, whose lip twitched at the praise. Vince didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.

She smiled, cold and steady. “Thought so.” With that, she turned, grabbed Phil by the wrist, and walked them both straight out the door — the tension snapping like a wire behind them. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall again that she finally exhaled.

Phil had been silent. He kept walking beside her until they reached a quieter corner near a storage area, where crates and lighting rigs were stacked. Then he finally stopped. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, voice low.

She turned toward him, defiant. “Probably.”

“You just challenged Vince McMahon to fire you.”

“I did.”

“You don’t—” He ran a hand over his mouth, pacing a few steps before turning back toward her. “You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

She raised a brow. “I didn’t do it for you.”

That surprised him.

“I did it because you were right,” she continued. “And because no one else ever will. And because if I’m gonna be in this goddamn tag team with you, then I’m gonna back you.”

He stared at her curiously as she went one. “I meant what I said in there,” she added. “You and I? We don’t need their approval. We just need each other.”

That silenced him. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just looked at her — really looked — like he was seeing her for the first time, not as a tag partner, not as a performer, but as someone who had just willingly burned bridges for his sake. His chest rose slowly. “You keep this up,” he murmured, “and I might actually start to like you.”

She smirked. “You already like me.”

He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t deny it.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Phil sat alone in his Chicago apartment, the low hum of the city outside barely penetrating the silence within. He rested back in his worn-out recliner, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The memory of that day—the confrontation with Vince, Y/N’s fierce defense, and the fire in her eyes—played over and over in his mind like a loop he couldn’t turn off.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples, trying to push the swirl of thoughts away, but it was no use. That moment had always stood out—the first time she’d truly put herself on the line for him. Not just as a tag partner, but as someone who cared enough to risk everything for him. For a guy like him, who barely let anyone in, that had meant more than she ever could have known.

Phil’s jaw clenched. He’d been angry back then, sure. Angry at the company, at Vince, at the pressure they both faced. But mostly at himself—because he had let pride and stubbornness get in the way of what mattered. And Y/N? She never walked away. Not really. She had stayed, even when he pushed her away, even when he was impossible to reach. That fierce loyalty was something rare, something he’d taken for granted.

He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Hell, I was too damn blind,” he muttered, voice rough with frustration. “Expected her to carry all the weight when I wasn’t even holding up my own.” There was a pause, the weight of years settling over him like a heavy fog. He thought about the others—April, the fleeting flings, the distractions—but none of them had lasted. The only constant had been Y/N. The one person who’d seen past his walls, even if he never fully saw hers.

Phil flexed his fingers, biting the inside of his cheek, the familiar sting grounding him. He hated feelings. Always had. They made things complicated— messy. But right now, in this quiet apartment, the feelings were impossible to ignore. A stubborn ache that tangled pride, regret, and something dangerously close to hope. He wasn’t ready to admit any of it aloud. Not yet. He was still mad—mad that she hadn’t followed him out, mad that maybe she could’ve done more. But beneath that anger was the flicker of understanding. Maybe he’d expected too much from her. Maybe the blame wasn’t all hers.

“Damn it,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

His eyes fell to the phone on the table, silent and still. The call he’d made to her over Christmas—the first in years—had been the first step. A shaky, uncertain step, but a start nonetheless. Phil knew he’d have to fight harder. Not just for his career, not just for the wrestling world’s expectations, but for the fragile thread between them. To earn back her trust. To untangle the mess they’d become. And maybe now that he had learned from his mistakes, he wouldn’t let her go so easily this time.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s life had been completely turned upside down in the last twelve hours. The moment she and Colby stepped into her hotel room, their phones started blowing up. They don’t understand how it happened so fast, but a photo of them kissing had already started circulating the internet. They were tagged in posts, fan reactions, edits, all of it. Both of them were in shock. They hadn’t seen anyone in the hallway. It was late. No one should have been out. It should have been safe. But it wasn’t.

Someone caught an extremely vulnerable moment and capitalized. They couldn’t even be mad about it. They were in a public place and there was no thought put into the kiss. Y/N just felt with her heart instead of using her head for once, and this is what came out of it.

She didn’t regret it. God knows she would do it over and over again if she could. Especially when glancing over at a sleeping Colby as they fly to New York for her interview. He wasn’t supposed to, but he insisted on accompanying her there. That way they could deal with the chaos unfolding together.

His lips are parted, allowing little snores to puff out periodically. He looked so peaceful. She just wishes she could calm her mind enough to allow her to sleep for even just thirty minutes. But the way their lives had just blown up kept her awake.

Nobody from corporate had called yet. Truthfully, she had expected a call from Paul the second the photo came out. But there was nothing. The waiting for what everyone was going to say at work was worse than what the speculations were online.

Everyone has already made their assumptions. That they’ve been dating, it was for a publicity stunt, a momentary lapse of judgment, a soft launch, all of it has been said. But none of them were right. Mostly because Colby and Y/N still didn’t know what it meant.

Her stomach twists in knots, knowing her interview is now going to be surrounded around this. She just hopes that she doesn’t lose her job over this stupid scandal the world has managed to blow out of proportion.

“Have you slept at all?” Colby’s groggy voice pulls her out of her thoughts. His hair tied up in a man bun, back arching as he stretches off his exhaustion. His brown eyes are soft, gazing at her with a twinge of concern.

Y/N smiles softly, admiring how handsome he looks even when waking up. “No, but I’ll sleep later after the interview.”

He sits up, a frown covering his lips at her words. “You really haven’t slept at all?”

“Colbs, I’m fine,” Y/N assures him. “I’m not even that tired.”

“Yes you are,” he counters with a sigh. “You’re just too anxious to fall asleep.”

He always knew the truth even when she didn’t want to admit it. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, slumping further down into her chair. “I’m not trying to be…” she mumbles.

Colby glances back at her, “I know.” He can see how worried and tired she is. It makes his heart clench seeing her like this. Her mind has always run too fast for her to catch up. He reaches over and grabs her hand, “It’s gonna be okay, Y/N/N.”

“I just wish I knew how everyone was reacting,” she admits, fidgeting with his fingers that are now laced through hers.

“And you will,” Colby tells her. “I’m sure the moment we land, your phone will be loaded with texts and calls.”

Y/N groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t know if that helps or makes it worse.”

“Exactly,” Colby leans over on his arm rest, his face only getting closer to hers. His smile makes her stomach flutter. He gently brushes a strand of hair out of her face, his thumb grazing her cheek gently. “No matter which way you think about it, it’s gonna make you anxious. And nothing’s gonna soothe it until we get back on the ground. So why don’t you do yourself and me,” he grins, “a favor and try to at least sleep for the last thirty minutes of the flight?”

Y/N did feel extremely tired. Her eyelids only grew heavier as time went on. A small sigh escapes her lips and at that point, Colby already knew he won. She tilts her head towards him, “Can I at least lean on you?” She asks quietly.

“You could completely sit on me like a koala bear if you wanted to,” Colby kisses the side of her head before sitting up straight so she could lean on his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before she finally fell asleep. It was only thirty minutes, but thirty is better than nothing. Especially since she’s been spending the last six to seven hours silently panicking. He knew she was protecting his feelings by keeping it all inside. In his head, he was aware that she wasn’t ashamed of what happened. Her mind just immediately went to the effect it would have on their careers.

Much sooner than he would have wanted, the plane lands. He watches as her chest rises and falls gently, her lips puffing out small gusts of air. He doesn’t want to wake her. If he could carry her through the airport and to their rental car so she could remain unconscious, he would. But she would be furious if she woke up and found out he carried her and their luggage through a crowded New York airport.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers next to her head. His lips graze her forehead softly, pressing a delicate kiss to help wake her up. “C’mon beautiful… we’re here.”

She groans but nonetheless stretches her arms upward. It wasn’t a long nap, but it was a much needed one. She doesn’t lift her head from his shoulder though. She simply wraps her arms tightly around the one she’s laying on, pulling him as close to her as she can.

“I don’t wanna,” she mumbles.

“Well, we gotta,” he chuckles at how cute she sounds. “You’ve got an interview in two hours. And I know you want to check your phone.”

Y/N hides her face in his bicep, “I changed my mind. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“If I could hide you until you were ready, I would,” Colby helps her stand from her seat, grabbing their carry ons from the compartment above. “But you and I both know you don’t run from your problems.”

Y/N yawns, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she takes her bag from Colby. The two of them start walking up the aisle and towards the exit. “Well, there’s a first time for everything…” she grumbles. “What if I do run from this one?”

Colby grinned, watching her shuffle beside him down the narrow plane aisle, still groggy and pouting like a child dragged out of bed. Her oversized hoodie hung loosely over her frame, her hand curled into the strap of her bag, and even half-asleep, she looked good enough to ruin a man’s day. "You're not gonna run," he teased softly, bumping her shoulder with his. "You're too stubborn to let anyone else control the narrative."

Y/N gave a half-hearted glare, lips twitching despite herself. “Tell that to my nervous system.”

He leaned in close as they stepped into the jet bridge. “When have you ever let anyone write your story for you?”

That earned him a sideways glance, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly. They walked in sync, shoulders brushing, steps light but tired. The airport buzzed with activity, but to them, it felt like a bubble. Just the two of them for a few more seconds before reality caught up. Just as they turned the corner toward the car service pickup, her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She fished it out, screen bright with an incoming call from: Paul Levesque.

“Oh shit,” she muttered, pausing mid-step.

Colby looked at her. “Who is it?”

“Paul,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “It’s Paul.”

He winced, doing a dramatic little shake of his shoulders like he was shaking off a ghost. “Oof. Game time.”

She sucked in a breath and answered quickly. “Hey, Paul.”

There was a pause, and then that familiar voice rumbled through the speaker, low and calm but direct. “Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, clutching the phone tighter.

“Just landed?”

“Yeah, just stepped off a few minutes ago,” she said. “Still at the airport.”

Another pause. Then, like he already knew the answer: “Is Colby still with you?”

Y/N blinked, feeling the heat crawl up her neck as her eyes darted toward him. He was watching her with raised brows, chewing his gum like he knew exactly what was being asked. She cleared her throat. “…Perchance,” she said meekly, lips twitching.

Colby grinned and leaned toward her with a smug little hum. “Perchance? That’s how you’re claiming me now?”

Y/N swatted his chest with the back of her hand, and Paul chuckled on the other end.

“Put me on speaker,” Paul said.

She sighed and did as told, tapping the icon. “You’re on.”

“Colby,” Paul greeted.

“Big Papa Paul,” Colby greeted back with a dramatic flare. “Lovely way to start a morning.”

Paul let out something between a grunt and a chuckle. “I’m going to cut to the chase. You’ve seen the photo.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen it,” Y/N said before Colby could offer a clever retort.

“Alright, then you know the internet is spiraling and every news outlet from TMZ to Sports Illustrated wants a piece of it,” Paul continued. “So before anything else happens, I want to know—what’s the situation? Are you two together or was it just… heat of the moment?”

Y/N hesitated.

Colby, surprisingly gentle, answered for both of them. “It was a moment, Paul. No stunt. No planning. Just… a moment.”

“But a good one,” Y/N added quickly, voice soft.

There was silence on the other end for a beat too long. Then Paul exhaled through his nose. “Okay. That’s what I figured. You looked too caught up for it to be fake.”

Y/N blinked. “You saw it?”

“I’ve seen it edited into TikToks, set to Taylor Swift, and reposted by three gossip blogs,” Paul said, amused. “Of course I saw it.”

Colby couldn’t help himself. “Which song though? If it wasn’t ‘Enchanted,’ I’m offended.”

Y/N elbowed him again. “Behave.”

Paul sighed. “Look, I’m not mad. No one’s dragging your names through the mud at corporate. You’re adults. Shit happens. But right now, eyes are on you, and we need to control the story before it spins out of your hands. That’s why I’m calling.”

She swallowed. “Okay…”

“I’m sending Colby to the interview with you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Paul assured. “But the interview’s going to be ten times harder if it’s just you trying to explain away a viral kiss. The audience wants to see you both. It makes it more authentic.”

Y/N frowned. “But I can handle it—”

“I know you can,” Paul interrupted gently. “You’re a pro. That’s not why I’m doing it.”

She pressed her lips together, glancing at Colby. His head tilted slightly, clearly listening in, the corner of his mouth twitching. Paul continued, “This is about optics. Storytelling. Publicity. If you two are already showing up together, looking like the next power couple, we might as well ride the wave. You don’t have to lie. Just own it. People like honesty.”

Colby slid his sunglasses down his nose. “So… let me get this straight, bossman. You want me to sit next to the hottest woman in wrestling, talk about a real kiss we actually shared, and not get yelled at for it?”

Paul sighed again. “Just be respectful.”

Y/N groaned. “That’s gonna be the hardest part for him.”

“Hey,” Colby looked mock-offended. “I can be classy.”

“You wore leopard print to a wedding,” she pointed out.

“Exactly. Classy,” he grinned. “Fashion-forward and fabulous.”

“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “Just… keep it clean and make sure you both get across the same message. Honesty, mutual respect, and no drama.”

“Got it,” Colby said. “No drama. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“Not officially, but I could have been.”

Paul chuckled. “Alright. I’ll let you go. The car should already be waiting for you. You’ve got an hour to get to the studio.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Y/N said genuinely. “For not freaking out.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “Wait until you see the fan signs on Monday.”

The call disconnected and Y/N slowly lowered the phone. They stood in the middle of the airport, bags at their feet, both of them exhaling like they’d just defused a bomb. Colby leaned toward her, his breath warm against her cheek. “So… wanna rehearse our answers? Or should we just improv it and watch the internet combust again?”

Y/N snorted, pulling her hoodie over her head a little more. “Improv feels more authentic.”

“Perfect,” he smirked, tugging at the strap of her bag to pull her close. “Then get ready, baby. We’re about to go viral again.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips wouldn’t leave. Neither would he.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Backstage in the heart of Manhattan, the buzz of studio lights and shifting camera equipment echoed quietly behind the curtain. Y/N adjusted the strap of her top, nerves crawling just beneath the surface. The lights were hot, but not as hot as the pair of eyes tracking her every move. “Stop staring,” she muttered under her breath, barely biting back a smirk.

Colby leaned against the wall beside her, one brow arched with unfiltered amusement. He was dressed sharply—tailored black slacks, crisp shirt slightly undone at the collar, gold watch glinting on his wrist. He had no business looking this good for a press interview, but of course he did. “Can’t help it,” he drawled, eyes dipping shamelessly over her frame. “You make anxious look sexy.”

Y/N tried not to react, but her knees almost buckled. She turned her head away quickly, hiding the grin that crept onto her face. “You’re an idiot,” she murmured, biting her lip.

Colby leaned in closer, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of cologne on his skin—something woodsy, dangerous, stupidly intoxicating. “Maybe,” he whispered, lips brushing just beside her ear, “but it seems like this idiot is exactly your type, huh?”

Before she could think of a reply—or do something very stupid and kiss him right there—the stage manager’s voice interrupted, calling them forward. “And we’re live in five… four…”

Colby just smirked, cocky and charming as always. “We’ll finish that thought later.”

Y/N blinked the heat from her cheeks and followed him out, the bright lights swallowing them as the two stepped onto the sleek set of the talk show. The host, a stylish woman named Dani Rivera—sharp, respected, very New York—greeted them warmly. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she beamed to the camera, “please welcome the reigning World Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins and the longest-reigning Undisputed WWE Women’s Champion in recent history, Y/S/N!”

The crowd roared. Y/N smiled with practiced ease, her title glinting under the studio lights, while Colby tossed his arms up, basking in the adoration with his signature grin. They took their seats, close—maybe too close, knees brushing, the energy crackling between them.

“So,” Dani started, “I feel like we need to talk about the elephant in the room.” She turned to the screen behind her—and there it was. The infamous photo. Y/N and Colby. Mid-kiss, her hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt, his fingers curling behind her neck, the hallway dim but the moment electric.

Y/N kept her smile, just barely. Colby laughed lightly though. “Gotta say, not our finest angle. I usually dip better than that.”

That broke the tension slightly. The audience chuckled.

“Public display of affection aside,” Dani continued, “how did that come to be? Are the rumors true? Is this the real deal?”

Y/N didn’t even flinch. “Rumors are always gonna fly. I kissed a man I trust. That’s not a scandal, it’s a Friday.”

Colby nodded. “We work together, we fight together, we travel together—tension was bound to break eventually.”

Y/N side-eyed him. “That sounds like a tagline to a bad action movie.”

“Hey, I’d watch it.”

More laughter. They were a storm of charisma, and Dani was eating it up. “I mean, considering you’re in the Bloodline and Seth’s very… not,” Dani added with a glint in her eye, “it adds an interesting layer to things. Any fallout yet?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “I may belong to the Bloodline, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.” She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t need permission to make a choice that’s mine.”

“And how’d you forgive him?” Dani asked, catching Colby slightly off-guard. “Y’know, for the betrayal. The Shield fallout. That was personal.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve never been one to hold a grudge.” Her eyes flicked to Colby, playful and dangerous. “Especially when they’re as lethal and pretty as him.”

Colby chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m gonna quote that for the rest of the week.”

They moved into talk about WrestleMania. Seth spoke about defending the World Heavyweight Title with fire. Y/N spoke about how she wasn’t letting go of the title she bled for, not when Bayley and Iyo were still circling like vultures. It was electric.

And then Dani struck. “I think we’ve all seen this before…” she said, clicking a button.

The screen shifted. It wasn’t Colby this time. It was a different hallway. Different year. A younger Y/N, still in her early twenties. Her arms looped around a man’s neck, his hand cradling her face. The kiss wasn’t desperate—it was slow, soft, like the kind that said everything you were too scared to say out loud.

It was her and Phil.

Colby tensed beside her, and her stomach dropped. “This image resurfaced recently,” the host said casually. “Can you give us any context, Y/S/N? You and Punk were rumored to be involved years ago.”

Y/N froze. She felt it all at once—the dizzying weight of memory slamming into her like a freight train. The hallway had been dim, quiet after a promo segment. They’d just won a mixed tag match. She remembered the feel of his hands on her waist, the familiar rasp of his voice teasing her about her win streak. And then, he kissed her.

Not for show. Not for anyone watching. Just for her.

It wasn’t their first kiss—by then, they’d been sneaking around for months—but it was the first time it felt real. The first time he looked at her like maybe she wasn’t just a partner in the ring. She remembered the flash of the camera. A stagehand. Young, new, stupidly excited. She remembered the rage in Phil’s voice when he found out—how he stormed down the hallway and told someone they had ten seconds to fire the kid before he did it himself.

They’d gotten into a fight about it later. Not about the kiss—about what it meant to have a secret turn public. About what they were, or weren’t.

Her eyes softened despite herself. She could still feel how warm his lips had been. How his thumb traced her cheek after. How his lip ring had felt cool against her now bruised mouth. How she’d smiled against his lips and whispered something dumb—something like, “I should probably punch you for that.”

Phil had grinned. “Then do it again so I can make it worth the bruise.”

She blinked and looked at the host. “That’s… a throwback,” she managed, voice tighter now.

“Care to comment?” Dani asked, eyes gleaming. “Was it serious?”

Y/N breathed out, leaning forward. “I don’t kiss people I don’t care about, Dani. But not everything that’s real is meant to last.”

The room shifted. Even Colby tilted his head slightly, studying her. She moved on fast. “The past is the past. I’m focused on WrestleMania now.”

“Which brings me to my last question,” Dani said, smiling. “What’s the road to Mania look like for both of you?”

Colby jumped in first. “I’m walking in with the World Heavyweight Title, and I’m walking out with it. Whoever thinks they can step up to me is more than welcome to try. Whether they win the Rumble or Elimination Chamber—I’m not backing down.”

Y/N smirked. “Iyo. Bayley. Bianca. It doesn’t matter. I’ve beaten all three of them, and I’ll do it again. My title’s not going anywhere.”

“And the Bloodline?” Dani pressed, “You think they’ll be happy seeing you cozying up to the man who turned on Roman Reigns?”

Y/N smiled dangerously. “They don’t have to like it. I’m not in the Bloodline because I play nice—I’m there because I’m the deadliest woman in this division. I don’t need protection. I am the protection.”

The interview ended with applause. But as they walked offstage, Colby stayed silent a moment too long. She noticed his change in demeanor. “What?” she asked him softly.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

But the look in his eyes said otherwise. He had seen the way she froze. He had seen the way she remembered. And deep down, he didn’t like that Phil Brooks still had that kind of hold on her. Not one damn bit. Especially not when Colby had only just gotten his first taste. And he wanted more.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The ride back to the hotel was mostly quiet, the air still buzzing from the interview. Y/N was leaned against the window of the SUV, scrolling through her phone with her lower lip pulled between her teeth. Notifications were endless—tweets, reposted clips, articles, a million and one fan reactions. Some positive. Some cynical. Some asking about her and Colby. Some asking about the photo of her and Phil. She didn’t know how to feel about any of it yet.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, but this time it wasn’t another notification. It was Paul.

She answered quickly. “Hey, Paul.”

Colby looked over at her from the other seat, adjusting his jacket and waiting patiently, though he couldn’t help the small smile on his face when he heard who it was. “Just got done watching,” Paul’s voice came through, sounding equal parts impressed and relieved. “You two killed it. Professional, charming, intriguing. Flirted just enough to set the internet on fire without giving away anything real. Honestly? That’s how you do it.”

Y/N breathed a soft laugh, her nerves finally starting to settle. “Glad we didn’t crash and burn.”

“You didn’t,” he said firmly. “And I want you at Raw on Monday.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “Raw? For what?”

“There’s tension building—between you, Colby, the Bloodline, everything,” he said. “We might not have planned it this way, but we’d be idiots not to lean into it now. I want you in Portland. Let the fans simmer all weekend and then walk into Monday like fire.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll be there.”

There was a pause, then Paul sighed. “Also… about the Punk question.” Her eyes flicked to Colby, who was watching her carefully. “That wasn’t cleared. I had no idea they were going to pull that image.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, maybe a little too quickly.

“It’s not,” Paul replied. “But the way you handled it—with grace, with composure… you showed them who’s in control. I know it hit a nerve, but you didn’t let it break you. That’s what champions do.”

Her throat tightened, but she pushed the lump down. “Thank you, Paul.”

“You’re welcome, champ. Get some rest. Monday’s a big one.”

She hung up just as the car pulled up to the hotel. She glanced at Colby as they stepped out into the cool New York night. “He said we handled it perfectly. Wants me at Raw.”

Colby smirked, clearly not surprised. “Guess we make a good team.”

They headed through the lobby and into the elevator, the quiet hum of tension filling the space once more. It wasn’t until they reached their shared room and the door clicked shut behind them that the silence stretched too long. Y/N tossed her phone onto the bed and rubbed the back of her neck, her muscles tight from hours of stress, attention, and pretending like the world wasn’t watching her every move. Colby shut the door behind them, flicking on one of the dim bedside lamps and tossing their bags into the corner. He didn’t speak at first. He just studied her — the way she stood stiffly, staring out the window with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“You okay?” he asked finally, voice low and casual — but laced with something deeper.

She nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Liar.”

She turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not tired,” he said, stepping closer and peeling off his denim jacket. “You’re overwhelmed. You’ve got that look. Same one you get before a big match — where you try to act calm but your fingers keep twitching and you’re biting your tongue so hard I’m surprised it’s still intact.”

She huffed a short laugh. “I do not do that.”

“You do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and sat down at the edge of the bed. She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling crawling up her spine. “It’s just… a lot.”

“I know.” Colby sat beside her, hands planted behind him on the mattress. “But you handled it like a champ.”

Y/N gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Wanna talk about it? Or do you wanna pretend everything’s fine and keep dodging the thing we both know is eating at you?”

She went quiet. And then, without looking at him, she mumbled, “That photo. It just… it messed with me.”

“I figured.” His voice stayed even. “It’s not just that it was shown. It’s what it pulled up.”

Y/N sighed. “We were a ‘thing’ I guess for six months at that point. It wasn’t public. Hell, it wasn’t even properly defined. But it mattered. We mattered. Or at least I thought we did.”

Colby stayed quiet, waiting.

“When that picture showed up... it felt like getting punched in the chest. All those memories just... snapped back.”

“What kind of memories?” Colby asked, his voice softer now, less teasing.

She swallowed thickly, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. “I remembered the night it was taken. We were backstage, messing around after a dark match. I don’t even know what I said that made him laugh, but he kissed me. Really kissed me. And I kissed him back. We didn’t know someone had a phone out. That stagehand got fired the next day for taking it. But the damage was done.”

She shifted, rubbing her hands over her thighs. “We ignored it after that. Pretended it didn’t mean anything. But it did. And now? Seeing it like that… it just reminded me of everything we never said.”

Colby didn’t say anything right away. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you still love him?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you.” She exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever did. Not really. But I think I could’ve. And that’s worse.”

Colby turned toward her fully now, legs slightly parted, his voice low. “Let me ask a different question then.”

She blinked. “Okay?”

“Do you want him back?”

Y/N hesitated. Her throat tightened. She didn’t know how to answer that.

“No.”

Colby’s expression didn’t change, but something in his body language softened.

“Because I don’t share, sweetheart,” he said, voice dipping just enough to pull a chill down her spine. “Not something I want.”

Her breath caught. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he leaned in, his hand brushing against her knee, “you’ve been trying so hard to make sense of what that kiss with Phil meant that you haven’t stopped to think about what this means. You and me. Right now.”

She held his gaze, heart pounding. “Colby…”

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, eyes burning into hers. “But don’t think for one second that I don’t want you. That I don’t think about what would’ve happened if I kissed you first. Or second. Or every damn time since.”

Y/N’s throat dried. Her legs pressed together, the tension sparking like a live wire between them. His hand was still on her knee — not possessive, but grounding. She could feel her body lean closer to him without thinking. Everything in her buzzed.

She hated how easily he undid her.

“You’re not playing fair,” she whispered.

Colby smirked, leaning in close enough for his lips to graze her ear. “I never play fair, baby. Especially not when it comes to something I want.”

That did it. Y/N couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She just moved. She reached for him and crashed her mouth against his, hands curling into his shirt. His fingers immediately tangled in her hair, lips moving over hers with a mix of heat and something dangerously close to relief. Like he’d been holding back just as long.

When she pulled back, breathless, Colby’s eyes were already darkened with that signature, cocky glint. “Took you long enough. Been waitin’ all day for that.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, shoving his shoulder — but she was grinning.

He caught her hand before it fell away and brought it to his mouth, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “I would’ve dipped you better, you know.”

She blinked. “What?”

“In that picture,” he said smugly. “Punk didn’t commit. Weak dip. I would’ve made it better.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes — but something warm bloomed in her chest. Whatever this was… it wasn’t simple. But it was real. And right now, it was exactly what she needed.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The hallway outside the locker rooms was dim, nearly silent now that the final bell of Money in the Bank had rung. The crowd was still buzzing inside the arena, but back here, it felt like time had paused. Y/N’s skin was still slick with sweat beneath her gear, adrenaline still humming under her skin. She paced slowly, trying to come down from the high. From the way she felt after the win. From the way he had looked at her when she pinned their opponents for the three-count.

“You always walk off alone when you win,” Phil’s voice came behind her, smooth and low.

She turned, finding him leaning against the concrete wall with his arms crossed — his dark hair damp, his taped fists flexing slightly. He looked tired. Dangerous. Hot in a way that had her heart doing flips in her chest. “Only when I need a minute to remind myself that I’m not dreaming,” she replied, tucking her hair back. “Besides… I figured you’d be off somewhere basking in the cheers.”

He pushed off the wall and started toward her. “I don’t need cheers. I already know I’m the best in the world.”

“Oh, is that so?” she teased, raising a brow. “Your ego’s going to pop that pretty little head of yours one of these days.”

“I could say the same for you, sweetheart.” He stopped just inches away. “You soaked up that crowd like it was your own personal drug.”

“I’m allowed to. I’m the one who got the win.”

Phil tilted his head, smiling like he knew something she didn’t. “You really wanna go down that road?”

“You afraid I’ll win that one too?”

His eyes darkened. “I think we both know what happens when you start talking like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard. The tension between them had always been there — electric and dangerous, sharp enough to cut with. But lately it had morphed into something hotter. More unstable. They’d been playing with fire for six months, ever since Christmas. Dancing the line between friends with benefits and something more, and now…

Now the air between them was thick with it.

Phil stepped in until her back met the wall. His hand came up beside her head, palm flat against the cold concrete. “Y’know, I’ve been trying real hard to behave tonight,” he murmured, eyes flicking from her lips to her throat and back. “Trying to be the good guy. Celebrate the win. Go home like a professional.”

“Didn’t take,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, voice a little rougher. “No, it really didn’t.”

He dipped his head, letting his nose brush along her cheek, lips hovering right over the shell of her ear. “You keep looking at me like that, Y/N…”

“Like what?” she asked, breath catching.

“Like you want me to take you right here in this hallway.”

Her stomach dropped. Heat pooled low in her belly. She swallowed again, mouth dry. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing.”

Phil chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through her. “You’re dangerous when you’re confident,” he murmured, his hand trailing down from the wall to brush her hip. “And I can’t decide if I want to shut you up or let you keep talking just to see what you’ll say next.”

Y/N leaned in, lips a hair’s breadth from his. “Maybe I just like the way you look at me when I talk back.”

He groaned softly, his restraint hanging by a thread. “God, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.”

Phil’s hand slid around her waist, fingers tightening slightly. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

His forehead touched hers. The tension between them was unbearable now, smoldering. His other hand ghosted along her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. His breath was ragged.

“You gonna kiss me or—”

This time, she didn’t get to finish. He crashed his mouth against hers. It was bruising. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and raw need. He tasted like sweat and salt and something darker — something she couldn’t name but had craved for months. Her fingers clawed at the back of his neck as his hand slid around to her lower back, pulling her into him like he wanted to mold their bodies together.

Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, threading through his hair, tugging gently until he hissed through his teeth. He kissed her again, slower this time — like he was trying to memorize the curve of her mouth, the sound of her moan, the way her body melted against his with every second.

And then—

“I think I love you.”

The words left her mouth before she realized she’d even said them. They were raw and real and stupidly honest, tumbling out into the space between them like glass shattering on the floor.

Phil froze. He blinked. Hard.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say that again.”

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding like she’d just taken a bump off the top rope. “I think I love you.”

He stared at her.

And then he kissed her again.

This time slower. Deeper. More careful. His hand cradled her face like he didn’t want her to go anywhere. When he pulled back, his eyes were softer — just for a second. “I think…” he started, then paused. His lips twitched. “I think I might love you too.”

Y/N smiled — wide and real and terrifying. Neither of them noticed the soft click of a camera shutter from down the hall. They didn’t hear the quiet shuffle of a stagehand disappearing around the corner.

They were too wrapped up in each other. Too tangled in something that felt dangerous and important and terrifyingly new. But the moment — caught in grainy lighting and bad angles — would circulate online hours later. A blurry photo. Her back against the wall. His hand in her hair. Their mouths locked like the world had melted away.

It wasn’t meant to be seen. But it was. And everything would change because of it.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The video played on a muted loop at the bottom of Phil’s screen. A still from the interview. Then the photo. That photo.

Phil hadn’t gone looking for it. He didn’t have to. He’d been tagged on Twitter (he refused to call it “X,” it was too stupid for him to bother with) by at least two dozen wrestling fan accounts.

“CM Punk’s name gets dropped & Y/S/N straight glitches?? 👀👀”

“Nahhh the way she looked at that picture? Punk, I know you see this.”

“You fumbled bro.”

He should’ve ignored it. But curiosity was a sick thing, and it had always gotten the better of him — especially when it came to her.

So, against his better judgment, Phil clicked the link. The interview was slick, polished. The usual PR dance. Y/S/N and Rollins playing it off like pros. Bantering like they hadn’t been caught sucking face in a hotel hallway.

He rolled his eyes, arms crossed as he leaned back in the stiff chair of his Chicago apartment. The cat leapt onto the windowsill behind him, utterly uninterested.

But then…

Then the interviewer brought him up. Not by name at first, but Phil could hear it coming. Like a damn freight train. And when that picture hit the screen — blurry, dim lighting, the unmistakable capture of their kiss, his hands tangled in her gear, her clutching the front of his shirt like he’d just given her oxygen — he saw it.

He saw her.

And she froze.

Phil sat up straighter. Rewound. Watched again.

There was no mistaking the look on her face. It wasn’t just surprise. It wasn’t embarrassment.

It was her look.

The one she used to get when they were alone, when the walls came down. The look she gave him after matches when they crashed onto a couch together, bruised and breathless. The one right before she whispered things he wasn’t ready to hear — and said them anyway.

It sucker-punched him. He hadn't seen that look in… God. Years.

His thumb tapped against the edge of his coffee mug as he watched her quickly school her expression and deliver some half-clever, deflecting line. Classic Y/N — sharp tongue, steel armor, heart hidden behind bulletproof sarcasm.

But it slipped for just a second. And he saw it.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. The ego in him — the part that always needed to be right — felt smug. But the part of him that didn’t like feelings? That part hated this.

She still felt something. And that something had nothing to do with Rollins.

The knock came a few hours later — a soft rap of reality in the form of a digital schedule emailed to all top talents for Monday Night Raw. The kind of email he usually skimmed at best.

But this time… her name caught his eye.

Y/S/N: Confirmed Appearance – Portland. Monday.

Phil sat back, staring at the screen like it was a trap. He even clicked to enlarge it. Double checked. There it was. Clear as day.

She was going to be there.

For the first time since everything exploded — the outburst a month or so ago, the kiss photo, the interview, the silence that followed — she would be in the same building. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, that made something buzz under his skin.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her. Hell, he didn’t know if she’d even talk to him. The way they’d been handling things… hadn’t exactly been friendly. Or gentle. He’d lashed out. She yelled. Shut each other out. Walked off and closed the door behind them because it hurt less than staying.

But now? Especially after the phone call from Christmas. Maybe he’d have a shot.

Because now she was crashing into his life again, unannounced, like she always did. Through a goddamn screen. With his name on her face.

Phil smirked to himself, biting the inside of his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart.”

There was a twinge in his chest he didn’t want to name. He stood, stretching out his arms, trying to physically shake it off. Feelings weren’t his strong suit. Jealousy? Sure. Anger? Always. But whatever this was? That lingering warmth under the surface? He didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. But he was going to see her. And he was going to figure out just what the hell that look meant. Even if he had to drag it out of her himself.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

If Y/N had forgotten how wild Raw was, tonight was the loudest possible reminder.

Not even an hour into arriving backstage, she was already being pulled in three different directions — everyone wanting a piece of her, whether to gossip, hug her, or throw a microphone in her hand. She hadn’t even seen Colby since he left to change, and honestly? She was thriving.

She was halfway through sipping a smoothie — bless whoever stocked the catering fridge — when a voice purred behind her like velvet.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t my only competition in this business back on our turf.”

Y/N turned with a sly grin just in time for Demi to saunter up, black tank top clinging to her tattooed frame like it was custom-made to ruin lives.

“Demi,” Y/N said, holding her arms out dramatically. “God, you’re even hotter than I remembered. Is that legal?”

Demi’s grin grew, dimples on full display. “Depends on the state.”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “Then lock me up, officer.”

From somewhere behind them, Luis audibly choked.

“I take back everything I ever said,” he said, walking up with a hand over his heart. “This is who I should’ve been worried about.”

Josh — Jey Uso in all his chain-wearing, hype-filled glory — trailed behind, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone. “Nah, Luis was all cocky two minutes ago until Y/N looked at Mami like she wanted to—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll superkick your jaw loose,” Demi warned, but she was smirking too. “Don’t act like you both wouldn’t fold for her either.”

Y/N raised her brows. “I didn’t see a folding offer on the table, but I’m not opposed.”

Josh hollered. Luis held a hand up. “I need everyone to calm down. Seth’s not even in the ring yet and this girl’s already breaking hearts.”

Josh pointed between them. “Y’all really letting her play the whole locker room like Uno cards.”

“I’m just friendly,” Y/N shrugged, mock-innocent.

“Friendly?” Luis barked a laugh. “You just offered to get arrested by Ripley.”

“I’m nothing if not supportive,” she said, grinning.

Demi winked at her. “And I appreciate that, babe.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “You know what? Fine. I’ll sit in the corner and reevaluate my life while Mami and chaos incarnate flirt like it’s Pride After Dark.”

Josh crossed his arms. “Y/N, be honest… if it came down to it — me, Luis, or Demi — who would you pick?”

“Demi,” Y/N said instantly.

The boys groaned in unison. Demi cackled and threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulder like she’d just won a damn championship.

“Not even hesitation?” Josh asked, clutching his chest.

Y/N just sipped her smoothie. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Joshua.”

Luis shook his head. “Colby’s somewhere out there lacing his boots, and this woman’s out here building a harem.”

“Tell him to lace ‘em tighter,” Y/N winked. “He’s got competition.”

Josh was mid-wheeze when a production assistant passed by, holding a headset and calling out down the hallway. “Everyone get your finishing touches done— ten-minute cue!”

Y/N’s grin faltered for just a second, her stomach fluttering with anticipation. She was here to support Colby. It was the whole reason Paul asked her to be there.But she hadn’t expected to have this much fun backstage. Not after everything that had happened lately.

Luis called after her, voice teasing. “You’re gonna save his ass out there tonight, aren’t you?”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Only if he bleeds pretty.”

Josh cupped his hands around his mouth. “SIMP!”

“Say it louder!” she threw back with a laugh, already disappearing around the corner.

But as her laughter echoed down the hallway, there was a flicker of something underneath — something almost soft. Because as much as she was living for the chaos, she couldn’t deny it anymore: Raw felt right. She loves her family on SmackDown, but this just felt natural. She felt free. And for the first time in a long time… she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stands in Gorilla, a playful smirk on her face as Seth’s entrance echoed throughout the arena. The audience had no idea she was even there. Seeing her go out there to protect him would make everyone lose their minds. It makes her smile just thinking about how loud the reaction is going to be.

Seth walked out with his belt wrapped around his waist, strutting around with that never ending cockiness that she loved to see. He did his infamous character walk, strutting down the stage and towards the ring as he obnoxiously interacts with the fans.

He looks good. He always does. Even though his outfits have always been deemed dramatic, she loved the eccentricism. He could pull off the most ridiculous things. He could wear a feather boa and somehow manage to make it look sexy.

She knew some people were watching her while she was watching him. Everyone seemed much more attentive about how they act around each other after their kiss. Like they were searching for the romance that was clearly brewing between them.

She smiles as he soaks in the voices that are singing his song. He climbs into the ring with practiced ease, directing the audience like a band director. He does another little dance, grabbing his microphone as his song starts to fade out. The audience still continues to sing even after his entrance theme stops. Y/N shakes her head with a small chuckle at the arrogant smile on his face. It only grows with his ego.

“PORTLAND OREGON!” He screams into the mic, prompting more screams from the crowd. It’s almost immediate, many members in the crowd start chanting her name as well. A blush rises to her cheeks backstage but Colby manages to keep it together.

“Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” They still echo his last name even though the show is about forty minutes from its end. He still manages to hold their attention like it’s the very beginning of the show. “I am a visionary. I am a revolutionary. I am your world heavyweight champion,” he prances around the ring, patting the belt like it’s his child. “Seth!” He holds the microphone up in the air, prompting the audience to finish with:

FREAKIN’ ROLLINS!

He laughs, “Oh–ho–ho Rip city, you have done it again, man.” The crowd screams again, appreciating the praise he so openly gives them. “Ah… But Portland, we are in the home stretch now with the Royal Rumble just a few weeks away. After that, we are on the road to WrestleMania!”

“Now, now my WrestleMania track record, pretty good, pretty good,” he gives himself his flowers. “I’ve won a couple of titles. I had a little cash in. But Portland, there is actually one thing that I have never done when it comes to WrestleMania…” He points down at his belt, “I have never taken a world title in to WrestleMania. I’ve never been the headline. I’ve never been in the marquee. But that all changes this year, because this is the year of Seth Freakin’ Rollins!”

Seeing him speak with such conviction makes Y/N suck her bottom lip between her teeth. Confidence has always looked good on him. Watching him accomplish this new feat in his career was something she couldn’t have been prouder of. She’s had the opportunity to carry a title into Mania, so she’s absolutely thrilled to see him get to do the same.

“I worked too hard, I worked too long. I took a title that a year ago did not even exist, and I turned it into the most important prize in this industry.” Everyone cheers in agreement as he continues. “And I did it the way I said I was gonna do it. I was gonna be a fighting champion and I was gonna be a workhorse champion. But Portland, the work is not done. No, no, no, no, no, ‘cause I’ve got one little question. Who am I going to beat at the grandest stage of them all?” He pauses, allowing the crowd to scream their own opinions into existence.

CM Punk’s name is the clearest one. Seth smirks, but there is a little twitch in his jaw. “In his dreams maybe,” he says mockingly with an airy chuckle. He points backstage, “Because that Raw roster is so loaded from top to bottom, and there are so many super sta–”

That’s when Jinder Mahal’s music starts to play. Y/N has to hold back a laugh at the look on Colby’s face when Jinder walks out. His head tilts to the side, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open, but not in a shocked way. No, more like in a “I’ve never been more lost in my life” way. Almost like he completely forgot Jinder was supposed to come out in the first place.

Jinder takes his time strolling to the ring. Seth turns and asks the commentators if they knew about his appearance. When he makes it to the squared circle, he snakes a microphone from a stagehand before turning to the audience and mocking Seth. He moves his finger like an orchestrator, the same way Seth does when people sing his song. The audience boos in retaliation.

Jinder raises the mic, “Of course you’re out here singing your own praises,” he chastises. “Ladies and gentlemen, the revolutionary, the visionary.” He rolls his eyes as Seth continues watching him, completely perplexed. “How is it that last week, within five minutes, I was more of a revolutionary than you’ve been in the past five years you’ve been calling yourself that?”

That enticed more sounds of disagreement from the crowd. Y/N had to give Jinder credit where it was due, he makes a great heel. “Your only purpose is to entertain these clowns and further push this agenda of degeneracy.” He gestures to the audience who are growing more and more impatient with his antics.

“You think I’m lying, Portland? Take a look around!” He shouts. “Take a look around. Take a look at your city. Degeneracy at every street corner.” The people roar angrily as he continues to berate their home, while Colby just stares off into the distance for a moment, not interested in hearing what he’s saying. “Am I lying?”

“The world heavyweight champion,” he turns his attention back to Seth, “The man with the platform. Yet you instill no change, you speak no truth. You sing, you dance, you dress up.” Seth glances down at his own outfit, nodding with a small smirk. He’s proud of how crazy his outfits are. “You bring no value. You throw childish temper tantrums when things don’t go your way, when the show goes off the air. But I digress, I digress.”

“You pride yourself as a workhorse, a man who provides opportunities, except to a tenured, decorated, deserving former WWE champion.” He points to himself. Seth’s lips are pursed in annoyance as he continues to let Jinder go on his rant. “You have the audacity to overlook the modern day Mahraja. You have the audacity to overlook me!” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Let me remind you, I beat Randy Orton, the greatest of all time, and I did it with ease.”

Y/N glances over at the sound guy and he nods at her, putting up a two with his hand. She smiles and sends a thumbs up in response. This venting session is dragging on a lot longer than she thought it would. Relief floods her when she realizes it’s almost time for her entrance.

“Yet you disrespect me, you overlook me! This disrespect will not be tolerated. And Seth, I’ve known you for a long time. I see through this facade, this charade. I see through it all.” Jinder gestures up and down Seth’s form. “But for the first time, Seth, look me in my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I have your attention.”

Jinder continues smirking as Seth starts scratching the back of his head. He looks as though he’s trying to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter. He raises his mic to his lips, “Jinder, I may say something that might surprise you right now, but you’re right. You’re right, we have been overlooking you.” He turns to look at each and every audience member. “We have been overlooking Jinder Mahal, but Jinder, um…” he trails off, shrugging with mock sympathy. “That– that wasn’t an accident, we’ve actually been doing it on purpose.”

Y/N has to slap a hand over her mouth as she involuntarily snorts. His delivery and facial expressions never fail to make everything ten times better. “Yeah, for years, man, we’ve been trying to forget you until last week when you showed up and The Rock put your balls in a vice.” He throws his hands up, saying that he really is only telling the truth, and the audience goes absolutely insane. They cheer loudly, enjoying watching the Visionary put Mahal in his place.

“But– but– but here’s the thing, Jinder, I gotta admit, guys, I admire the fact that after The Rock fried him last week, he showed back up. He stood back up, he got back up. I appreciate that, I respect that. What I don’t respect is you coming out here and ruining our party and gettin’ in my face!”

Seth steps up, shoulders squared as he returns the favor, getting in Jinder’s face. “So yeah, you got my attention, Jinder. You’re sick of being overlooked.” He takes his belt off, tossing it to the side. “You wanna do something that these people are gonna remember you forever for?” The crowd screams once more as Seth takes a step back, urging Jinder to come at him. “Take a swing, Jinder. Take a swing, Jinder!” Seth continues antagonizing him, “Come on, Jinder, take a swing! Come on, I’m right here! Do it, swing on me, Jinder, swing!”

When he doesn’t, Seth just chuckles with a cocky smile. “That’s what I thought… Same old, Jinder.” He mockingly taps Mahal’s chest with the microphone before turning around. The moment Seth turned his back though, Jinder struck.

A brutal clothesline leveled the World Heavyweight Champion, dropping him like a sack of bricks. The crowd erupted into furious boos as Seth hit the mat hard, the mic bouncing across the ring. Jinder didn’t stop—he immediately pounced, raining down hard stomps to Seth’s ribs, his back, his chest.

Jinder raised a knee, catching Seth’s midsection, and the Visionary rolled over in pain, coughing. Mahal circled him like a predator, shouting something inaudible over the boos of the crowd. He grabbed a fistful of Seth’s hair and wrenched him upright—

And then the arena exploded. Y/N’s music blasted through the speakers, and Portland nearly blew the roof off the arena.

Michael Cole's voice shot over the pop. “Wait a minute—WAIT A MINUTE! It’s Y/N! Y/N is HERE!”

“Things just got very interesting,” Wade Barrett added, his voice practically vibrating. “And if I were Jinder Mahal, I’d be rethinking my life choices!”

Out from the curtain, Y/N came storming down the ramp, her boots pounding the steel with purpose, her body low and dangerous like a wolf charging the hunt. Her eyes were locked on the ring. On Jinder. He barely had time to react. He turned, shocked, as she slid into the ring and launched herself at him with zero hesitation.

She speared him to the mat and the crowd went nuts. Y/N wasted no time—her fists rained down on him, wild but calculated, each punch finding its mark. She didn't even give him a second to breathe. She mounted him and drove her elbow straight into his collarbone. Jinder’s hands flew up defensively, but it was too late. She had snapped.

Cole practically lost it. “Y/N is absolutely unloading on Jinder Mahal! She’s not here to talk—she’s here to fight!”

“She’s protecting Seth Rollins,” Barrett added. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this vicious.”

Jinder managed to roll out from under her, crawling toward the ropes like a wounded animal, but Y/N grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. He twisted and tried to kick her, but she dodged, grabbed his leg, and dropped him with a dragon screw that left him shouting in pain.

Then she stood—and the entire crowd saw it. The fire in her eyes. The rise and fall of her chest. The tension in her jaw. She dared Jinder to come back.

He didn’t. He rolled under the ropes and dropped to the floor outside, clutching his knee and looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Boos rained down on him as he stumbled toward the barricade, one hand outstretched as if begging for the chaos to stop.

Back in the ring, Seth was slowly getting up. One hand braced on the ropes, the other pressed to his ribs—but he never took his eyes off her. Not once. The way she stood there… the command in her posture, the heat still simmering in her gaze, the way she exhaled like a dragon just learning how to breathe fire—Seth had never seen anything so devastatingly hot in his life. And he’d seen a lot.

She turned toward him, her face softening just a little when she saw him watching her. She stepped over, hand outstretched, but he didn’t take it right away. He just looked at her. Like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like she had just rewritten every definition of the word loyalty.

And then he smiled—wide and whipped. “I always knew you had my back,” he said, voice low enough just for her to hear.

“You doubted I would?” she teased, quirking a brow.

His lips curved into something half-cocky, half-worshipful. “Didn’t doubt it. Just wasn’t prepared for how good it would look.”

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes as she helped him the rest of the way up. The crowd cheered as she looped one of his arms over her shoulders, supporting him as he leaned into her. And just when it seemed like things were calming down—Seth leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Remind me to get jumped more often if it means you’ll show up looking like that.”

Y/N elbowed him in the ribs—again. He winced, but he grinned. The commentary team couldn’t contain themselves. “There is something brewing here, folks,” Cole said, “and after the interview, after that kiss, I think it’s safe to say—Y/N and Seth Rollins are not just coworkers anymore.”

“If this is what the road to WrestleMania looks like,” Barrett added, “I’m all in.”

Seth raised his belt again with his free hand, but this time, he didn’t celebrate alone. Y/N stood by his side, one hand resting on his shoulder, the crowd screaming their names in equal volume. She saved him. And the audience would never forget it.

The second Y/N and Seth stepped past the curtain, Gorilla erupted into quiet applause and knowing smirks. A few producers nodded in approval, and one of the writers mouthed, “That was fire.”

Seth—still buzzing with adrenaline—spun toward her with a grin that could have lit up the entire backstage hallway. He didn’t even bother slowing down before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in close, his forehead briefly pressing to hers.

“You’re insane, you know that?” he said, breathless with awe. “And I mean that in the hottest possible way.”

Y/N laughed, heart still racing from the run-in, her hands resting lightly on his chest. “You looked like you were holding back a scream when Jinder started talking.”

“Because I was,” he grinned, hands not moving from her waist. “But then you came out like an absolute beast and—” He whistled, leaning back just enough to look at her fully. “Portland’s gonna be chanting your name for weeks. You owned that.”

Her cheeks flushed. She hated how flustered he could still make her, even when she was riding the high of beating someone down. “Thanks, Lopez. Try not to get too obsessed.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” he teased with a wink. “I’d kiss you right now, but if I don’t go change, someone’s gonna throw a headset at me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smirking. “Then go. But don’t take too long or I’ll start charming someone else.”

He leaned in again, his mouth hovering just beside her ear. “I dare you.”

With one final, knowing smirk, Colby jogged off toward the locker rooms, turning back to give her a once-over before disappearing around the corner. Y/N watched him leave, smiling to herself… until a familiar voice broke her out of her daze. “Well, well, well. Look who’s living their main character era.”

She turned to find Cody Rhodes walking toward her, a teasing grin pulling at his lips and that signature sparkle in his eyes. He opened his arms and she instantly stepped into the hug, wrapping her arms tight around her longtime friend. “Hey you.”

“You just speared a man twice your size and made it look easy,” he said as they pulled back, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “And you’ve got Seth Rollins looking at you like you invented sliced bread.”

Y/N laughed, elbowing him lightly. “Shut up.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Cody grinned. “You look happy. And that’s not something we’ve always been able to say about you, especially not this time of year.”

She paused, heart warming at the sentiment. “Thanks, Cody. I... I think I actually am.”

“You better be. Because no one deserves it more than you,” he said sincerely. “Brandi and I were just saying the other night, we haven’t seen you since before the holidays.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been meaning to come over—”

“Well now you don’t have to mean to. You just have to show up,” he cut in with a grin. “This weekend. You, Colby—if he’s around. We could use some adult company, and Liberty’s been pacing the house like a miniature boss asking when Auntie Y/N is coming back.”

Y/N’s face lit up. “You know I’ll be there. I’ll clear it with Colby, but even if he can’t make it, I’m definitely coming.”

“Good,” Cody smiled. “We miss you.”

“I miss you guys too.”

He gave her one last squeeze of the shoulder and nodded toward the hallway. “Now go do whatever it is mysterious spearing badasses do after they shake up an arena.”

She laughed again, watching him walk away, warmth still lingering from the interaction. Y/N had turned to walk away as well, but had barely been able to take a few steps down the hallway when he turned the corner.

Phil.

Time stopped the second they locked eyes. There wasn’t anyone else around, not really. She could hear the low buzz of chatter in the background, maybe a radio squawking, but none of it mattered. It was just them. Like it always had been. Like it hadn’t been in years. He was standing there, arms crossed, shoulder leaned slightly against the wall. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing faded tattoos she used to know like the back of her hand. His expression was unreadable—calm, but with something else brewing beneath the surface.

Y/N stopped walking. So did he.

A beat passed… Then another.

Finally, his voice broke the stillness. “…Hey.”

Simple. Familiar. A thousand things buried in one word. She blinked, keeping her posture calm, even though her stomach flipped. “Hi.”

The awkwardness lingered—not heavy, not biting, just weighted. Like two people trying to read each other without letting their eyes linger too long. He shifted a little, eyes flickering down the hallway, then back to her. “Did you see my segment?”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, crossing her arms to mirror his posture. “Kinda hard not to. You were halfway to throwing hands with Drew within the first three minutes.”

Phil smirked, something flickering in his gaze. “What can I say? He’s got one of those faces.”

She chuckled, quiet and involuntary. The kind of laugh that surprised her. Phil’s head tilted slightly, his eyes not leaving hers. “You were good out there,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “That spear… you looked like you’d been waiting to do that for months.”

Y/N’s brow lifted. “Maybe I have.”

There was a moment between them then, one of those charged silences full of everything they weren’t saying. His gaze dropped—briefly—to her lips. Not intentionally. Not obviously. But she saw it. “So,” he started again, trying to keep it casual, “the interview.”

“Yeah…” she exhaled slowly. “That was a surprise.”

“You froze,” he said, more observation than accusation.

Y/N stiffened slightly. “It caught me off guard. That photo was never supposed to make it out.”

Phil’s lips pulled into a crooked half-smile. “Yeah, I remember. The stagehand I got fired, right?”

“Immediately,” she nodded. “Vince was pissed.”

Phil hummed. “I was too in the beginning when it happened, but after a while I wasn’t. I like that photo.”

Y/N swallowed, eyes flickering away. “It was just a kiss.”

“It wasn’t,” he said plainly. “Not to me. And I know it wasn’t for you either.”

She looked back at him, caught off guard by how quietly honest he sounded. Phil never said things like that easily. Never without deflection or sarcasm. “You really believe that?” she asked.

Phil shrugged, mouth twisting slightly. “I’m not big on rewriting history. Especially not the parts that mattered.”

That shut her up. He let the silence stretch between them for a beat before continuing. “Listen,” he said, taking a small step closer. “At Christmas… I meant what I said. About talking. About not leaving things where they are.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, a mix of emotions running across her face. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted.

“But?” he asked gently.

“No but,” she said. “I just… haven’t figured out what I want yet.”

Phil gave a soft, dry laugh. “You never did. That was always part of the fun.”

Her brow arched. “Is this your idea of flirting?”

“It’s my idea of being honest,” he replied, tone dropping. “You think I don’t see it? You see that photo, and you go somewhere. Somewhere we never got to finish.”

That hit her harder than she wanted to admit. He stepped forward again, just close enough for her to catch a familiar whiff of his cologne—clean, warm, him. “I know I hurt you,” he continued. “I know I didn’t handle things right when it mattered most. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

“You’re still really bad at apologies,” she said softly.

Phil cracked a small smile. “I said I didn’t handle it right. That’s my version of ‘I’m sorry.’”

Y/N huffed. “Charming.”

“But I meant what I said,” he added. “Let me take you for coffee tomorrow. Just to talk. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking. If you want to scream at me the whole time, I’ll pick the coffee shops with the best acoustics.”

She almost laughed—almost. But there was still something tugging in her chest. “You sure you’re ready for that?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Hearing everything I’ve been holding in?”

Phil’s gaze was steady. “I think I deserve it.”

That stung, only because it was true. Y/N hesitated. Her heart thudded in her chest, confused by all the history, the heat, the hurt. But finally… she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Coffee. Ten minutes.”

Phil let out a quiet breath. He didn’t look smug—he looked… something else. Relieved. Curious. Maybe even hopeful. He nodded once. “Cool.”

Then he turned to walk past her, but paused just as they brushed shoulders.

“And Y/N?” He glanced back over his shoulder, voice lower this time.

“You still wear that look like a shield, y’know.” Y/N blinked, caught off guard. Phil gave her a small, unreadable smile. “Used to think I was the only one who could see past it.” Then he turned fully and walked away, leaving her standing there — still, quiet, and suddenly unsure what she wanted more:

To run after him…

Or to run in the opposite direction.

[sunnyxjarrus]

try to actually still be asleep at 4 am challenge anyone (please sedate me)

(@local-lover-boy look at my tags trying to processing stuff )

[satellite-evans]

best friends

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando becomes best friends with your daughter after taking care of her when she's sick <3

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was one of those rainy mornings when everything seemed to move in slow motion. The sky was a dull shade of gray, and raindrops trickled down the windowpane, blurring the outside world into a watercolor painting. The sound of distant thunder rolled through the air, a reminder that the storm had settled in for the day.

You stood in your living room, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee, the steam curling up into the air like a ghost of comfort. The aroma was rich, but the exhaustion clinging to your bones made it hard to appreciate. You took a slow sip, hoping the caffeine would work some magic, but the fatigue from the sleepless night refused to loosen its grip.

On the couch, your four-year-old daughter, Sophie, was curled up beneath a thick blanket, her tiny form barely stirring. Her usually bright, mischievous eyes were shut tight, her breathing soft but uneven. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, her little hands gripping the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to comfort.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The night had been long—hours spent checking her temperature, pressing cool cloths to her forehead, whispering reassurances into the dark. She had tossed and turned, whimpering in her sleep, too warm, too restless, too sick to find peace. And now, in the quiet of the morning, you were running on fumes, your body heavy with exhaustion, but there was no choice.

You couldn’t call in sick. Not again.

Your boss had been understanding the last time, but you knew there was only so much flexibility they could offer. And as much as you hated it, bills didn’t pause for feverish nights or exhausted single mothers. You had to push through. That’s what you always did.

Your gaze flickered to the clock. Less than an hour before your meeting.

Your stomach tightened as reality settled in—there was no way you could leave Sophie alone, not like this. The thought of walking out that door while she lay there, weak and vulnerable, made your chest ache with guilt. But what choice did you have?

You chewed your lip, fingers tightening around your phone. There was one person who might be able to help. Someone you weren’t sure you could ask yet.

Lando.

Your relationship was still new, fresh enough that you hesitated before burdening him with something this big. But he had always been kind, always made you feel like you weren’t alone in this, even when you were too scared to believe it. And right now, you needed help.

You took a breath and started typing.

Hey, Lando… Sophie is really sick today, and I have to go to work. I know this might be a lot, but… I don’t know who else to ask. Would you be able to help out for a bit? xxx

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a second, doubt creeping in. Was this too much? Would he feel obligated? Would this change things between you?

But there was no time to second-guess. You pressed send.

The seconds stretched unbearably as you waited for his response. You took another sip of coffee, your throat tight, your mind racing through backup plans—plans you didn’t have. Your gaze drifted back to Sophie, her small frame so fragile, her body lost in the folds of the blanket. She needed you. But she also needed the roof over her head, the food on her plate, the security you worked so hard to provide.

Then, finally, the ping of a message.

Your heart jumped as you unlocked your phone, your breath catching as you read his reply.

Don’t worry, I got you! I’ll take care of her. You’ve got nothing to stress about. I’ll be there in 10 minutes xxx

You let out a sigh of relief, but a small knot still formed in your stomach. The idea of leaving Sophie in someone else’s care, especially someone as new to your life as Lando, felt a little strange. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—you did. He had always been kind, patient, and effortlessly good with people. But Sophie wasn’t just anyone. She was your whole world, and handing over even a sliver of responsibility for her well-being wasn’t easy.

Still, you had no choice.

Not long after, a soft knock at the door broke through your anxious thoughts. You took a deep breath before opening it, finding Lando standing there, a concerned but reassuring smile on his face. He looked effortlessly casual in a hoodie and sweats, hands tucked into his pockets as if this was just another normal day.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping inside. “How’s our little patient doing?”

You led him into the living room, where Sophie woke up and was curled up on the couch, watching TV with tired, glassy eyes. Although she was awake, she barely moved, fully focused on what was happening indient of her. The moment she saw Lando, she peeked up at him before quickly hiding her face in the folds of fabric, too shy to say anything.

You sighed, kneeling beside her and brushing her hair back gently. Her forehead was still too warm beneath your touch. “She’s still really warm,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else. Then, turning back to Lando, you handed him a small notepad filled with your rushed, yet meticulous, handwriting. “I wrote down everything you need to know.”

Lando took the notepad, his eyes scanning over it with careful focus as you continued.

“Her medicine is here—one dose every six hours. She won’t eat much when she’s sick, but she loves toast with honey and banana slices or the tomato soup in the fridge. She also only drinks apple juice or water, but try to get her to drink more water.”

Lando nodded, already taking mental notes. “Got it. Medicine, toast with honey and bananas, apple juice, and lots of water.”

You glanced down at Sophie, who remained silent but was clearly listening. “She likes Peppa Pig, but her favorite is Bluey,” you added, lowering your voice like it was a secret just for him.

At that, Lando chuckled. “Ah, a kid with taste. Oscar loves it too. Bluey it is.”

You smiled, appreciating how quickly he was absorbing everything. “She’s really shy at first, but once she warms up, she won’t stop talking.”

He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

Your expression softened. “She also hates loud noises when she’s sick, so keep things quiet.” You hesitated before adding, “And… just call me if anything happens. Anything at all.”

“I will,” he assured you, his voice steady and certain. “You don’t have to worry. We’re going to be just fine.”

You wanted to believe that, and maybe you did, but leaving still felt wrong.

You turned back to Sophie, kneeling beside her once more. Her tiny frame barely shifted beneath the blanket, but when you smoothed her hair away from her face, she blinked up at you, her watery eyes full of unspoken words.

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her warm forehead. “Be good for Lando, okay?”

Sophie’s lower lip trembled, and she clutched the blanket tighter. “I want you to stay,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Your heart clenched painfully. You stroked her cheek, trying to fight the wave of guilt rising in your chest. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “I know. But I have to go to work, okay? Lando’s going to stay with you. He’s really nice, remember?”

She didn’t answer right away, her little fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. Then, slowly, she gave a tiny nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Lando crouched beside you, keeping his voice soft and light. “You know, Sophie, I was actually thinking I could use some help today.”

Sophie peeked at him through her lashes, wary but curious.

“You see,” he continued, as if sharing an important secret, “I don’t know the first thing about Bluey. And I heard you’re the expert. Think you can teach me?”

For a moment, there was nothing. But then, finally, Sophie nodded again, just a fraction more certain this time.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Giving her one last kiss on the forehead, you stood, grabbing your bag and coat. Before heading out the door, you turned to Lando one last time, meeting his gaze with quiet gratitude.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

His smile was warm, unwavering. “Anytime.”

For the first hour, Sophie was quiet, keeping her distance on the couch while Lando sat nearby. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t try to force a connection—he simply sat beside her, arms resting casually on his knees, watching Bluey with an easy, relaxed expression.

The sound coming from the TV filled the quiet space between them, the rain outside creating a gentle rhythm against the windows. Every so often, he could feel her eyes on him—brief, cautious glances before she quickly looked away, burying herself deeper into her blanket.

Lando pretended not to notice at first, letting her come to him in her own time. But when he caught another quick peek out of the corner of his eye, he finally spoke, keeping his voice light and playful.

“You know,” he mused, as if sharing a secret, “I have a friend named Bluey.”

Sophie blinked at him, intrigued but skeptical. “You do?” she asked softly, her voice raspy from sleep.

“Yup,” he nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “She’s blue, just like this Bluey, but she’s actually a little stuffed toy my friend keeps in his car for good luck.”

Sophie’s lips twitched, and then, to Lando’s delight, she giggled—a quiet, sleepy little laugh, but still, a laugh.

“That’s funny,” she murmured, curling further into the blanket.

Lando grinned, feeling the tension between them start to melt away.

A little while later, when Sophie’s tummy let out a small grumble, he took it as his cue.

“Sounds like someone’s ready for a snack,” he teased, standing up and stretching dramatically.

Sophie hesitated before nodding. “Toast,” she mumbled, rubbing at her tired eyes.

“Coming right up, ma’am,” Lando said with a playful salute, making her giggle again.

He moved into the kitchen, following the notes you had left. He spread a thin layer of honey over the warm toast, slicing up a banana just the way you had instructed. As he placed the plate in front of Sophie, he watched with amusement as she immediately picked at the crust first, nibbling at the edges before moving onto the softer center.

He tilted his head, noticing how familiar the habit seemed. Then it hit him.

“You eat your toast like your mommy does,” he remarked casually.

Sophie paused mid-bite, eyes flicking up to him in surprise. “Like mommy?”

Lando nodded. “Yup. First time I saw her do it, I thought maybe she was just being fancy. But now I know—it’s a family thing.”

Sophie seemed to like that answer because she grinned before taking another bite.

A few moments later, she pouted slightly as honey dripped onto her fingers. Lando reached for a wet napkin, handing it to her with an amused smirk.

“Sticky fingers, huh?” he teased.

She nodded solemnly, wiping her hands with small, deliberate movements. “Mommy doesn’t like sticky fingers either.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “You and your mommy are a lot alike, you know?”

At that, Sophie smiled—really smiled this time—and it was the kind of smile that made Lando’s chest feel unexpectedly full. She looked at him for a moment, her tiny body finally relaxing as if she had decided he was safe. Then, with a small yawn, she snuggled deeper into the blanket, inching closer to his side.

Just as her eyelids started to droop, she mumbled sleepily, “Mommy says you has pretty eyes.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh, really?”

Sophie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “She told her best friend, Louisa. She said they’re ‘so dreamy.’”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Did she now?”

Sophie made a soft noise of agreement, already half-asleep. “She likes you.”

Lando’s heart swelled at her innocent words, warmth spreading through him in a way he hadn’t expected. He glanced down at her peaceful face, looking exactly like you.

Gently, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead and whispered, “I like her too.”

As the day stretched on, Sophie’s initial shyness melted away, replaced by giggles and small moments of trust.

At first, she was cautious—watching Lando out of the corner of her eye as he sat on the floor beside her tiny play area. But with patience and gentle encouragement, he managed to pull her into small activities. They built a pillow fort in the living room, carefully stacking cushions and draping a blanket overhead to create a cozy hideout.

“This is the best castle ever,” Lando announced dramatically, lying on his back inside their creation. “I think we should declare this as The Kingdom of Sophie.”

Sophie giggled, adjusting the stuffed animals she had lined up as “guards” at the fort’s entrance. “And you can be the knight,” she declared.

Lando gasped, clutching his chest. “Me? A knight? That’s a huge responsibility.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Do I get a sword?”

Sophie considered this very seriously before nodding. “But only a soft sword,” she said, picking up a plush toy and handing it to him. “No hitting, just protecting.”

Lando chuckled, accepting the stuffed animal with a solemn nod. “I will guard this kingdom with my life.”

After their castle adventures, Sophie pulled out her collection of books, choosing her favorites and snuggling into Lando’s side as he read to her. She listened intently, her little fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie while he brought each story to life with silly voices and exaggerated expressions.

“You’re funny,” she told him at one point, peeking up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I try to be,” Lando admitted. “But between you and me, I think you’re the funniest one here.”

She giggled again, clearly pleased.

Later in the afternoon, when her energy dipped, they settled at the coffee table for a quiet coloring session. Lando grabbed a handful of crayons while Sophie carefully worked on her masterpiece.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

Sophie held up the paper proudly, revealing a childlike drawing of three stick figures. One was clearly her, with curly scribbles for hair, another was you, and the last one—labeled “Lando” in wobbly letters—stood right beside you.

Lando’s heart clenched in the best way possible. “Wow,” he said, genuinely touched. “This might be the best drawing I’ve ever seen.”

Sophie beamed. “It’s Mommy and you! And me!”

“I love it,” he told her, nudging her playfully. “You’re a real artist, Soph.”

After a fun-filled afternoon of pillow forts, storybooks, and coloring, Lando noticed Sophie beginning to slow down. Her energy had dipped significantly, her tiny body slumping against the couch as she blinked sluggishly at the TV.

He frowned, reaching out to feel her forehead the way he had seen you do earlier. The warmth against his palm made his stomach twist uncomfortably—she was still running a fever.

“Alright, kiddo,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl away from her face. “Time for a little check-up.”

Sophie groaned, her response muffled by the blanket she had pulled up over her nose. “Noooo.”

Lando chuckled. “Come on, your mom left me very strict instructions to make sure you’re feeling okay. I don’t mess around when it comes to doctor duties.”

Sophie peeked out, her cheeks flushed from the fever. “Are you a real doctor?”

Lando gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I am Dr. Lando, and I am very serious about my job.” He reached for the thermometer you had left on the coffee table. “Now, open up, little miss.”

She pouted but obeyed, letting him slip the thermometer under her tongue. Lando sat patiently, watching the numbers climb before it beeped. He pulled it out, checking the screen.

“Not bad, but still warm, Soph,” he murmured, concern flickering in his eyes.

Sophie just hummed sleepily, curling further into her blanket.

Lando glanced at the notepad of instructions you had left, then back at her. “Alright, first order of business—water. Your mom said you have to drink some, and I’d rather not get fired on my first day as a babysitter.”

Sophie groaned but didn’t argue when he grabbed her little cup of water and held it out to her.

“Just a few sips, okay?” he coaxed. “I’ll even let you have a super exclusive VIP sip while sitting in the fort.”

That got her attention. She let out a weak giggle before reaching for the cup with small, clumsy fingers. Lando helped guide it to her lips, watching as she took a few tiny sips before wrinkling her nose.

“Bleh,” she mumbled.

Lando smirked. “Not a water fan, huh?”

She shook her head, but Lando tapped the cup gently. “I get it, but we gotta make sure you don’t turn into a little raisin.”

Sophie giggled at that, taking one more sip before handing the cup back.

“Good job, kiddo,” he praised.

Next came the medicine, which was a slightly tougher battle.

“Noooo,” Sophie whined, pulling the blanket over her head when she saw Lando grabbing the small bottle.

Lando sighed, shaking his head. “C’mon, Soph. Your mom told me you have to take this.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Okay, what if I take some too?” Lando bargained.

Sophie peeked out, squinting at him. “You don’t have a fever.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I could be getting one,” he said with mock seriousness. “Better to be safe, right?”

She stared at him for a moment, considering his words. “…Okay.”

Lando grinned in victory and poured the correct dose into the little plastic cup. He handed it to her, watching as she took it hesitantly before scrunching her face at the taste.

“Bleh,” she groaned again.

“Yeah, medicine’s the worst,” Lando agreed, setting the cup aside. “But you’re a champ.”

Satisfied that he had followed your instructions, he helped tuck her back into the couch, adjusting the blanket so she was snug and warm.

He sat beside her, ruffling her curls lightly. “Feeling any better?”

Sophie hummed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “A little.”

“That’s good,” he murmured, watching as she yawned and curled closer to him. He reached for the remote, lowering the TV volume. “Alright, you just rest now, okay? I got you.”

Sophie peeked up at him, blinking slowly, her eyelids heavy with sleep. “Mommy was right,” she whispered, her voice thick with drowsiness.

Lando tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he tried to hide a small smile. “About what?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

She yawned again, her tiny body curling further into the warmth of the blanket. “You’re nice,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re officially my new best friend.”

A warmth spread through Lando's chest, more than just the gentle feeling of Sophie’s innocent words. He smiled to himself, his fingers brushing a stray curl from her forehead as he whispered, “That’s an honor, kiddo. You’re my new best friend too.” His voice was so soft, so sincere, and Sophie’s breathing soon evened out, signaling that she was finally drifting into a peaceful sleep.

Lando stayed where he was, right by her side. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of Sophie’s breathing. He glanced around the room, ensuring she was comfortable—making sure the blanket was tucked just right, keeping the environment as calm and secure as possible. He knew how much you’d want this—how much you’d want her to feel safe and loved.

And just as you walked through the door, everything around you seemed still, frozen in a sense of calm that made your heart swell in a way that took you by surprise. The living room was serene. The TV played softly in the background, a nature documentary flickering in the corner, but all your attention was drawn to the sight before you. There, curled up against Lando’s side, was Sophie—utterly content, her tiny hand resting trustingly on his arm. The sight was simple but perfect. She had found comfort in Lando's presence, just like she always found in yours.

You stopped in the doorway for a long moment, frozen by the unexpected tenderness of the scene. Lando moved with such deliberate care, adjusting the blanket around Sophie’s shoulders. He tucked it in gently, making sure she was warm and settled in, completely unaware of how much it all made your heart swell.

It was a moment of quiet beauty, and you couldn’t help but feel a soft rush of emotion rise in your chest.

Lando caught the sound of your footsteps and looked up. His lips curved into a quiet smile, one that spoke volumes without needing words. “Hey,” he whispered, careful not to disturb Sophie. “She did great today.”

You set down your bag, your voice warm with admiration. “Looks like you did too.” Your gaze softened as you looked at them, the scene too peaceful not to melt your heart.

Sophie stirred, the gentle sound of your voice pulling her from the last remnants of sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked a few times before her tired gaze landed on you. Her little voice was still thick with sleep when she murmured, “Mommy…”

You knelt down beside her, brushing a few stray curls from her forehead. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good nap?” you asked softly, your heart full.

Sophie stretched slightly, but stayed nestled against Lando, unwilling to leave the safety of his side. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she spoke again, her words slow and deliberate. “Lando’s funny,” she said with a yawn. “And he said Bluey is his friend.”

You chuckled softly, amused by her observations. “Did he take good care of you?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Sophie nodded, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Mhm,” she murmured, her voice drowsy but content. “And…” She paused, clearly considering her next words carefully, before her face shifted into a mischievous little smile. “He has dreamy eyes. Just like you said.”

Your whole body locked up, the blood rushing to your cheeks in an instant. Your heart skipped, and your mouth went dry. Your mind raced as you scrambled for a response, but no words came out. Instead, you opened your mouth—then closed it—before finally opening it again, only to find yourself completely lost for words.

Lando, on the other hand, had zero plans of letting this moment pass without teasing you mercilessly.

His smirk spread slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement as he turned to you. “So… dreamy, huh?” he teased, his voice low and full of mischief.

You groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God, Sophie,” you whined, your voice muffled by your palms. “I’m never speaking in front of her again.”

Lando chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment. “No, no,” he teased, “don’t stop now. I’m very interested in this topic.” His voice was playful, but there was a warmth in it that made you feel as though he wasn't teasing in a hurtful way—just in a way that made everything feel even more genuine.

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks still burning with heat. “I hate you,” you muttered, but the words came out softer than intended.

Lando reached over and gently took your hand in his, his fingers squeezing yours. The teasing smile faded into something warmer, something more sincere. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “I think it’s adorable.”

You exhaled, still flustered but unable to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. It was impossible not to feel a little bit lighter with him beside you.

Lando lifted your hand and pressed a soft, playful kiss to your knuckles. “And just so you know,” he added, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, “I think your eyes are pretty dreamy too.”

Eventually, as much as you secretly didn’t want him to, Lando had to go. It was already getting late, and though Sophie had been asleep earlier, she was now awake and clinging to his hoodie with surprising strength for a four-year-old.

“Nooo,” she whined, her lower lip jutting out in the most dramatic pout. “Don’t go, stay.”

Lando smiled gently, crouching down to her level. “Hey, I’ll come back, okay? I promise.”

Sophie crossed her arms, her little face scrunching up in stubborn defiance. “Pinkie promise?”

Lando grinned, holding out his pinkie. “The strongest pinkie promise ever.”

She eyed him for a moment before looping her tiny pinkie around his. “You have to come back soon.”

“I will,” he assured her. “And next time, we’ll build an even bigger pillow fort.”

Sophie gasped as if that was the greatest thing she had ever heard. “With lights?”

Lando chuckled. “With lights. And a secret entrance. And maybe even some snacks.”

Sophie giggled, finally releasing his hoodie. “Okay… but don’t take too long.”

Lando ruffled her curls. “Deal.”

Sophie then turned to you and grabbed your hand. “Come, Mommy. You have to walk him to the door.”

Lando arched a brow, clearly amused. “Oh, do I get an escort?”

Sophie nodded seriously. “Mommy has to say goodbye properly.”

Your cheeks warmed again, but you didn’t argue, letting Sophie lead the way as the three of you walked to the door.

When you reached it, Sophie turned to Lando. “Bye-bye, Lando.”

He smiled, bending down to give her a quick hug. “Bye, kiddo. Sleep tight, okay?”

Sophie nodded before stepping back, watching intently as if she was expecting something.

Lando turned to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for trusting me with her today.”

You exhaled, offering him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Lando took a small step closer, tilting his head slightly. “Anytime.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, caught in the quiet, comfortable tension between you.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Lando froze for half a second, his breath hitching ever so slightly—but when you pulled back, his lips stretched into the slowest, most heart-melting smile you had ever seen.

“Was that a thank-you?” he teased, though his voice was lower, warmer.

You laughed softly. “Maybe.”

His eyes flickered between yours, something unspoken passing between you, before he lifted a hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“I really like being here,” he admitted quietly.

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. “I really like you being here.”

And then, before you could completely process it, Lando leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It was soft and warm, hesitant yet sure, the kind of kiss that left no doubt about where things were heading between you.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “So… should I expect Sophie to tell you stuff about me too?”

You groaned, laughing against him. “Oh God, she totally will.”

Lando grinned, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Guess that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

From behind you, Sophie giggled. “Mommy likes you sooo much.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Sophie.”

Lando only laughed, giving your hand one last squeeze before stepping outside. “See you soon.”

And as he walked down the path, you stood in the doorway with Sophie, watching him go—your heart already longing for the moment he would come back.

[yasministration]

Sleeping beauty - platonic!marauders

summary: reader stumbles into the common room after a long night of 'sleep'. they try discovering who she slept with the night before. wc: 0.7k

Lily sipped her tea as the marauders animatedly chatted around her in the common room, Marlene in a half-asleep state, head resting on Remus’s shoulder. “Hey, where is y/n, by the way?” Asked Sirius, taking a big gulp out of his own coffee, looking at your two dorm mates for an answer. “Sleeping.” Replied Marlene, blinking slowly. James twisted his his torso to glance at the big clock on the wall behind him, frowning. “It’s 3 in the afternoon.” Lily jolted up, as though having a revelation, and looked straight towards Marlene. “Also, who did she get with last night?” Now this attracted the attention of the other marauders, who instantly turned to stare at Lily. “She slept with someone!?” Whisper-yelled Sirius, glancing between Lily and Marlene.

Marlene scoffed, mumbling “She came back to our dorm at like 1am, and has been knocked out since. So yeah, she definitely slept with someone.” Remus furrowed his eyebrows “Sleeping for thirteen hours doesn’t necessarily mean she slept with someone.” Lily laughed, nodding ‘yes’. “Trust me, good sex can put a girl out for a good fifteen hours. We probably won’t see her until night comes.” “Oh I bet it’s the Ravenclaw.” Marlene thought out loud, and Lily hummed in agreement. “I’ll bet it’s that Slytherin.” She challenged, digging a galleon out of her pocket. Marlene grinned, suddenly awake, and tossed a golden coin onto the table. “How- what!?” Questioned Sirius, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, here comes sleeping beauty.” Teased James loudly, earning a tired grumbled from you as you trudged down the stairs. Lily laughed at the sight of you, dragging your feet behind you, cuddling into your thick sweatshirt.

“So who’s the prince charming?” Marlene added, leaning over the table to high five James. Your eyes widened in a moment of panic, and you nodded your head across the common room. “What?” Asked Sirius, looking between you and the other two girls in the group. You gulped harshly, mumbling “Uh, I can’t say.” Lily and Marlene both had matching confused expressions on their faces, communicating ‘You always tell us though!’ You gave them a warning look, trying to subtly gesture towards Sirius with your eyes, but the second you looked his way, he had caught you.

“Hey! Why’d you look at me like that!” “No reason!” You squeaked, slumping down on the couch next to James, insistently avoiding Sirius’s eyes. “Is it the Slytherin then?” Asked Lily, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Well, uh, not the Slytherin.” You cleared your throat, shooting Lily a reprimanding look. “Oh my god, did you sleep with my cousin!?” Yelled Sirius, earning him a screech of “What!? Sirius your cousins are all girls!” But that had instantly revealed too much. Your eyes widened in realisation and Sirius straightened up, his jaw dropping. “Oh. My. God.” He started, pointing at you accusingly. “Did you sleep with my brother!?”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but nothing came out. Lily and Marlene gasped in unison at the revelation, and James and Remus shared a shocked look. You were already humiliated enough that the boy in the head below managed to whisk you into his bed, sharing secret kisses with you before bringing you pleasure until the early hours of the morning. He had walked you all the way up to the Gryffindor tower, cupping your face and kissing you gently for a long moment before pulling away and wishing you a good night. Your face had flushed, and you had promised him that he’d see you tomorrow. So, today.

“You slept with my fucking brother, oh my god.” You bit your lip, guiltily sinking back into the cushions of the couch. “One of my best friends just slept with my younger brother.”

“I’m sorry Sirius.” You tried apologising, “I really didn’t mean to he just, he just!” But the look Remus shot you was enough to shut you up, warning you not to cross any further lines. An awkward silence settled on the friend group. “Hey, was he at least good in bed though?” Marlene asked “Oh, god yes.” Simple to say, that response got you a pillow chucked in the face.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216

[classyrbf]

CAN U PLZ DO BABY DADDY SUKUNA AND SURUGU TOO?? (i love u)

THAT'S JUST MY BABY DADDY! #3 — GETO + SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...geto and sukuna being annoying baby daddies that still make their way into your pants

INFO...sukuna x fem!reader, geto x fem!reader, p in v, sloppy kisses, baby daddy drama (yk the drill), jealousy, alcohol mentioned, possessiveness, choking, spanking

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon (i love you too)

part 1 part 2

SUKUNA

you finally got your daughter down to sleep, placing her stuffie beside her, shutting her light off and walking out her room. Just as you were getting ready to wash the dishes, your doorbell rang, an annoyed sigh leaving your lips. “Who the hell is ringing my doorbell so late?” You stomp over to the door. “Who is it?” You call out.

“Ryo!” No one other than your baby daddy. As if you weren’t already annoyed, you roll your eyes and open the door to see him standing there. His eyes rake over your body as if he didn’t see you just an hour ago when he dropped his daughter off. “I left her blanket at my place. Thought I bring it back.” He stepped into your house without hesitation.

“Damn, well come on in,” you scoff, shutting the door behind him. He tosses the blanket on the couch. “She’s sleeping, so don’t wake her.” You walk towards the sink, turning it on.

He hums in response, walking around your house, seeing how tidy you keep it, remembering all the moments you two shared before breaking up. He ever so carefully walks up behind you, leaning against the counter. He just looks at you, smirking to himself. “I can feel you staring, weirdo.” You glance over your shoulder.

He laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Can you blame me?” He exhales, stepping closer and closer until he’s inches away from you. His hands reach out and snake around your waist, startling you. “How’ve you been?” He asks, his sultry tone sending chills down your spine.

You shake your head at his weak attempt to get in your pants. “Leave me alone, Ryomen.” You nudge him with your elbow.

“Come on! I know you’re not getting good dick anywhere else. When was the last time we did it, huh? A month?” He questions. You groan in annoyance, turning the sink off and drying your hands on the towel.

“That was the final time.” You stare at him. “We promised no more after that.”

“You really think I meant it? Think a promise is gonna keep me away from you?” He cages you in between him and the counter.

“I’m not just some girl you’re gonna fuck when you wanna get your dick wet.” You push him away from you and walk over to the couch to grab your daughter’s blanket. “Find someone else.”

He laughs at your stubbornness, trailing behind you. “You know no one tastes or feels as good as you. Why do you think I keep coming back, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you.

“Ryomen, I’m not doing this shit with you tonight. Get your dick wet somewhere else,” you say, annoyance in your tone. His warm hands find your waist once again and he’s pulling you closer to him. His soft lips kiss down your neck and back up towards your jaw.

“Just once more. I swear that’ll be the last time,” he whispers. And you don’t know if he casted some type of spell on you or something because within the next five minutes he was in your bed.

Your knees were pushed to your chest, a long whine leaving your lips every time he hit your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “Feel so fucking good around me,” he grunts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s right, lemme look into those eyes, show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re clinging onto his biceps, nails leaving crescent marks in his skin the harder and faster he goes. God, you hate to admit how good it feels. How good he feels. “Mmmm, Ryo. Fuck!” You moan, your jaw slack as pushes his cock deeper.

“Can feel this pussy squeezing me. You gonna cum, baby? Yeah? Yeah?” He coos, a smug smile on his face as he pushes your legs farther. “There you go, baby. Yes, cum all on my dick. Goddamn.” He watches your eyes roll back, a soft cry leaving your lips, your body shaking.

“This…this is the last time!” You manage to speak, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” He kisses you sloppily, swiping his tongue against yours, continuing to pound your poor cunt. He knows this won’t be the last just as much as you know. You’re only saying it to make yourself feel better about cumming on his dick so easily.

GETO

after a stressful week, you were finally able to go out and have fun with your best friend, Shoko, while Utahime offered to watch your daughter for the night. It felt good to get out, drinking, dancing, a change of scenery compared to being cooped up in the house all day. You’re swaying your hips to the music, taking shots and you can already feel the regret coming next morning.

“Hey!” Shoko shouts. “I think Suguru is here!” She looks in the direction where he’s sitting.

“What?” You lean in closer towards her.

“Suguru! He’s here!” She points towards the crowd and to where the seating area is. You follow to where to points and see Suguru talking to some random girl on his lap, laughing his way into some mediocre sex.

“So what?!” You shout back, shrugging your shoulders. “He probably doesn’t even know I’m here! Fuck it!” You smile at Shoko, grabbing her to dance.

“I’m gonna go grab another drink!” She lets go of your hand and walks towards the bar.

You’re too tipsy to even care, in your own little world, dancing and eyeing all the handsome men around you. “Excuse me?” You feel hands on your waist and turn to see a tall, muscular man looking right at you. “Sorry, I just wanted to say you’re beautiful. I saw you dancing from over there!” He points to his seating lounge. “Wanna come sit?”

“Thank you!” You smile, placing your hand on his broad chest. “I’m here with my friend. Can we wait for her—oh there she is. Shoko!” You wave her over and she hurries through the crowd. “He invited us to sit with him, come on.”

“Fuck it, I’m down.” She sips from her drink.

The man grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd of people. It felt good to sit after standing in heels all night. After settling down you could finally get a better look at the man, noticing his sharp features and the scar on the corner of his lip. How handsome he was. What you didn’t notice was how closely Suguru was watching you, eyeing your every move. He took notice of the way your hand ended up on that guys thigh, how easily you laughed at his jokes.

“I’ll be back, gonna grab us some shots.” The girl got up from off his lap.

“Yeah, you do that.” He said without moving an inch, so fixated on you and you only. He couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight. Hands and toes freshly did, your hair in a style he’s never seen, and that dress that hugged your body so tight, showing off every curve you had. Without hesitation, he got up from his seat and walked over.

Shoko looked behind her just in time, eyes wide before immediately turning to face you. “He’s coming over.” She tapped your leg.

“Huh?” Your brows creased.

“Suguru!” She yelled in a whisper. “He’s walking over—heyyyy!” She smiled up at him.

“Hey, Shoko. Hey, y/n.” He greeted you.

You ignored him, sipping from your glass, hugging against the man who you knew as Toji, his arm wrapped around your waist. There was an awkward tension in the air, Shoko clearing her throat as she smiled.

“Y/n, can I talk to you really quick?” He stood in front of you now. “We’ll just be five minutes.” He looked at Toji, grabbing you away from him.

“Ugh, what do you want? Do you have to ruin every fun thing I do?” You follow him into the bathroom. He locks the door, standing before you, looking into your eyes. “What, Suguru?” You fold your arms over your chest.

He knows he’s tipsy, and so are you but he can’t deny what he’s feeling right now and from the looks of it, he can tell you’re feeling the same exact way. “You piss me off. But fuck, you look good doing it. Hugging up on that random ass guy, touching him.” He grits his teeth.

“Don’t be a hypocrite. I saw your little girlfriend sitting on your lap earlier. Where is she now?” You raise a brow.

“She’s a random girl. Don’t even know her name. Why? You jealous?” He walks closer towards you, closing the gap.

“Are you?” You retort, never breaking eye contact with him. There’s several seconds of silence besides the blaring music in the background, until his lips are suddenly on yours, stealing every breath.

Minutes later, you’re bent over the bathroom sink, your skirt bunched up at your waist while he pounds into you. His hand is wrapped around your throat as you grip the sink, feeling like your legs were about to give out any second. “Sugu…fuck!” You whimper. His hips slam against yours, your body jolting forward.

“That’s right, pretty. This is my pussy. Look at how well she’s taking me,” he chuckles, looking down at the way his cock disappears inside of you so effortlessly. “My god.” He lands a few harsh slaps on your ass.

You’re reaching out, pushing back on his stomach in attempts to get him to slow down, feeling like you were going to crumble beneath him. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” You cry. “You’re so fucking deep!” You gasp.

“Yeah?” He pulls you flush against his chest, nibbling on your earlobe. “That’s just how you like it. Deep and slow, hard and fast. I know all the ways to make you cum,” he whispers. He grips your throat tighter. Plap! Plap! Plap! “Better hope your new boyfriend doesn’t realize how long you’ve been gone. Don’t want him to get suspicious.”

Your body convulses as a harsh orgasm takes over you. “Ah! I’m cumming!” You whine before your jaw drops. Geto can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock, making it hard for him not to cum inside. But, now that he thinks about it…that wouldn’t be all too bad.

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i would love to see a poly!marauders fic where they help r fall asleep please! absolutely no pressure at all just a suggestion ofc <3

“Why so moody?” 

You rub at your eyes, standing just behind the sofa. You’d been frowning when James spotted you, not wanting to ask. “I can’t…”

“What?” Sirius asks. 

Remus perks up from beside him. 

Three sets of eyes makes it worse and somehow better. Sometimes it’s easier to only tell one of them when you have a problem, but sometimes you need all of them to know. “I can’t sleep again. Are you coming to bed soon?” 

And listen, four people in one bed is insane but occasionally you manage it. Most of the time you sleep with James, less often Remus. You and Sirius tend to be incompatible while you sleep, because he grabs you around the neck and face for hugging and you wake up with sweat pouring off of you, blind. 

Perhaps that’s why he offers first and emphatically. “I’ll come to bed with you, darling,” Sirius says, a picture of concern as he stands. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just tossed and turned for half an hour and I can’t take much more of it.” 

“She’s going insane,” Remus comments with a severe frown. 

Sirius helps him onto his feet. James, never one to be left out, turns off the television and gathers his throw blanket. “Not on my watch.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to get up,” you say, wringing your hands behind your back. You hadn’t meant to summon them all to bed. You’d just wanted to know when you could expect an end to your agony. 

“Oh, well,” James begins, wrapping the throw blanket around your shoulders, “too late for that. Will you warm my side for me? I’ll lock up.” 

You feel shyer than you’d thought, shuffling back to the bedroom. Sirius’ hand finds your lower back as he enters the room from behind you, encouraging you gently to the side as he goes for the other. You’d left the sheets in disarray, the lamp on. James’ room is messy as always, but it’s your fault as you live from it most days. Remus is immediately put off by the overflowing dresser, closing each drawer with a shush over the runners. 

Sirius makes the bed, peeling back a corner for you. “Here, lovely. Climb in.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to wait on me,” you say shyly, embarrassed at their attention.

“There’s nothing I like doing more.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Remus says, though you’d guessed that already. “Enough room for me, too?” 

“‘Nough room for everyone,” you murmur, rounding Sirius to climb into bed as instructed. 

You and Remus end up in the middle of the bed, thankful for James’ sense of reality —everybody knew when you moved in together that the separate bedrooms wouldn’t last, but only James had the wherewithal to buy a very large bed. You’re immediately comforted by having one of them next to you, and Remus is very kind about it, asking in a murmur if he can cwtch you, wrapping his arm around your chest like you’re in danger of breaking from his touch. 

Sirius is less polite, but not less caring. If he thought you didn’t want him to touch you he certainly wouldn’t, but he knows he can hug you pretty much whenever he wants. He presses his nose to your face, Remus’ against your shoulder, the three of you deflating after a long day never quite this close to each other. You can feel a day’s worth of back ache leeching in your mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ooh, for what?” Sirius asks. 

“Making you come to bed.” 

“Didn’t make us do anything.” His breath warms your cheek as he talks. “It’s late. We would’ve been in bed soon.” 

It’s true enough. Everyone is in their pyjamas, Sirius smells like toothpaste. Still, you feel guilty for asking. And yet… you can finally relax now they’re here. It’s like they know exactly what’s been keeping you awake. Remus had cleaned and now holds your chest, Sirius reassures you and calms your stomach with his palm. 

James gets one good look at you all and rolls his eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Jesus. Babe, could you move over?” he asks Remus, not giving him the time to comply before he’s in bed and smushing everyone even closer together. “This is fun. Sleepover!” 

“Just don’t start climbing on me again, Jamie,” Remus says. 

You close your eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll chill out soon,” Sirius promises in a whisper. 

“Kiss?” you whisper back. 

Three different boys attempt to kiss you in the dimly lit bedroom. All the fuss doesn’t help you sleep, but knowing how much they care about you definitely does. 

[v6quewrlds]

&.⠀⠀NSFW A-Z⠀⋆⠀JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀11.5k.

summary⠀⁎⠀nsfw a to z with joe.

author's note⠀⁎⠀used a couple of drafts for some sections. not written as dr!reader but i guess it applies if you wanna read it like that? i've had requests for this since november lmao, hope y'all enjoy <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, third person [she/her], oral, sexting/sex tapes (kinda sorta), unprotected, semi-public, language.

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist.

A, AFTERCARE:

After sex, it's all slow speech, hooded eyes, and lazy smiles. Joe needs the warmth radiating from her to keep him from floating away. Aftercare is tender and thorough, usually filled with gentle touches, light kisses, and a few quiet moments of pure contentment. She often runs her fingers through his hair, while Joe's arms wrap around her in a loose embrace. They're both sticky and sweaty, but it's a mess they don't mind.

When he finally regains the strength to clean up, there's a box of baby wipes near the bed, ready to bring a soothing cool to flushed skin. He might toss the wipes with a flick of his wrist, the word, "Curry," falling from his lips as it just narrowly misses the bin.

Evenings usually brought a shower and a bath, his hands kneading her shoulders, her neck, her back. She would lean into Joe’s touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his strong, calloused hands worked the tension from her body. They’d linger under the hot water until it turned tepid, their skin pruning. Slow kisses exchanged as they stood wrapped up in warm towels, losing track of time.

Coming back to bed, he'd indulge in the way she’d snort when something tickled her too much, the way she’d squint when she was thinking too hard with her brain still foggy, and the way her smile never failed to make him feel like the most important person in the room. She, on the other hand, loved how Joe's face would relax into something peaceful and serene after climax, all the sarcasm and sharp edges momentarily dulled by the recession of endorphins.

B, BODY PART:

Joe's an ass man. It's no secret. The way her hips swayed when she walked into a room was like poetry to his eyes. He could spend hours tracing the contours of her backside with his fingertips, feeling the smoothness of her skin and the firmness of her muscles. It was as if he gravitated towards her ass like a homing pigeon to its roost. He'd get laser-focused, intent on making her squirm and moan with every gentle squeeze or playful smack.

She was really no better when it came to his chest. The way Joe's pecs rippled and flexed was enough to make her lose her train of thought. Her favorite thing was the way his heart thumped against her palm when she laid her hand over it. It was a reassuring beat that she felt in her soul, a reminder that she was home. She'd trace the line of his pectorals with her nails, watching him shiver before planting a gentle kiss over his heart, her kissing trailing upwards until she was kissing the base of his throat, feeling the beat of his heart against her lips.

C, CUM:

"Fuck," he groaned, both hands covering his face as his voice broke around the edges of the word. The couch was plush beneath his thighs, his head falling back over the armrest as he felt heat spread through him, pumping his heart, and bringing a red tint to his neck and face.

Her right hand gripped his cock, her hold on him firm. She kissed along the vein on the underside of his shaft, his pulse fluttering against her lips, his taste salty. She took him in her mouth, her eyes flicking up to meet his through her lashes. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue swirling around the head in slow, deliberate motions that had Joe's body tightening.

She pulled off of him, her hand pumping, her wrist twisting slowly as she watched the pleasure play out across his features. The veins in his neck stood out, his eyes squeezed shut tightly, and his teeth dug into his lower lip. He was close.

"Hmmm," she hummed, stroking Joe's cock with a knowing smile. "Close?" she whispered teasingly, her hand gliding over him like warm honey.

Joe's forearms crossed over his face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he released a strangled moan. "Yeah," he murmured, his hips jerking up to meet her touch. "So close, baby. Don't stop."

Her smile grew, her eyes gleaming as she took his words as a challenge. She increased her pace, her hand moving swiftly, her thumb brushing the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock. She watched as Joe's abdomen tensed, his thighs quivered, and his whole body began to shake with the effort of holding back. She knew his threshold, knew exactly how much more he could take. He just wasn't there yet.

She leaned in, her tongue swiping over the tip of his cock, collecting the precum that had gathered. His control continued to slip, his hips thrusting upward, seeking more of her warm, wet mouth. With a soft laugh, she took him in again, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him deep. His groan sounded an inch further away than a moment before, no doubt having thrown his head back over the headrest again. Those golden brown strands of hair were messy, sticking to his forehead with sweat and tousled from his touch.

Her other hand roved over his thigh, tracing the muscles, her nails gently scraping over his skin. She felt him tense, his breath catching in his throat. The head of Joe's cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged slightly, her eyes watering, but she didn't stop. She breathed through her nose, her hand still stroking the parts of him her mouth couldn’t reach.

"God, baby," Joe hissed, his voice strained, his entire body coiled tight. "I'm gonna cum." She felt one of his hands reach down to tangle in her hair, gripping tightly as his hips jerked upwards, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth.

She swallowed around him, her throat muscles tightening around his length as he came. His cum spurted hot and thick, flooding her mouth. As Joe's orgasm subsided, his hips stilled and his grip on her hair loosened, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head instead.

"Swallow," he commanded gruffly. She obeyed, her eyes holding his gaze as she swallowed every drop. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of him, and sat back on her heels, watching him come down from his high.

Joe's chest was heaving, his face flushed. His hand remained on the back of her head, stroking her hair gently. "Fuck," he murmured, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. "Get up here."

She took her time, rising to her feet. Joe reached out, pulling her down to straddle him, his cock still semi-hard between her legs. He kissed her, his tongue tasting of himself, and she melted into it, her hands sliding into his hair.

D, DIRTY SECRET:

In all the years that his closest friends had known him, Joe had never been as protective over his phone as he was now. It was in the smallest actions that went unnoticed by most. The way he would whip it out of sight when it vibrated during dinner, or the way he angled the phone away when he was undoubtedly texting her. They all chalked it up to bashfulness. He was always selective about showing affection in public; he had never been one for PDA in any of his relationships.

The truth lay beneath the surface just for the two of them in the form of a hidden photo album. Within the depths of Joe's phone was a collection of images reserved for his eyes only. It was her body on display, her moans mixing with his, her skin glistening with sweat and his cum.

Some of the videos were lighthearted. The two of them laughing as she straddled him. Or her puffs of frustration met with his amused quips as she rode him reverse cowgirl, trying to hit just the right angle. But the most popular ones, the ones Joe watched most often, were the ones where she was on her back, legs spread wide, and he was pounding into her. Her eyes would roll back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

His favorite video was from a few months ago, right after they had moved in together. His phone was held in her hand, high enough above her head in selfie mode to capture what was going on. Her knees dug into the mattress on either side of his hips, her free hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck. He mouthed at her neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking, his hands just as busy, cupping and squeezing handfuls of her ass.

"So perfect," he mumbled so low it was barely perceptible. She bit her bottom lip with a smug smile, watching Joe's expression as he dipped his head to kiss the top of her breasts. His right hand lifted from her flesh, pausing in the air before coming down in a satisfying smack to her ass. She yelped, her body jumping before she giggled.

"Joseph," she scolded playfully, slapping at his arm. He grinned up at her, his eyes sparkling as he swirled his tongue around her nipple, hands still kneading her ass. "You're gonna make me drop your phone."

Joe laughed softly before he smacked her ass again, this time harder. "You better not," he shot back, his tone light and teasing. She squirmed against him as she shifted the phone to her other hand, huffing under her breath about her arm getting tired. He didn't pay her complaints any mind, continuing on his mission to make her writhe for him.

"Open," he ordered faintly, dipping his middle and ring finger into her mouth, watching her eyes glaze over as she took them in, her tongue flicking around his digits before she obeyed. She sucked on them, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her as she felt Joe's eyes on her, his gaze intense and hungry. He withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers down to her opening, circling once, twice, three times before slowly pushing in.

She whimpered at the feeling of his fingers filling her, her eyes squeezing shut, her body tightening around the digits, the camera shaking in her grasp as she breathed out. He began to pump in and out of her with his hand, pressing a row of kisses from the center of her sternum out to the edge of her shoulder.

"Oh, fuck," she groaned, her voice cutting through the wet squelches of Joe's hand in her pussy. "So good, Joey," she moaned, her eyes fluttering open to look directly into the camera, a look of pure ecstasy painted across her features.

"Don't drop it," he warned again, pausing his movements to allow her a chance to steady the device. "Keep filming, baby."

"It's not as easy as it looks," she quipped, her voice breathy and ragged, as she attempted to keep the camera steady while Joe's ministrations grew more vigorous. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her thighs quivering, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out too loudly.

"I can see that," Joe murmured, "but you're doing a great job." His thumb circled her clit, pressing firmly, and she had to grip the phone tighter to avoid dropping it. Her breath caught as she felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil deep in her belly.

He allowed her a moment to catch her breath, accepted the deep press of her lips to his own before his hand slid away, leaving her wetness to cool in the open air. The camera remained steady in her hand, the recording still rolling. Just as she began to grind down on his bulge, his hand lifted again to come down hard on her ass once more.

"Ow! What the fuck, Joe?" She yelped, her eyes flying open. She glared down at him, the phone slipping precariously in her hand.

Joe's grin was unrepentant. "Don't act like you don't love it," he said, his voice a low rumble. He took the opportunity to soothe the sting, shifting her weight so she was no longer sitting back on her heels. With her lower half at his eye-level, he dipped his head to press a kiss to the side of her hip.

"Better?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, as he watched her regain her composure.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was all the answer he needed. "Keep it up and I won't be responsible for what happens to this phone," she warned him, ending the recording as Joe laughed, full and bright in the background.

E, EXPERIENCE:

Joe has a good amount of experience but still likes to learn his partners. There's a few things he can always rely on like his steady hands and his impeccable ability to read body language. He likes the challenge of figuring out how to use his hands just right, where to kiss, where to bite, all to get the perfect reaction.

F, FAVORITE POSITION:

The roll of her hips above him was mesmerizing, the way her skin glistened with sweat and her breasts bounced with every thrust was a sight to behold. Joe's eyes remained glued to her face, watching her expressions shift from pleasure to concentration and back again. His hands held onto her thighs, his grip tight but not painful, guiding her movements to match his rhythm.

"That's it, baby," Joe encouraged, his voice deep and rough with desire as he watched her body move over him. "Take what you need."

Her eyes locked onto Joe's, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts as she picked up the pace, her inner walls tightening around his length. If he could burn this sight into his mind, he would. Her moans grew louder, her nails digging into his shoulders as she reached for her peak. Joe knew her body so well, the way she liked it, the way she needed it.

It was in the bounce of her breasts and the arch of her back that Joe found bliss. He loved seeing her use him for leverage, taking the proverbial reins to scratch an itch only he could reach. He fawned over the way she'd begin to whine, her thighs giving out before she'd sigh, clamoring for his help, pulling his hands to her hips to bring her down harder onto him, her sickly sweet essence coating his length with every drop of her arousal.

"Need my help, huh?" he would mock her, his voice dark, pupils blown wide as he watched her tremble above him; weakened by the effort of keeping herself steady. And she would bite out a 'please' through gritted teeth, head nodding violently, her eyes squeezed shut.

Joe didn't miss a beat, his hands moving from her thighs to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin. He took over her pace, guiding her down onto him with more force than she had been using. She was tight around him, so fucking tight, walls fluttering as she approached her climax. It was always the sound of her voice that pushed him over the edge, the way she'd say his name that had him ready to sign his entire life away if it meant hearing that sweet sound every day for the rest of his life.

Her eyes snapped open, meeting Joe's as she leaned back slightly, her breasts swaying with the motion. Her hand found its way between her legs, her thumb circling her clit, pressing down in time with Joe's thrusts. She watched him, watched the way his eyes never left her, the way his jaw was clenched in determination, the way his neck strained.

"I'm close," she panted, breathless whispers passing through her swollen lips.

"Yeah?" Joe questioned, groaning as she pulsed around him. "Tell me how bad you need it, baby."

Her eyes searched his, the haze of pleasure sucking him in. "So…so bad," she moaned, her voice thick with lust. "Please, Joe, harder."

Obeying her desperate plea, Joe's grip tightened on her hips, his strokes becoming more forceful. Each time he drove into her, she'd let out a high-pitched sob that only made him want to go faster, deeper. The slap of their skin echoed through the room, a rhythmic beat that grew faster, more intense. The headboard smacked against the wall in a steady tempo.

Her walls tightened around him, her nails digging into his skin. The pressure was building, coiling in his balls, threatening to spill over at any second. He watched her face, the way her eyes had gone glassy with pleasure, the way her teeth had sunk into her bottom lip to hold back the scream that was threatening to escape.

"That's it," he grunted when she made that tell-tale face, the one where her eyes would roll back in her head and she'd bite her bottom lip until it was bruised. She was so beautiful like this. "There you go beautiful, just like that."

Her orgasm crashed over her, her body jolting and trembling as she came down around him. Her walls spasmed and contracted, a pulsing that had Joe groaning out her name. His hips jerked, spilling into her in thick, hot pulses as he followed her over the edge.

Their breaths mingled in the air above them, humid puffs leaving strained lungs. He pulled her to rest against his chest, hands running along her back, her legs still straddling his waist. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder. She nuzzled into him, a small smile playing on her lips.

G, GOOFY:

Joe's not a giggler in the bedroom. Once he's turned on, it's like someone's flipped a switch and he's in it for the long haul. But every once in a while, something would happen that was so absurd, so utterly ridiculous, that they couldn't help but laugh together. Like the time Joe's foot slipped on the duvet and headbutted her nose, or when they had tried to switch positions in the wrong direction so quickly that they'd ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.

The post-coital giggles and roasts are much more common.

"We gotta work on your stamina, baby," Joe teased, his voice still gruff. His chest heaved under her head as she collapsed against him, her body boneless and satiated.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. "Shut up," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "I'm gonna be sore for the next week."

Joe chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I think that's the longest you've lasted on top," he said, his voice filled with pride. He gently rolled her off him, then leaned over her, trailing his lips up her shoulder, over her breasts, the line of her neck, and finally capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

"I'll grab something to clean up," Joe offered, his voice a gentle rumble as he pulled away from her embrace. She groaned, the loss of his warmth already making her want to pull him back, but she knew better than to argue with his bull-headed, determined efficiency. Her eyes followed his naked form as he strode to the bathroom, the light playing over his muscular backside.

The sound of running water filled the quiet room as Joe returned with a wet washcloth. He gently cleaned her up, his touch tender despite the raw passion that had just taken over them. After placing the washcloth in the hamper of used rags, he returned to bed. She settled against his chest, slinging one leg over his waist and throwing an arm across his abdomen.

"Did you set your alarm?" she asked tiredly, her eyes already fluttering closed as she cuddled into him.

Joe took his time answering. The hand splayed on her hip, his thumb massaging tight circles, before moving to the waistband of her panties, peeling them away from her body, cocking his arm back, and sending the underwear flying into the darkness. The fabric hit the wall with a dull thump, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his playfulness, even though her body was begging for sleep.

"What is wrong with you?" she laughed sleepily, her voice muffled against his skin as she nuzzled into his neck.

"Just don't want anything in the way of our skin-to-skin time before I go," Joe murmured while pulling her closer, his voice a warm rumble.

She giggled and squirmed. "I think you were dropped on your head as a baby," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

Joe chuckled, his hand moving to caress her skin in a more gentle manner, his fingertips tracing the curve of her spine. He felt her body tense up for a moment before relaxing into his touch. "Nah, I'm just a product of my environment," he said, his voice low and smug.

"What environment would that be?" She questioned, her voice laced with sleepy amusement.

"The one where I was blessed with this life," Joe quipped, his fingers continuing their lazy exploration of her skin. "I'm so lucky to have you, I don't take that for granted." He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in, as his hand trailed up to the small of her back, his fingers breathing warmth over the goosebumps emerging across her lower back.

She sighed, the warmth of his words seeping into her bones. "I love you, despite how much you perplex me," she whispered, her eyes still closed. She felt Joe's chest rumble with his own laughter, his arms tightening around her.

"So lucky," he reiterated, pressing a kiss to her temple. She hummed in return, her thumb tracing shapes on Joe's chest as she snuggled closer, their bodies sticking together. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm, a comforting beat that calmed her own racing pulse. Despite the heat, she didn't want to let go, to break the warm cocoon of their embrace.

"I'll miss you," she whispered. The thought of two weeks without Joe's touch, his voice in her ear, his smell on her skin, was a heavy weight on her chest. But that was the downside of dating a pro athlete: the inevitable separations, the long hours, the rigid schedules.

Joe kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "I'll miss you too, baby," he said, his voice gruff with affection. "I always do. I'll be thinkin' about you all day, every day. Just waiting until I can get back here and do this again."

She sighed contentedly, her eyes drifting closed. "I'll be here, counting down the days," she mumbled, her voice already drifting into sleep. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid out there. Come back to me in one piece."

"Always," Joe promised, his voice soothing and earnest. He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing each of her knuckles, his other hand still caressing the smooth skin of her back. "I'll be smart, come back to you just as good as new."

She nodded against him. A soft, drifting "Good boy," slipped from her lips.

H, HAIR:

He prefers to keep things tidy. Due to his sensitive skin, he keeps a tight schedule with his grooming habits. He's not super hairy, and he's freaked out by the idea of being completely bald down there, so he keeps it neatly trimmed. The carpet does indeed match the drapes, a natural happy medium between blonde and brown that's easy on the eyes.

I, INTIMACY:

The world seemed to spin in slow motion as Joe felt the warmth of her thighs envelop his head. The gentle drag of her fingertips through his hair made him shiver. Her voice faltering, her back arching as she spoke molten pleas into the darkness of the bedroom. It was in moments like these that Joe felt truly connected to her, as if every fiber of his being was tuned into her every thought and feeling.

He could almost hear her thoughts before they left her mouth, curling off her tongue, and wrapping him in a haze of comfort and love. He couldn't tell up from down, left from right. All he knew was her. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him. Every inch of him burned for her.

"J…" she moaned, her head rolling to the side, hand buried in his golden locks as she watched him worship her body. Joe didn't need to look up to know the effect he had on her. The way her body quivered, her thighs tightening around his neck, her breaths becoming more erratic—those were his cues. He knew her better than he knew himself, and he used that knowledge to his full advantage.

He was locked in, fully focused on her pleasure, his tongue swirling around her clit, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her in place. The lower half of his face was coated in her, his eyes closed in concentration as his mouth worked her into a frenzy. It was all heaven; her taste, her smell, her sounds. The tip of his nose nudged against her clit as he slid his tongue into her, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked.

"God, baby, please don't stop," she begged, her voice strained with pleasure. Her fingers tangled in Joe's hair, holding him in place as if he had any intention of moving.

Joe's response was a low groan, his tongue moving faster, pressing harder against her swollen bud. He felt her thighs shift, the pleasure building in her muscles, ready to clench around him in sweet release. He opened his eyes for a moment to watch her closely, the way her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, the way her eyes rolled back in her head. His own body was already responding, his cock hard and insistent, his hips grinding against the bed.

Her hand tightened in his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, a silent demand for more. He didn't hesitate, his mouth moving faster, his tongue working in time with her hips as they rocked against him. She was close, so close. He could feel it in the way her muscles clenched, in the way her breath hitched.

He pulled away for a brief second, kissing her clit before bringing him thumb down to press against it. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, watching her expression as she processed the new sensation. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his.

"Oh," she breathed out, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden change of pace. Joe's thumb circled her clit in a firm but gentle motion, setting her nerves alight. Her breath caught in her throat, the anticipation building in her chest. She watched him, his eyes dark with desire and his mouth curving into a knowing smile.

He leaned back in, his tongue swiping over her clit in a firm, slow motion, savoring her taste. The intimate moment was charged with an electric tension that made every touch feel amplified. She arched back into the sheets, her body begging for more. "Joe," she whimpered, her voice thick with need.

"Fuck," she whispered, her eyes drifting shut again as Joe's mouth returned to her. He kissed and licked, his tongue licking a full stripe along her folds, teasing her clit before swirling around her entrance. Her thighs trembled and her hips bucked, seeking more pressure. He was in no rush, though, enjoying the way she squirmed under him.

With a smirk, Joe pulled back again, his thumb still working its magic. "Look at me, wanna see your eyes," he ordered, his voice firm but gentle. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze, filled with passion and a hint of frustration. He leaned back in, his eyes focused on hers, hands parting her folds to give himself better access.

"Fuck me," she panted, her voice shaking with desire. "Now, Joe. I need you now."

"Patience, baby," Joe murmured against her slick flesh. "Good things come to those who wait."

He continued to tease her with his mouth, alternating between gentle kisses and firm sucks that had her writhing with need. Each time she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Joe would ease up, only to bring her back to the edge with renewed fervor. Her pleas grew more desperate, her voice rising in pitch until it was a thin wail.

His whispers were met with her ragged breaths, her incoherent pleas as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. She could feel her orgasm building, a storm in the pit of her stomach that was threatening to break free. Her nails dug into the sheets, her body straining against the mattress.

He pushed a finger inside her, curling it in a come-hither motion that made her eyes roll back in her head. "Joe, please," she begged, her voice cracking with need. He added another finger, stretching her, preparing her for his thick cock. She was wet, so wet for him, and Joe took a moment to revel in her arousal, to breathe in the sweet scent of her desire.

"Baby, please, Joe," her voice was a desperate whine as Joe's thumb and fingers worked in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to the brink. She was a picture of beauty, lost in the throes of pleasure, and Joe felt his heart swell with love and desire. He could feel the warmth of her arousal against his face, the sweet scent of her filling the room.

His mouth devoured her whole, her slickness coating his face as he ate her like it was the sweetest fruit he'd ever tasted. The sounds she made were his favorite sound, a mix of whimpers and moans that grew louder with every stroke of his tongue. His fingers worked their magic inside her, stretching and curling, hitting that spot that made her breath hitch before she was tumbling.

That final thread snapped inside of her, pulling a sob from her chest as she shattered around his fingers. Her thighs clenched around his head, her body convulsing with the power of her climax. Joe kept licking, keeping her on edge, drawing out every drop of pleasure he could coax from her. He parted her thighs, allowing him better access to her pussy, and took her clit between his lips, giving it a gentle suck before swiping his tongue over it again.

She threw her head back, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath. "Joe," she panted, her voice hoarse. "Shit, oh my god, oh my god."

When he finally came up for air, his face was covered, damn near glittering in the dim light from the lamp beside the bed. He kissed his way back up her body, leaving a trail of their combined love. Her skin was hot to the touch, sticky with their combined sweat. She could feel the wetness of his mouth on her thighs, her stomach, her tits. She shivered under him, the sensation sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her.

"You taste so good, honey," Joe murmured, his voice thick with his own lust. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, the corner of her mouth. "Always so sweet."

Her eyes fluttered open, the intensity of her orgasm slowly fading into a warm glow. He loved the way she looked at him after, like he had just handed her the stars. She reached up, her hand finding his cheek, and pulled him down into a deep kiss, their tongues tangling in a dance of love and desire. She could taste herself on his lips, the faint saltiness of her release mixing with the mint of his breath.

Her hand slid down his body, her palm flattening over his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly beneath her touch, a testament to his own arousal. Joe groaned into her mouth, his own need palpable. His hand found her throat, squeezing the sides gently in a silent question. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting his, and she nodded. He kissed her again, harder this time, his teeth catching her bottom lip.

Joe slid into her, filling her slowly, his nose nudging against hers, their breaths mingling. She trembled, her eyebrows furrowing as she adjusted to his thickness, her body still sensitive from her climax. He didn't rush, didn't push until she was ready. He waited, kissing her softly, sweetly, one hand bracing himself above her while the other gripped her hip. She moaned softly, biting her bottom lip before giving him the green light to move.

J, JACK OFF:

The videos stored deep in his phone came in handy on extended periods apart, especially during the lonely hotel nights. It wasn’t the same as feeling her, tasting her, but Joe wasn't above taking what he could get. His hand palmed over the tent in his underwear, his thumb scrolling through the password protected photo album.

He clicked on the most recent, a photo of her on their bed, her skin glowing in the soft light. It wasn't particularly explicit, just her lying there, looking up at him with a bright smile, her hand playing with the hem of her shirt. But Joe knew what was hidden beneath that fabric, knew her body like the back of his hand. That was enough to get him going.

K, KINK:

Joe isn't subtle about his praise kink. He really can't help the way his Adam's apple bobs when she tells him how good he is. The way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store when she praises him. And she's more than happy to oblige.

"Mm, you’re so good at that," she whispered, her nails dragging down his back. Her body tightening around him, her muscles spasming.

Joe groaned, his hips jerking as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He loved this, the way she looks at him like he's the only man in the world capable of making her feel this way. Her eyes fluttering closed as she throws her head back, her hand coming up to cover her mouth to stifle her moans.

L, LOCATION:

Everything felt slippery. Their bodies gliding against each other, the water pelting their skin like warm kisses. Joe's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of her body with a hunger that never ceased to amaze her. She was pressed up against the shower wall, the tiles cool against her front, Joe hot against her back.

They had stumbled into the bathroom after Joe returned home from his game, the need for each other too strong to ignore. The water beat down on them, steaming up the room, as Joe steadied her hips, entering her from behind, his arms caging her in, palms flat against the wall. Her moans echoed off the tiles, blending with the rhythmic slap of skin on skin and the steady beat of the shower.

The water streamed down her back, over her ass and onto Joe's cock, making it slick as he slid in and out of her. She gripped his forearms, her knuckles straining with the effort of staying upright, her legs quivering with each of his deep, powerful thrusts. Joe leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So, so wet for me."

Her breath hitched, clenching around him at his words. "Joe," she moaned, her voice echoing off the walls. She pushed back into him, her hips meeting his thrusts with a passion that was almost desperate. "More," she begged. "Harder."

Joe didn't need to be told twice. He tightened his grip on her hips, his thumbs digging in just enough to leave marks, and picked up the pace. The water ricocheted off their bodies, painting them in a misty haze that made everything feel surreal. His cock slammed into her, his balls slapping against her clit, and she could feel herself building towards another orgasm.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she threw her head back, exposing her neck to him. Joe took the opportunity to kiss along her throat, sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving bites in his wake. She moaned his name, the sound reverberating through the space. His hand slipped down to her clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles that had her gasping.

He knew her body best, every peak and valley, every spot that made her shiver. And as he felt her start to tighten around him, her breaths coming in quick pants, he knew she was close. "Fuckin' squeezing me so good, baby," he growled into her ear.

Her nails dug into his arms, her body trembling as she felt the beginnings of her climax. "Joe," she panted, "I'm gonna—"

He bit down on her neck, cutting her off. "I know," he said, his voice strained with his own desire. "Cum for me, baby. I'm right there with you."

Her body responded to his command, her inner muscles contracting around his cock, her orgasm ripping through. Her knees gave out, but Joe held her up, his thrusts unrelenting as he chased his own release.

M, MOTIVATION:

It really doesn't take much to get Joe going, but when she whispers sweetly into his ear, his blood rushes. Her voice is like honey, dripping slow and sweet, making his dick twitch with every word. The way she looks at him, her eyes dark and hungry, that's what does it for him. That's what sends him over the edge.

Her praise is his kryptonite. When she tells him how good he makes her feel, it's like a punch to the gut in the best way possible. It makes him want to show her just how much he loves her, over and over again. It's a never-ending cycle of passion and adoration that keeps her coming back for more.

N, NO:

There's the basic ones: inflicting unnecessary pain on each other, sharing their intimate moments with anyone else, breaking the trust that was so carefully built. But there's also the smaller, less obvious things. Like Joe's dislike for being talked down to during sex, his need for eye contact, and his absolute no-go zone for any kind of humiliation.

He loathes being rushed, hates the feeling of being used. So quickies are rare, and when they happen, it's usually a spur-of-the-moment thing fueled by pure desire that neither of them can ignore. It's always the first of many later rounds where he can take his time and be more deliberate.

His distaste for toys in the bedroom are a pettier turn off. He's fine with the idea of her using them in his absence but the moment they're together, Joe wants to be the sole source of her pleasure. It's a point of pride for him, a silent challenge to be everything she needs, every time.

O, ORAL:

Joe's a proud munch. Although he would never turn down receiving head, giving is his bread and butter. He's a generous lover, always eager to leave her shaking and breathless. The way she squirms and gasps under his mouth turns him on so much that he often has to stop himself from getting carried away.

Eating her out was his love language, his way of worshipping her. He took his time, savoring every moment, every twitch of her body as she grew closer to the edge. Her head lolled back, her eyes screwed shut, as Joe's tongue danced over her clit, teasing it with the perfect amount of pressure. He always put his all into it, as if every taste of her was his last.

He often used it as a form of stress relief, taking her in his mouth after she'd had a particularly grueling day at work, or before a game he was worried about. He knew it calmed her, helped her unwind. And watching her come apart was his favorite way to ease his own tension. Part of that ease came from the knowledge that he was doing something he enjoyed, and was good at. Reassurances of his abilities, his goodness, his precision would fall from her lips, tug at his hair, and squeeze around his head as she came.

Her taste was addictive, the way she quivered beneath him, her thighs tightening around his head, the way she whispered his name in that breathy voice of hers, it was all his. And when she was done, when she was limp and sated, he would crawl up her body, kissing away the tension in her body, bringing her back to him, grounding her.

He enjoyed receiving as well, typically after some achievement as a selfish search for a reward. It was in the way her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock, her teeth grazing just slightly along his shaft. It was a gentle warmth, a sweet tease that had him groaning and his fingers itching to touch her, to urge her to take him deeper.

P, PACE:

"Pretty girl, all for me," Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. She spread her legs wider, inviting him in, her slick glistening in the soft light of their bedroom.

He pushed into her, slow and deliberate, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her eyes squeezed shut as she bit down on her lower lip, trying to hold back the moan that wanted to escape. The sensation was exquisite, his cock sliding into her, filling her completely.

"Fuck, baby," Joe breathed, his forehead falling against hers. He began to move, his strokes long and deep, setting a rhythm that made her toes curl. She could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was using to keep from pounding into her like a madman. But she knew he would soon lose that control. She could feel it in the way his grip tightened on her thighs, the way his breathing grew more ragged with every thrust.

Her hips met Joe's, urging him on. Her eyes never left his, the heat between them a palpable force. Her nails dug into his back, leaving little half-moons on his flesh as she arched up to meet him. "Harder," she whispered, her voice breathy. "I can take it."

Joe's eyes flashed with something feral, something that made her pulse race even faster. He obeyed, his strokes becoming more forceful, his hips pushing him harder into her with a wet sound that filled the room. She threw her head back, her hair fanning out on the pillow as she took him all in, her walls tightening around him, urging him deeper. The friction was electric, the sensation of his skin against hers setting her ablaze.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, mimicking the motion of his hips. She moaned into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. She could feel the pressure building, her body coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. He could feel a sweet heat rise up from his core, signaling his impending release.

"I'm not gonna last, baby," he murmured against her lips, their breaths mingling between soft gasps and heated moans. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction, content with the recognition that she had pushed him to the brink. She reached down and began to rub her clit in time with Joe's thrusts, her hips rolling to meet him. The pressure grew, a delicious ache that begged to be released.

Joe's hand pushed against the headboard, the bed slamming into the wall with the force of his movements. He could feel her tightening around him, her walls drawing him in. With a final groan, he gave in to his release, moaning out as he filled her with his warmth. She coaxed him through it, her hands full of him, running over his warm skin, gently whispering words of praise, pulsing around him so steadily he couldn't stop the burst of sensation in the pit of his stomach.

His hips stilled, eyes squeezed shut, as he reveled in the feeling of her milking him for every drop. Her hand stilled on her clit, her breath coming in short gasps. She felt him twitch inside her, his body slowly coming down from the high. Finally, he breathed in, his chest pulling in air, slow and strained, before deflating with a soft grunt.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to cum so quick," Joe muttered half-heartedly, his breath still hot against her skin. She shook her head, pulling him down against her chest, her fingertips embedding into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. "No, don't apologize," she assured him, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "We've got all night."

Joe pulled out and rolled over, his body slick with sweat. He leaned over to kiss her shoulder, his hair falling flat in soft curls against her skin. "Couldn't keep it together. You're a fucking tease," he said, his voice filled with both affection and exasperation.

She giggled, her chest heaving with exertion. "Keeps things interesting," she replied, rolling onto her side to face him. Her fingers traced the taut lines of his abdomen, feeling the dampness of his skin.

Joe's eyes followed her hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "Interesting," he echoed, his voice a low rumble. His hand trailed down her side, over her sweat-slick skin to pull her closer into his. Determined fingers slipped between her thighs, pink lips parting to press his tongue against hers.

The pads of his fingertips circled her clit, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She moaned into the kiss, her hips moving in a silent plea for more. Joe hummed against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her chest. "Want my fingers? Or my mouth?"

"Fingers. Need to kiss you," she managed to say between breathless gasps. Joe's smirk grew wider, and he complied, his mouth descending to hers in a deep, drugging kiss. His fingers remained between her thighs, working in tight circles that had her quivering around them, sighing into his parted lips.

Their kiss grew more frantic as Joe picked up speed, her body arching towards his touch. Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of pleasure. He slid two fingers inside her, the slickness of his release making it easy for him to move. Her walls clamped down, eager to keep him there.

"Yes," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Right there." Joe's eyes never left hers, the intensity in them making her stomach flip. His thumb continued to tease her clit, his fingers curling inside her, finding that perfect spot that had her toes curling.

"Yeah? Close, baby?" Joe questioned.

She could only nod, her eyes fluttering shut as Joe's fingers worked their magic. Her breaths grew shorter, her moans more desperate. His thumb flicked faster, pressing harder against her clit, feeling the tension in her body build.

"Cum for me, baby," Joe encouraged, his voice a soft rumble in her ear. "So fucking sexy." His words were like gasoline on the fire of her desire, and she couldn't hold back anymore. Her orgasm crashed over her, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath. She tightened around his fingers, her body shaking with the force of it.

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming his name. Her nails dug into Joe's skin. He watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back and her hands clamored to hold on to something, anything; the way she threw her head back in ecstasy. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

When she finally came down from her climax, Joe leaned back, his chest heaving with exertion. Her hand slipped away from his bicep, her body going limp. She let out a contented sigh, her eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe leaned over her, kissing her gently, once, then twice. "Always," he assured her.

Q, QUICKIE:

The two of them made their way back to Joe's room, hand in hand, the floorboards creaking gently under their feet. Once the door was shut, Joe's hands were on her, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "Why do you get so horny when we get high?" he murmured, kissing her neck as he lifted the shirt from her torso.

She giggled, playfully pushing him back onto the bed. "I don't know," she hummed, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor as she straddled him.

Joe's hands pulled her black nylon mini-skirt up over her hips, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of her. She felt the heat in Joe's gaze as his thumbs hooked into her lace panties, sliding them down her parted thighs. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting their entwined forms in a silvery light.

"I fuckin' love you," Joe whispered against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves that were just hidden beneath her clothes. She leaned into his touch, her body responding to his in a way that only his touch could cultivate. She kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing with his, hands tugging at his messy hair.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity, their hands exploring each other's bodies with the urgency of teenagers who had just discovered the art of love. Joe's hands filled with the plushness of her hips, rocking her against him, pulling her down with no chance of running away. She moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by their kiss. She reached for the hem of Joe's shirt, her fingers trembling with anticipation. She needed to feel his skin against hers, to trace the muscles she had watched ripple under the stadium lights so many times before.

"Oh," she whispered as she took in the sight of his bare chest. He sat up and helped her remove his shorts, tossing them aside before pulling her back down to kiss him. She felt his arousal growing against her, and she couldn't help but grind down onto him on her own.

Joe's hand moved from her ass to the back of her neck, guiding her movements as they found a rhythm that had them both panting. He kissed down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before moving to her breasts. She arched her back, her breath hitching as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before moving to the next.

"Let's not get too crazy," she laughed against his lips, a hint of tease in her voice. "We don't want to wake up the whole house."

"Uh-huh," Joe murmured, his voice filled with a low undercurrent of desire. He captured her mouth again, his tongue delving deep as he pushed her thighs apart. The head of his cock nudged against her, and she felt her body respond, growing wetter, more eager for him. They moved together, trying their best to keep quiet, save for the rustle of the bedsheets beneath their bodies and the passing of whispers brushing over flushed cheeks.

Joe slid into her, filling her completely, and she arched her back with a soft moan. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he began to move, his hips a steady, rhythmic force. Her sighs spilled into the quiet night, mixing with the faint sound of their breaths and the occasional giggle when one of them accidentally smacked a hand against the headboard.

Joe's pace grew faster, his strokes deep and sure, hitting all the right spots that made her body tighten around him. She could feel her orgasm building, a delicious pressure at the bottom of her spine that grew with every thrust. Her hips rose to meet him, her legs tightening around his waist as she whispered his name over and over again. The bed creaked softly under their weight, and the only other sound in the room was their ragged breaths and the accidental smack of skin on skin.

Joe kissed his way down her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. She moaned quietly, her back arching off the bed as he sucked light bruises into her brown skin, the sensation sending electric jolts straight to her core. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails on his tanned skin. He groaned in pleasure, the sound vibrating against her neck.

She bit down on her lower lip, trying to muffle the sounds that wanted to escape. The anticipation was killing her, the slow build-up to the crescendo that she knew was coming.

"Focus, baby, gotta be more quiet than that," Joe murmured, his teeth grazing her ear as he picked up his rhythm, driving into her with purpose. She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut as she fought to keep her voice down. Her fingernails dug into Joe's back, concentrating her energy into holding back the sounds that fought to tumble from her lips. She could feel the tension building in her core, her innermost muscles tightening around him as the pleasure grew more intense.

Her legs trembled, her body on the brink. Then, with one final, deep thrust, they both broke, desperate orgasms ripping through them with the force of a hurricane. She bit down hard on Joe's shoulder to keep from screaming, her nails digging in deeper as her body convulsed around him. He groaned, the burn mixing with his own pleasure, and she felt his cock pulse inside her as he spilled into his condom, hoping to keep the mess to a minimum.

Joe collapsed onto her, their hearts hammering in unison as they both tried to catch their breaths. She found his weight comforting, pressing her into the mattress and grounding her as her head ceased its spinning.

"We really have to be quieter," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet laughter. Joe chuckled, his chest rising and falling against hers. They kissed once more, a gentle brush of their lips against each other.

They pulled back, panting softly, their eyes meeting in the dim light. She reached up to smooth back Joe's damp hair, her hand lingering on his cheek. "You're so pretty," she murmured, indulging in the way his cheeks flushed at the compliment.

Joe huffed, kissing her again. "You think I'm pretty?" he teased, his voice filled with amusement.

She rolled her eyes. "You know you are," she said, glancing at the clock just beyond his head.

R, RISK:

Before they could settle at the kitchen island, steaming plates of pasta and chicken in hand, Joe's voice boomed from his office, "Babe, can you come here for a second?" The tone was light, but there was an underlying urgency that made her eyebrows furrow. She set her plate down and sailed into the hallway, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "What's up?" she called out, peeking her head into his office.

Joe sat in his chair, his expression unreadable as he gestured for her to come in. "Close the door," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper. She complied, a hint of uneasiness clouding over her features as she shut the heavy mahogany door with a soft click. When she turned to face him, she found Joe's gaze locked on her, watercolor blue eyes growing dark.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" She questioned, her voice tinged with concern as she stepped into the office.

Joe's smug smile grew wider. "No, everything's perfect," he said, his eyes roving over her body. "Just couldn't wait to get you alone." He stood up from his chair, shoulders rolling back as he approached her, his steps measured and slow. She felt a rush of heat and a flutter in her stomach as his arms encircled her waist. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, dipping his head to plant a gentle kiss to her cheek.

A small huff escaped her and she rolled her eyes, though her smile was unmistakable. "Joe, our friends—"

"They'll be fine," he interrupted, his hand slipping down over her dress and cupping her ass. "We won't be long."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. "You can't be serious," she whispered, trying to push him away. But Joe's grip was firm, his touch insistent as he drew desire up to the surface. She knew that look in his eyes—it was the one that always got her into trouble.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, matching her whisper. "You know you want to."

Her resolve crumbled under Joe's intense gaze. She allowed him to back her up against his desk, the cool wood pressing against the back of her thighs. "Okay, but make it quick," she warned, laughing at the sudden change in elevation, his hands lifting her to sit on the edge of the desk.

S, STAMINA:

Joe usually taps out after two rounds. On nights when he has an extra ounce of energy, he might push for three, but he's a man who knows his limits. He is communicative about needing breaks, his voice gruff and thick with need when he offers his hands or his mouth if he can't go on anymore.

T, TOYS:

He's much too petty to bring toys into the bedroom. The selfish, stubborn part of him enjoys being the center of her pleasure. He thrives on the idea of being the only one capable of bringing her to those heights, the only one who knows her body this intimately.

He doesn't care about any toys she may have stored somewhere in the house to use when he's away. But when they're together, it's all about skin on skin, flesh on flesh.

U, UNFAIR:

He just couldn't help himself. Not when she was wearing those tiny shorts that barely contained her curves and that tank top that had him fantasizing about peeling it off her all day. She'd told him dinner would be ready in an hour, but that was an eternity when all he could think about was tasting her, feeling her warmth against him.

His hands traveled across her skin, tracing the contours of her body with an urgency that seemed to match the sizzling sounds from the stove. She tried to focus on the recipe, but Joe's touch was more alluring than the aroma of the garlic and herbs wafting through the kitchen. She felt the heat from his breath as he nibbled at her neck, his hair tickling her as he moved closer. "You're gonna make me burn our dinner," she teased, her voice breathy with desire.

Joe pulled away, his eyes dark with passion. "Would you be mad?" His smirk was playful, but the tension in his body was anything but.

"Very," she laughed, but the fire in her eyes said otherwise. She shut the top left burner off, gently directing Joe to hand her the wooden spatula she'd set aside. "Maybe not at first, but once the post-nut clarity kicks in, you'd be doing dishes for a week." She spilled the vegetables into the pan with a dramatic flair, their sizzle punctuating her words.

Joe leaned against the counter opposite her, his arms folded over his broad chest as he watched her cook. His gaze was hungry, but not for the food. "Is that a promise?"

She tossed him a playful glare. "It's a warning, Joe." She turned back to the oven, pushing the veggies inside. The air grew thick with a mix of arousal and the tantalizing scents of their dinner. Joe stepped closer, his hands finding her hips again. "If you don't behave, I'll make you eat salad," she threatened without much conviction.

He kissed her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. "Mm, salad," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Sounds delicious."

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her heart was racing. She could feel the heat of his body through her thin shirt. "Joe," she warned, trying to keep her voice steady. But the way his hands were moving over her, the way he was pressing into her, made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Joe's grip tightened. "What?" he whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She whimpered, her voice faltering as she felt his dick through his sweatpants, slotting in the perfect place against her ass. The kitchen was a dance of heat and temptation, with every inch of her body craving his touch. She knew she needed to resist, but his persistent teasing was making it difficult. She slapped his hands away, turning to face him. "Would it kill you to be patient?" she asked, though her tone was more flirtatious than irritated.

Joe's smirk grew wider. "It just might." He stepped closer, his hands landing on her waist as he pinned her against the counter. "What else do you need to do?"

"Steaks are resting, vegetables are crisping in the oven, and the potatoes are just about done." She rattled off her dinner checklist, trying to maintain a semblance of composure as Joe's hands slid under her shirt. "I think that's all."

"Finally," Joe murmured. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. Her body responded instinctively, arching into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she began to forget about finishing off dinner. He lifted her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around his waist, the warmth of his body seeping into her core.

Their kisses were sloppy, filled with an urgent need that had been building all day. She could feel Joe's hands exploring her body, his fingertips dancing over her skin, sending waves of pleasure through her. She gasped as his thumb grazed her nipple, already hard and sensitive beneath her bra. He groaned into her mouth, his tongue delving deeper, claiming her so completely. Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his pecs she knew so well.

The kitchen timer beeped, jolting them out of their passionate haze. She pulled away, panting. "Shit," she muttered, glancing at the oven.

Joe chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'll get it," he offered, setting her down. He opened the oven door, the heat billowing out, and pulled out the tray of crisping vegetables.

She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. She hopped off the counter, smoothing her shorts and adjusting her shirt. "Thank you," she said, biting her lip at the sight of the bulge in his pants. "Just put it on the stove and turn the light on, it'll keep the food warm."

Joe did as told, smugness pulling at the corners of his mouth and radiating from his skin. "I thought we were gonna eat now?" He teased, watching her flustered state with amusement.

"Don't start with me," She replied with a roll of her eyes. "We're fixing this problem before we eat." She gestured to his pants, her voice breaking off into a laugh.

Joe's grin grew as he set the oven mitts aside. "Alright," he said, taking a step toward her. "I can't argue with that."

V, VOLUME:

Joe isn't as loud as he is deep. It's a sound that originates from the very pit of his soul, a low, full sound that floats through the air as he fucks her with everything he's got. He never stops talking, vocal cords vibrating with the effort of his words. He whispers sweet nothings, tells her how good she feels, how much he loves her, how much he needs her, the way he needs her more than he needs air to breathe.

As he draws closer, his words begin to chop off. They pitch higher, his breaths growing shallower as his tip burrows deeper. The curses spill from his tongue, unbidden and so harsh. The consonants jab at the air, sharp edges to the smooth curves of every vowel.

"Fuck, baby," he gasps as he climbs closer to the mountaintop. It's followed by a sharp inhale through his nose, a broken sound that dissolves into a shaky exhale. His peak is silence, a sudden cessation of all things verbal. Her eyes flutter open to find Joe's face contorted in ecstasy, his teeth bared as he spills into her. Warmth melts through him, blistering heat up the column of his spine before finally drawing a soft, gentle moan from his chest.

W, WILDCARD:

Nothing gets Joe more riled up than witnessing her in her element. In the very apt words of Drake, "Sweatpants, hair tied, chillin' with no makeup on." When she's relaxed and natural, something about her beauty hits him straight on. It's in the way she laughs, her head thrown back, mouth open wide, and her eyes scrunched shut. Or the way she zeroes in on a task when she's lost in thought.

It's in those moments that Joe feels his heart race, his palms sweat, and his mind unable to focus on anything but her.

He'd caught her like that once, her hair in its most natural state, a hot glue gun poised in her hands. Her concentration was so intense, her bottom lip between her teeth, that she didn't even notice him entering the room. He'd just watched her, his eyes traveling over the way she took in each of her slow, shallow breaths.

The pride that crossed her face as she held up the completed repair was unlike anything Joe had ever seen. "I think that's pretty solid," she announced, holding up the picture frame she'd just fixed. The wide collar of her shirt slipped off one shoulder, exposing soft, brown skin, and Joe had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

X, X-RAY:

He's working with something and he uses it well. Remember that purple hat? He wore it for a reason.

Y, YEARNING:

His sex drive is pretty high. During the offseason, he's not opposed to going multiple times a day, especially if she's up for it. It's like he's making up for lost time, craving the touch of her body, the sound of her moans, the taste of her skin. But Joe also knows that she has her limits. Her job can be demanding, leaving her tired by the end of the day. So he respects her boundaries, even when he's hard as a rock and his own need is screaming at him to take her again.

During the season, his sex life tends to take a bit of a backseat. He attempts to remain disciplined with a short list of conditions to ensure his peak performance. He's had moments where his thoughts wandered during a game, and that's a distraction he can't afford. The day before a game is completely off-limits, and even the days leading up to it are rationed. Post-game, win or loss, he needs to get the pent-up energy out of his system.

Z, ZZZ:

Once it's past his bedtime, he might need some distractions to keep him awake. Pillow talk is a must, their voices low and intimate in the quiet of their bedroom. Joe loves hearing about her day, especially the juicy bits of gossip from work that she's so good at sharing. He needs that bit of connection before he can drift off to sleep. But as soon as he's out, he's out cold. Like a light switch flipped off, Joe's eyes drift closed, his muscles slacken, and his breathing evens out.

[onmyyan]

hi again i'm the Anon who asked if you take commisions only or requests as well. I love your writing style<3

Soo could you write about Batmom reader, where reader took care of bruce's children as her own. But then bruce gets a mistress, reader still stays becuz of the kids but when everyone started to become cold to her and insult her ' X (mistress) is better mom then you ever were' she leaves gonthem. Then everyone realises she (mistress) was just after their money. They go to batmom's room to apologize only to find it empty. They try to find her everywhere but couldn't. And finally when they do, reader rejects them since she was having the time of her life without responsibilty but gets kiddnapped by the batfam?

Honestly i wanted to commision but i'm flat broke and i'm too busy studying to work and on top of that i don't have my own phone (i use my dad's old laptop) soo yeah... I hope you consider this.

A/N: Loooove this request thank you for sending it in <3 fem reader yandere themes lmk if you want a part two

The (L/n)'s were a wealthy and prominent family in Gotham, right up there with the Wayne's when it came to power over the city, the two families were in business together which is why when Bruce Wayne personal attorney came to you with a marriage proposal, you weren't surprised.

A marriage of convenience. You thought you knew what this would entitle, you knew this wasn't out of love, that this was required of you, it had nothing to do with what you actually wanted, but you were dutiful and signed, inking your name on the paper felt like a deal with the devil.

Bruce hadn't bothered to officially meet you until the day of the wedding, it was beautiful and well done but lacking any form of love of affection, CEOs and other rich folk you didn't recognize filled the pews, the ring felt cold when he slipped it on, his vows perfectly rehearsed, and not an ounce of warmth in his eyes, you knew that night you should have annulled the marriage, but something made you hold on, something your mother had said to you as the makeup artist turned you into the visage of a bride.

"You'll learn to love each other, your father and I did after all." And she wasn't lying, your parents married for convenience as well but had grown to love one another, so maybe you could do the same?

A year after the nuptials Dick Grayson is thrust into your life. Haley's circus was famous in Gotham for its incredible death defying shows, but on this night death would walk the stage, taking with them Dick Grayson's parents in a horrible display, You and Bruce had consoled the boy for only a moment before Bruce was talking to the officers, he'd decided Dick was coming home with you, of course without asking your opinion, but it didn't matter, you felt such pity and grief for the boy, it made perfect sense to you, he was shut down for the first few months, he called you by your name and you had no problem with it, making it clear you never wanted to try and replace his mother, the ice between you two melted one day, one kind word at a time, he couldn't help but confide in you about school or his friends, because you were more emotionally there than Bruce was.

Like the night you caught him sneaking out, a packed bag in hand and the keys to one of Bruce's many cars in his hand. Instead of yelling for Bruce or Alfred you simply smiled at him, "you should take the audi, it's the safest car here."

"..You're not going to try and stop me?"

You shake your head no, still offering that kind smile.

"You know yourself best Dick, if you're unhappy here I won't stop you from finding your peace." He took a moment before tossing you the keys and reluctantly making his way back inside.

You find out about Batman because of Dick. He'd come home with some nasty bruises and it wouldn't take long to put two and two together. Them both being missing at the same time, Dick started to pull away from you, one night, after hours of trying to get to sleep in a bed much to big for one body, your legs decided a walk was necessary, the halls were dark and quiet, giving the manor an eerie air, quietly you walked the long hallways intending on stopping by the library, as you turned the corner you seen Dick in a hidden elevator, the doors just slamming shut as your eyes tried to register what was there. Seconds after the doors close a wall appears, as if nothing was ever there. It's not long after that you see a brief news clip of the caped crusader and his new sidekick, because the longer you stared at the screen, the more familiar they began to look, that dead tight lipped scowl on Batman's face, it was one you'd had the pleasure of looking at for the past few years.

That night you confronted Bruce, he seemed surprised you'd figured it out, but he didn't deny it. Simply saying, "It's late (Y/n), get some sleep."

You nearly divorced him then and there for endangering a child the way he was, but after a moment of thought, you realized Dick would need a real parent around so you stayed, making Bruce swear to be careful.

Jason comes next and he takes to you a lot faster than Dick. He craved the warmth you offered, you two had inside jokes and a closer relationship than him and Bruce, but that all changes the day he dies. You're broken, a ghost haunting the manor with your presence, and Bruce is no comfort throwing himself into the Batman role, you begin to hate him a little with this particular betrayal.

Tim was another hard egg to crack but you were desperate after Jason's death, so you took his verbal lashings with a smile, were always there to offer a helping hand with any of his projects despite the help never being accepted. Tims wound from losing his father is too raw, he takes a lot of his anger out on you. And you weathered the storm with a soft, warm smile.

Damian hated you, from the moment he arrives, which is bitter enough as is because it meant Bruce was unfaithful, he's spitting out insults and comparing you to his 'perfect' mother.

Things weren't great in your life, but one day they started getting noticably worse. Dick no longer responded to your check in texts, Jason (now reanimated which was a heart attack in and of itself) saw you as the enemy, you didn't leave Bruce after what happened to him, so in his eyes you betrayed him, Tim ignored your existence as best as he could, and Damian? He'd started staring at you with this smug look on his face, like he knew something you didn't.

Bruce had all but ran from you, he didn't sleep in your shared room anymore, he barely spoke to you at breakfast, if it wasn't for the cameras he wouldn't touch you.

And it's all because of a woman named Rachel.

Apparently Bruce had introduced this woman to the family, bringing her around when you weren't, slowly replacing you, it was no wonder they started to pull back.

Alfred is the only reason you find out, having enough of the blatant disrespect, he calls you to come home early one day saying it's a dire matter. Of course you comply, and walk in on a discomforting sight. The whole family was gathered at the dining room table, plus a woman you'd never seen before, she sat close to Bruce, toying with his hand intimately. Her green eyes lock with yours and the smile she gives you forms a pit in your stomach.

There's silence before Bruce stands up, he walks over calmly, "Can we take this in the other room." But it wasn't phrased as a question.

"No" you licked your lips, a nervous habit from your youth. Bruce seemed taken back by your sudden backbone. He nods silently.

"I want her gone Bruce. I am your wife. You will show me that semblance of respect."

"I- of course." You don't wait for the words to settle instead, you calmly walk to your room, face unreadable.

Locking the door behind you, your body slides against the frame, a silent sob wracks your frame, your hands covering your mouth, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing your cries.

The next morning you wake up to breakfast in bed, a generic yet elegant spread of food lay on a tray in the empty spot Bruce used to stay. The man himself sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring at you with that practiced smile he used to appease people.

"Good morning."

"What's this?" You sat up straight, sleep evaporating from your form as you took in the threat before you.

"An apology. I never meant for yesterday to happen."

"What a comfort that is." Your piercing (e/c) eyes stare at him blankly, unreadable. "How long."

"A year." You scoff pushing the breakfast away from you like it was poisonous. "But its not what you think, Rachel is a childhood friend, a year ago our relationship, evolved into what it is now, but I was never intending to go behind your back."

"Ah of course, your intentions were pure." The words dripped venom, grabbing your robe you quickly dress before standing and walking to the door, "Thank you for the wonderful talk Bruce, really your people skills are top notch." Your hands gesture to the door. He leaves without a word.

The rest of the day is as usual, Bruce avoids you like the plague, the rest of the family acted as if you weren't there. Which made leaving all too easy.

Your lawyers had the divorce papers ready and hour after you called them, signing them felt like the first act of self love you'd done in years. Slipping them into Bruce's study you took the time to analyze the room you never entered.

It matched Bruce that's for sure, pictures of every single person in the family. All except for you.

Walking out the door, wrapped in your ankle length black faux fur coat, the garment whipped in the wind, the designer sunglasses on your face hid your eyes from the world, hair in a slicked back bun, your heels echoed against the pavement, a sleek black car was waiting for you, you look back at the house that had caused you so much misery then got in the back of the car, never looking back.

Life goes on for about a week, your absence goes unnoticed, that is before Rachel is trying and failing to blackmail Bruce out of a billion dollars, she'd collected evidence he was cheating on you with her and presented it to Bruce with a grin, it was only as he went through the pictures of himself and Rachel, did he notice the yellow envelope with his name written on the front.

Hey puts the heartbreaking matter of Rachel's betrayal on the back burner, Bruce opened the envelope and felt his heart completely stop at the word divorce written in bold lettering across the top, your signature was already there, waiting for his to join it.

Ignoring Rachel completely now he turns in his chair, turning the paper over and over as if it would magically change. But it remained the same. Alfred knocking on the door of his study broke him from his trance. "Master Wayne, miss Rachel." He says the latter's name with no warmth. "Escort Rachel to her car Alfred."

"Bruce have you heard a word I've said? I'm serious I'll go to Gotham daily right now if you don't -"

"Now Alfred."

That was all it took for the screaming woman to be firmly escorted off the premises. Bruce all but ran to your room, he didn't bother knocking, and despite knowing in his heart you were already gone, he couldn't help but check anyway.

Your room was empty and cold, he couldn't believe the date he'd read on the divorce papers, it was dated a week ago, meaning you'd been gone for a week and he hadn't noticed. No one had.

That is until Bruce remembers there's someone in the house nothing gets by.

"How long have you known she was gone Alfred?" He asks leaning on his knuckles the divorce papers stared back at him taunting him. "Since the moment she left." The older man replied simply his hands behind his back. "Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Bruce felt himself tense, "Because you've hurt that woman enough Bruce. She deserves at least this." He gestures to the daunting divorce paperwork before turning to leave Bruce with his thoughts.

The news of Rachel's betrayal shook the manor each member feeling violated by their trust being broken. But it was nothing compared to their reaction once they finally realized you were gone.

"That was rough." Jason says after watching Rachel being dragged out of the manor, he blew air out of his cheeks arms crossed over his chest, he looked towards the hallway that lead to your room, you had to have heard that he thought to himself.

Dick sighs through his nose, "Someone should check on (y/n), Rachel was screaming so loud she definitely heard that." No one volunteers so Dick rolls his eyes and heads towards your room.

He lifts his hands to knock but noticed the door was open, pushing it further he's met with a baren room, his brow furrowed in confusion before he makes his way to Bruce's study. "Hey B, have you seen (y/n)? Her room is like weirdly empty."

Dick found his Father where Alfred left him, leaning over the divorce papers silently a storm in his eyes.

As he steps closer and reads the paperwork Bruce was staring so intently at, his heart stopped.

"Holy shit- are those real?"

"Yes." Bruce finally spoke his voice horse. There was a moment of silence before Dick left the room practically running down the stairs to alert the others.

"(Y/n) left Bruce." He said still processing the information, "No fuckin' way." Jason says pushing himself off the counter he leaned on. "Her room is empty and he has the papers, she's gone."

Each member of the family had different reactions to this information.

Dick tries calling you only to be met with a disconnected number, his heart hammering in his chest, he wasn't as close to you as when he was younger sure, but you were a constant in his life, always had been, a pillar of support, and suddenly you weren't. It felt like the floor had gotten pulled out from under him.

Jason curses under his breath, his mind working a mile a minute, he had barely spoken to you since his Resurrection, something he deeply regretted as the information of your leaving sinks in like a brick thrown into a river.

Tim, ever calculating is trying to figure out where you went, you were a figurehead in his life, someone that was literally never not there, sure he wasn't close to you in the slightest but that doesn't mean he wants anything to happen to you, someone as quiet and soft as you on your own in Gotham? It didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.

Damian didn't know what he was feeling at the news, he supposed he should feel nothing, after all you were nothing to him, but there was this nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place. And he hated it. How dare you leave and upset his fragile ecosystem?

Meanwhile in the Bahamas, far from Gotham and the neglectful family you'd left behind, you sat lounging on a private beach, a knitted hammock cradles your body, a designer baby pink bikini covers you, a matching sunhat protects your face from the hot sun, you can't wipe the smile from your face, humming a tune from your childhood you barely flinch when someone takes the seat besides your hammock.

"Do I want to know how you found me?" You ask, eyes still closed as you bask in the warmth. You knew only one person had the sources to find you on your own island, and despite how much you resent the man, even his presence can't ruin your shine in this moment.

"You're my wife (Y/n), I'll always know where you are." Bruce speaks softly as if trying not to startle you. "Former wife." You correct cracking an eye open, a small smirk curling on your lips.

"Not until I sign those papers- which I never will."

"huh, I thought you'd be thrilled." You muse to yourself before folding your tanning mirror and setting it aside, you take off your Louis Vuitton sunglasses, blinking your pretty (e/c) eyes up at him, "Figured you and your little Twinkie would have tied the knot by now." You laugh softly, the sound, unfamiliar to Bruce, sent warm shivers down his spine, it causes his lips to quirk up in a small grin.

"She's gone."

"Well, I don't care."

There's a beat of silence before he's offering you his hand. "Will you walk with me? I know I don't deserve it."

You sigh before getting up, ignoring his hand, you nod your head reluctantly, "Well? Hurry up I've got dinner at six."

His smile remains as he begins leading you along the shoreline. It's relatively quiet between you two as you walk side by side, a peace between you both you hadn't ever felt. "The manor isn't the same without you." He breaks the silence, "I sincerely doubt that." You laugh at the very notion. "It's true- it's colder, quieter, I want you to come home."

"That was never my home, you made that abundantly clear."

He winces as if your words cut him, "I know I haven't been a good man to you, I know I've failed you time and time again but I..I looked at those divorce papers and my heart stopped." He admits running a hand through his hair.

"You can't leave me."

"I can't?." You scoff, your movement halting, "I'm a grown woman- I'm taking responsibility for my own happiness, you can't stop me."

"I wasn't asking." He says softly, his hands in his pockets, he had this fond look on his face, like he was staring at you for the first time, in a whole new light. "You can't make me." You say, brows furrowed, "You belong back home, you're supposed to be with me, till death do us part, remember?" He steps forward making you step back, your eyes wide, hands shaking, you back into a wide chest, spinning to face Dick, who's grinning at you, he's in his Nightwing costume, he gives you a small wave of his hand, you scrunch your face in confusion, "What the hell-" your thought is cut off by a small pinch in your neck, the needle in Bruce's hand is empty in seconds, he's cradling your stumbling form, holding you tightly, "Don't worry - I'll fix this."

Your sleeping body is gently carried to the batplane, Bruce holding you close to his chest as Dick pilots the plane, he whispers promises into your hair, rocking you against him as he swears on his life to make things right, weather you liked it or not.

[4linos]

the letter pt. 3

han jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating breakup over the future you couldn't agree on, you and jisung are left unraveling in the aftermath. you wanted a family. he wanted freedom.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, (unplanned) pregnancy, jealousy & misunderstanding, second chances, exes to ??.

wc: 12,385

[part 1, part 2]

It was early. Too early.

The shrill buzzing of the doorbell drilled into Jisung’s skull like a hammer, and he groaned in discomfort, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. His head pounded from a night spent drowning memories in whiskey, a futile attempt to forget you, so carefree with another man.

It had only been hours since he saw you walking away with him, the way you smiled, your hand cradling your belly. The sharp sting in his chest wasn’t from the whiskey, but from the way you had left him in the dust. You had moved on, and now, a new life had started without him.

Another round of doorbell buzzing shook him from his thoughts. “Who the hell...” he muttered as he squinted at the time on his phone. It was barely 6:30 AM. He had barely slept.

The buzzing came again, followed by a loud, insistent bang on the door that echoed throughout the apartment. His headache flared, and he cursed under his breath. Who was it this early? His eyes were still half-shut, barely managing to process anything as he stumbled out of bed, legs heavy, his body aching from too much alcohol.

The shirt he grabbed was wrinkled and tossed, probably something he’d left on the floor the night before. He barely remembered the events of the previous evening. All he could recall were images of you, images of him, the man you were with. The one holding you close, smiling, while you smiled back, glowing with happiness.

When he reached the door, he paused for a second, running his fingers through his messy hair. There was a moment of silence on the other side. Then it came again,

buzz. Buzz. Bang. Bang.

Jisung opened the door cautiously. He didn’t even know what to expect. But he certainly didn’t expect Lana.

Lana stood there, her usual stern expression plastered on her face, her arms crossed. She gave him a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Without waiting for him to say anything, she pushed past him into the apartment. Jisung frowned, still groggy from his hangover.

She didn’t even greet him or ask if he was okay. No small talk. Just that look, the one she always wore when she was frustrated or worried.

“You reek,” she said bluntly, glancing at him as she walked further into the apartment, her nose scrunching up in mild disgust. “And you look like shit.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, too tired and hungover to care much about her bluntness. “Nice to see you too, Lana,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “What are you doing here so early? It’s barely morning.”

Lana didn’t answer at first. She was already busy scanning the room, shuffling through a few papers on the coffee table and glancing through the empty space where your old things had once been.

“Looking for something,” she finally answered, but it didn’t take long for Jisung to realize what she was doing. He hadn’t seen any of your things in months, not since you’d left.

“Everything of hers is gone,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. The words felt heavier than he thought they would. The truth was, it still felt like a knife every time he spoke about you. “It’s been gone for a while now. The only things left are stuff I gave her.”

Lana shot him a look, almost like pity, but didn’t say anything. She moved around, scanning the apartment like it might hold some magical clue that was going to fix everything. Jisung watched her, arms still folded tightly, not sure if he should care, not sure if he even could.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Lana turned to face him, her eyes serious.

“Did you ever read the letter she gave you?” she asked, her voice softer now but full of an underlying concern. There was something there, an edge of frustration, maybe even sadness, as if she knew this was the breaking point.

Jisung froze.

The letter.

His breath caught in his chest as memories flooded back. The image of the torn-up letter, his drunken hands, the whiskey-soaked paper, the way he’d thrown it aside as if it meant nothing. He could still feel the bitterness on his tongue, the sharp sting of rejection, the moment he decided to rip it all away because he couldn’t handle the pain. He didn’t even know what was in it, he never gave himself the chance to read it.

Lana was watching him closely now. Her eyes tracked his every movement. And then, when he didn’t answer right away, her gaze followed the direction of his eyes.

He’d left the letter on his desk, half-shredded, forgotten.

She scoffed, her voice rising with irritation. “You didn’t read it, did you? That’s really great, Jisung. You didn’t even give her the courtesy of reading the one thing she gave you, her words. Her truth.”

The words hit him hard. His stomach churned. A wave of shame washed over him. But he stayed silent, not knowing how to respond, not knowing how to apologize for his stupidity. How could he? How could he make up for all the time he wasted being angry, being selfish, and not facing what needed to be faced?

“Can you blame me?” he finally said, his voice rough with frustration. His anger bubbled up again, and he couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t. “She moved on. She’s pregnant with someone else’s kid. I saw them, Lana. I saw it with my own eyes. She’s with him. She’s living the life I couldn’t give her.”

Lana’s eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath, but she didn’t let him off the hook. “I get that you’re angry. But you’re being a damn fool.” She took a step forward, her eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity. “She’s not with him. Not in the way you think she is.”

Jisung’s heart dropped. What the hell was she talking about?

“She’s carrying your kid, Jisung,” Lana said, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “You think she moved on? No. She’s pregnant. With your baby.”

Jisung blinked, his thoughts spinning in a thousand directions. It felt like the ground was falling out from under him, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn’t process what she had just said. His mind refused to understand.

“What? What are you talking about? How—?”

Lana threw her hands up in the air. “She didn’t move on. She’s carrying your child, Jisung. She found out six months ago. Six months ago! She didn’t want to burden you with it, didn’t want to force you into anything you didn’t want. She let you go. But you didn’t give her a chance. You didn’t even read the damn letter she wrote you. And now look at what’s happening.”

Jisung stood frozen, the words echoing in his mind, each syllable a hammer to his heart. He could feel his chest tightening, his head swimming with confusion, guilt, and panic. Six months.

Six months ago, everything could have been different.

He never gave her a chance. He hadn’t been there for her. He hadn’t even been willing to try to understand what was going on with her.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Jisung’s voice cracked, his hands gripping the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

“She didn’t want to trap you. She didn’t want to force you into a life you weren’t ready for,” Lana said, her voice softening just slightly. “But you left. You left without giving her any hope. You chose to shut down, to drink away your feelings instead of listening to her, instead of hearing her out. She wanted you, Jisung. She wanted you to be there, but you didn’t give her that chance.”

Jisung’s knees felt weak. The weight of everything was crushing him, the silence between him and Lana stretching longer and longer, suffocating him with the realization that he had destroyed something he would never get back.

“I didn’t... I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She never told me. She never gave me the chance.”

Lana stared at him, her face hardening again. “She did, Jisung. She gave you the chance. But you ripped it apart.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “And now she’s doing it on her own. She’s carrying your baby, and you’re sitting here wallowing in your guilt and anger instead of fighting for her. You didn’t fight. You just let her go.”

His throat was tight. His chest ached as if he couldn’t breathe. Every part of him screamed to go to her, to fix it, but he didn’t even know how.

“I—” He couldn’t finish. The words stuck in his throat, caught by the overwhelming weight of what he had done.

“Figure it out, Jisung,” Lana said with a final, cutting look. “Before it’s too late.”

She turned and left the apartment, her footsteps heavy on the floor, leaving Jisung to face the wreckage he’d made.

The moment the door slammed shut behind Lana, Jisung stood there for half a second, his mind in chaos, his heart thundering painfully against his ribs. The seconds stretched painfully long, his body frozen in place, until suddenly it hit him all at once, he couldn’t just stand there.

Without thinking, without weighing his options, he threw on the first shoes he could find, mismatched even, one a worn sneaker and the other a battered slip-on and sprinted out of the apartment. The door clattered against the frame behind him, left swinging half-open.

His head was pounding from the hangover, but he barely felt it anymore. He didn’t care about the dull ache behind his eyes, didn’t care that his shirt was wrinkled and his breath probably still reeked of whiskey. The only thing that mattered was catching Lana before she disappeared.

He found her a few steps away, still waiting for the elevator, her arms crossed, looking tired and resigned.

“Lana!” he called out breathlessly, skidding slightly as he slowed down near her. She turned, brows raised in a mixture of impatience and exhaustion.

“What do you want, Jisung?” she asked, voice clipped.

He inhaled sharply, tried to catch his breath. “Your address,” he said, almost desperate. “I mean—her address. Please. I need to see her.”

For a moment, Lana simply looked at him, studied him. She must have seen the way his chest heaved, the panic, the devastation, the regret clinging to him like a second skin.

Without a word, she nodded once, curtly. “Come on. I’ll drop you off,” she said.

He blinked, stunned at how quickly she agreed, and mumbled a grateful, “Thank you.”

The ride down in the elevator was silent. Uncomfortable. The buzz of fluorescent lights above them filled the stillness as Jisung stared at the closed doors, every second crawling by slower than the last. His mind raced ahead of him, playing out every possible scenario of seeing you again.

Would you even want to see him? Would you slam the door in his face? Would you cry? Would you tell him to leave and never come back?

His chest hurt at the possibilities.

When they finally reached the parking lot, Lana headed straight to her car, Jisung a few steps behind, heart hammering as he climbed into the passenger seat.

The drive was just as silent.

Jisung fidgeted anxiously with the hem of his shirt, tapping his foot against the floor of the car. He hated how quiet it was. He hated the way Lana seemed so still, almost robotic, her face an emotionless mask.

He needed to say something. Anything.

After a few moments of agonizing silence, he turned slightly toward her and asked, almost in a whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

He hadn’t expected to speak at all, but the words fell out before he could stop them.
“Why are you helping me?”

Lana’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him, let the silence suffocate him like it had been since they left his apartment.

But just as he was about to backpedal, tell her it didn’t matter, she spoke.

“You know...” she began slowly, her voice low, almost hesitant. “She told me and Jia about yesterday. About running into you.”

Jisung stiffened, shame curling deep in his stomach.

Lana let out a slow breath, her eyes still trained on the road ahead. “She was upset. Scared, even. She didn’t say it like that, not directly. But I could tell.”

Jisung pressed his hand against his knee, his nails digging into the denim of his jeans to ground himself. He hated thinking that he had scared you. Hated it more than anything else.

“And when she told me what happened... how you looked at her, how you walked toward her like—like you hated her, I guess...” Lana paused, her voice tightening. “I felt bad. For her. But... also for you.”

He blinked, stunned, confused. “For me?”

Lana gave a humorless, bitter little laugh. “Yeah. For you. You were so angry. So broken. And you didn’t even know the truth.” She shook her head. “You didn’t even give yourself a chance to know it. You just assumed the worst because it was easier than facing your own guilt.”

Jisung swallowed thickly, throat dry, the lump forming there impossible to speak around.

“I realized... you’re not a villain, Jisung. You’re just a dumbass,” she said, and despite the ache gnawing at his insides, he almost smiled at that. “You’re scared. You always have been.”

The weight of her words pressed down on him heavily. He couldn’t deny it.
He had been scared. He had run from the idea of a future that terrified him, the idea of a family, responsibility, a life bigger than himself. And because of that fear, he had lost you.

He looked out the window, blinking rapidly against the sting behind his eyes.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly.
“For what?” Lana asked, glancing at him briefly.

“For... not giving up on me. For helping me even when I don’t deserve it.”

Lana scoffed lightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You still have to face her.”

Jisung nodded, setting his jaw, determination slowly taking the place of fear.
He didn’t know how you would react.
He didn’t know if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

For you.
For the baby.
For the future he realized, way too late that he wanted more than anything.

He had to try.

He owed you that much.

It was early, really for anything other than sleep. But as Jisung stood in the dim light of the morning, standing outside the apartment complex, he couldn’t ignore the churning inside him. His breath fogged in the cool air, his mind racing, his body still fighting the remnants of the whiskey hangover from the night before. His thoughts felt scattered, jumbled in the haze of last night’s decisions. He hadn’t expected to find himself standing here, on your doorstep, hoping for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Lana’s car had pulled up earlier, and she had given him your apartment number without much ceremony. She told him she wouldn’t come with him. That it would be better if he faced you alone. Her eyes had been unreadable when she said it, but when she spoke, it wasn’t with the usual sass or sharpness. It was more... resigned, like she understood just how badly he had messed things up. She even reminded him sternly, almost motherly, not to say anything about the confrontation with you, or the way he had torn up your letter.

“You go in there, you don’t mention anything about the letter,” she had said, the warning clear in her voice. “This is between you and her. And I’m not involved.”

Jisung had nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His head was still spinning, his chest aching as he stood here. How was he supposed to fix this? How could he even begin to make things right after everything he had done?

The sound of the car’s engine fading as Lana pulled away was the final push for him. There was no turning back now. He was standing outside your door, and it felt like the whole world was waiting.

His feet carried him, almost mechanically, toward the door. Each step felt like it was taking him further into a storm he wasn’t sure he could weather. The thought of waking you up of disturbing the fragile peace you’d probably built without him made his chest tighten. Would you even want to see him?

He reached your door, his hand trembling as he lifted it to knock. The sound of his fist against the wood felt unnaturally loud in the silence of the hallway. He waited, every second stretching on and on, until finally, he heard your voice.

“I’m coming,” you said, your tone cool, though he couldn’t help but feel the underlying tension in it.

The door creaked open.

And there you were.

For a moment, Jisung couldn’t speak. His breath hitched in his throat. You were standing in front of him, looking so… so beautiful, like nothing had changed. Your hair was messy, your eyes still half-lidded with sleep, but the moment you looked at him, he felt like everything stopped. He missed you more than he could have possibly imagined. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to feel you close again, but he knew that wasn’t what you wanted. Not now.

You blinked a few times, taking him in. His disheveled appearance, the tiredness in his eyes, the slight frown that had etched itself into his features, it was clear that he had come here not just out of guilt, but desperation. He had so many things to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words stuck in his throat.

Finally, your voice broke through the silence.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was colder than he had ever heard it, and Jisung felt the weight of it hit him like a freight train. There was no warmth in your tone. There was no softness, no kindness. Just distance.

He took a step back, swallowing hard.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, raw with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I had to come. I needed to tell you how sorry I am.”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing as you took him in. “Why? After everything you said… after everything you did, why are you here now, Jisung?” Your voice was quieter, but the pain behind it cut deeper than anything else he had heard.

He could feel the weight of his past mistakes hanging between you both. How could he have been so blind? How could he have assumed the worst when you were just trying to do what was best for both of you? He didn’t deserve this chance, he didn’t deserve to stand in front of you, asking for forgiveness. But he couldn’t stand the thought of you doing this alone, especially not after everything.

“I know what I said before,” Jisung started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I said I couldn’t be a part of a family, that I wasn’t ready. I… I was selfish. I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking about what you needed.” His hand reached for his pocket, pulling out the crumpled remains of the letter you had left for him, but he stopped himself before he could do anything. The sight of it made his stomach churn.

“I didn’t read the letter,” he confessed, his eyes dropping to the floor, unable to meet yours. “I was just... so angry and upset. I didn’t even give you the chance to explain.”

There was a long silence. The seconds felt like hours as Jisung stood there, waiting for you to say something, anything. He could feel the tension building in the space between you, the unresolved feelings thickening the air around him. He opened his mouth again, desperate to make things right.

“I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but… I want to be here. I want to be here for you, for the baby. I don’t want to miss this. I don’t want to miss us anymore. Please, let me help. Let me be a part of this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your arms still crossed, eyes unreadable. He couldn’t read you, not like he used to. The walls were up, and he had no idea how to break them down.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you in, Jisung,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again. After everything…”

Jisung’s heart sank at your words. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that asking for your forgiveness would be the hardest thing he had ever done. But he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let you walk away without trying, without showing you that he was willing to change.

“I understand,” he said softly, his voice shaking with the weight of the words. “But if you’ll let me, I want to try. I’m not asking for everything right now, but just… just a chance. Please.”

For a moment, the silence between you was heavy, suffocating. Then, slowly, you nodded, but it was tentative, hesitant.

“I’m not 100% ready to let you in,” you said, your voice small, “but… I’m willing to try. I’m willing to take things slow. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Jisung felt like the air had been knocked out of him. It wasn’t everything he had hoped for, but it was enough. It was the beginning of something, the beginning of the possibility of redemption.

“Thank you,” he whispered, stepping forward, though he didn’t want to push you. He just wanted to be near you, even if that meant just standing in your doorway.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes softening just a little.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy,” you said, voice still trembling, but there was a hint of something maybe hope? in your tone. “But I’m willing to try. For the baby, for us... maybe it’ll work.”

Jisung smiled softly, the first genuine smile he had worn in months. It wasn’t a perfect answer, but it was a start.

And in that moment, that was all he needed.

Jisung stood there, completely caught off guard by the way you looked at him, a mixture of disbelief and amusement flashing across your face. His eyes widened for a brief moment before he quickly realized the disheveled state he was in mismatched shoes, a wrinkled shirt, his hair wild from the night he had spent tossing and turning in regret. The haze of the alcohol still clung to him like a bad memory, the scent of whiskey faint but noticeable. His heart sank when he realized just how much he must have looked like a mess standing there in front of you.

Before he could say anything, you gave a short laugh, your eyes twinkling, almost in disbelief. "You really reek of alcohol," you pointed out, your voice sharp but not unkind. You took in his appearance, your gaze lingering on the mismatched shoes, the wrinkled shirt, and then, finally, the way he was standing there, eyes wide with a mixture of regret and guilt.

Jisung's face flushed, and he immediately looked down at himself, noticing the mismatched shoes and the way his shirt had crumpled in all the wrong places. He had rushed out of the house, not thinking about how he appeared, only about getting to you, about fixing everything he had ruined. The realization made him feel even worse. He had come to you like this, looking like he had just crawled out of bed after a long night of self-pity and alcohol. How could he expect you to take him seriously when he looked like this?

But before he could spiral into another fit of self-loathing, he heard you laugh. It was soft, almost nervous, but it was there. The sound of your laughter was like a balm to his nerves, even though he knew it wasn’t coming from a place of warmth or affection. You were laughing, but there was a certain softness in your eyes when they met his.

His lips curled into a reluctant smile, the tension between you starting to melt just a little bit. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, his voice hoarse, his throat dry from the alcohol he had consumed the night before. His attempt at humor didn’t exactly work, but it was the only thing he could offer. He couldn't believe he had shown up at your door looking like this, of all things.

You continued to look him up and down, your gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary. There was no judgment in your expression, but Jisung could see the traces of concern in your eyes, the way you were trying to figure him out, trying to make sense of this strange encounter. His chest tightened as you glanced down at his shoes, then back at his face. For a second, he thought you might close the door on him and tell him to get his life together before even attempting a conversation.

But then you did something that surprised him even more: you laughed again, the sound a little louder this time. The way you shook your head as you did so made his heart clench. It wasn’t mocking. It was more like you were acknowledging the absurdity of the whole situation, the way everything had spiraled into chaos.

"You're a mess," you said, the words lighter now, almost fond in a strange way. The sharpness in your tone from before was gone, replaced by something a little more... tender, maybe even forgiving.

Jisung stood there, unsure of what to do with that. He wanted to apologize again, but the laughter, your laughter made it feel like there was still a chance for him to explain himself. He could tell you had softened, if only just a little bit. Maybe you weren’t as angry as before, maybe you were starting to see him not as the person who had hurt you, but as someone who was truly remorseful.

His gaze shifted, following your movements as you instinctively placed a hand over your belly. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it, but the way your fingers hovered protectively over your growing stomach told him everything he needed to know. You were already thinking about the baby, about protecting what mattered most now. The thought made something warm and soft stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in so long. His mind was clouded with regrets about the past, but in that moment, seeing you like this, seeing how much you had grown, both in body and it hit him hard.

"You're pregnant," he said softly, the realization hitting him like a wave. It wasn’t just the fact that you were carrying his child; it was the way you seemed so much more settled now, so much stronger. The woman standing in front of him wasn’t the same person he had left behind. She was someone who had grown in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. The confidence in your posture, the way you held your belly like it was the most precious thing in the world, he couldn’t deny that.

You nodded, but there was a slight hesitation in your eyes, as if you were trying to gauge whether he had truly understood what that meant.

"Yeah," you replied softly, your voice steady but tinged with something Jisung couldn’t quite place. "I’m pregnant." Your eyes softened for a moment, the edges of your lips twitching into a small, almost imperceptible smile. But the smile didn’t reach your eyes completely, and Jisung could see the weight of the situation in your gaze. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about the future.

He took a step closer, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to bridge the distance between you two. But he didn’t want to overstep; he didn’t want to make the same mistakes again. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable, to push you away when all he wanted was to make things right.

"How have you been?" His question was simple, but it was the first thing that came to his mind. He needed to know how you were, how you were holding up, especially now that he had messed everything up. His heart ached just thinking about it.

You gave him a small shrug, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes, something softer. "I’m doing alright," you said, your voice more honest now. "I’ve been getting by. It’s not easy, but I’m managing."

Jisung could feel the weight of your words. He had no idea what you’d been through, what you were still going through. He had left you behind when things got tough, when you needed him the most. And now, he couldn’t help but feel like he had lost any chance of making things right.

But as he stood there, watching you, feeling the fragile atmosphere between you two, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not when it was so clear that he had so much to make up for. He needed to make things right for you, for the baby, for everything he had taken for granted.

And so, without thinking about it too much, he spoke from his heart.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I know I've messed up. But I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I can’t undo the past, but I’m here now. Please, let me try to make this right. I want to be a part of this. I want to help."

For a brief moment, there was only silence. Jisung watched you, desperate for any sign of what you were thinking. Your gaze flickered down to your belly again, as if you were thinking about how much had changed since you last saw him. The pregnancy, the baby, the future everything had shifted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any room for him in it anymore.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sighed softly and looked back at him. "I’m not sure, Jisung," you said, the words hesitant. "I’m not sure I’m ready to let you back in after everything. But…"

Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear what was coming next, but he knew he had to.

"But I’m willing to try," you continued, your voice soft but steady. "For the baby. For us. I can’t promise everything will be easy, but I’m willing to give it a chance."

Jisung exhaled deeply, relief flooding through him. It wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but it was enough. It was a chance. A fragile, delicate chance to rebuild everything he had lost.

"Thank you," he whispered, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I won’t mess this up. I swear."

You nodded slowly, a quiet understanding passing between you two. Neither of you knew exactly what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, Jisung felt like there was hope.

The air between you and Jisung was heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped altogether. Neither of you moved, each of you waiting for the other to say something, but it seemed like the silence was doing its job for now. It wasn’t awkward, not really, just... filled with the weight of everything that had happened.

Then, as if a quiet realization settled in, you spoke, breaking the tension with a soft offer. “Would you like to come in?”

Jisung blinked, caught off guard by your calm tone. For a moment, he simply stood there, his feet planted on the floor, almost as if he wasn’t sure what you were implying. The request wasn’t what he’d expected. He had come here thinking this would be another painful confrontation, something that might make the gap between you two even wider. Instead, you were inviting him in offering a space where you could both breathe.

After a beat of hesitation, Jisung nodded. It wasn’t the grand gesture he’d imagined, but it was enough. It was the first step.

"Yeah," he said softly, almost to himself, as if the invitation was something he had been hoping for without realizing it. "I’d like that."

You stepped aside, holding the door open just enough for him to pass. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary before he moved past you into the apartment. It felt surreal, the sudden shift from anger and hurt to a fragile kind of calm that seemed to hang in the air like fog, both of you treading carefully through it.

The inside of your apartment was cozy, nothing too extravagant, but it had a quiet, homey warmth to it. The light streaming in from the window made everything feel softer, gentler. As you moved into the kitchen to start preparing your tea, Jisung took a seat in the small dining area. His eyes wandered over the room, his gaze catching on something unexpected: two ultrasound pictures stuck to the fridge with a magnet.

It was like a punch to the gut.

The realization hit him before he could process it fully: the baby, his baby, was real. The ultrasound images, two of them, one from earlier in your pregnancy and the other more recent were right there in front of him, displayed so casually, as though it wasn’t the kind of thing that would completely change everything in his life.

He stared at them for a few moments, his breath catching in his throat. His mind spiraled again, and for a second, he almost forgot where he was. The weight of it all settled on his chest: the baby that was growing inside of you, the future that was unfolding whether he was ready for it or not.

You noticed where his attention had gone, and without turning around, you spoke. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been keeping them there to remind me that it’s real,” you said, your voice low. “It still feels surreal sometimes, even with everything going on.”

Jisung didn’t know what to say to that. His mind was still working through the images on the fridge, but there was something about the way you said it, something so matter-of-fact that made him want to be there. To be a part of that reality. But as quickly as that thought came, the flood of guilt followed it. He wasn’t sure he even deserved a place in that future, but the idea of walking away from it again seemed impossible.

“I never wanted to leave,” Jisung said suddenly, his voice cracking just a little. You could hear the sincerity in his words, the rawness of it. His eyes were on the ultrasound pictures, but you knew he wasn’t just talking about the baby now. He was talking about everything. About you.

He was sorry. You could hear it in his voice.

You took a slow breath and, without thinking, began to gather the tea bags and cups. You could feel the weight of his words, but the tension in the air was still too thick to address it fully. You needed to give it some space before you let everything out.

Jisung followed your lead, though, moving to the kitchen to help you. He was tentative at first, like he was worried that being too close would make things worse. But his eyes didn’t leave you as you began preparing the tea, the soft clink of the ceramic cups filling the space between your words. You looked up at him as you set the kettle down and asked, “Do you want sugar or anything?”

Jisung paused for a second, considering the question, before shaking his head. “No, just straight. Thanks,” he said quietly. He watched you as you made the tea, your movements fluid and familiar, and in that moment, something about it made his chest tighten. Everything about you felt so... settled now, so different than the chaos of the past.

When you handed him the steaming cup, he took it gratefully, his fingers brushing yours in the process. The contact was small, but it felt significant, like a small thread of connection that hadn’t been completely severed.

You both moved to the small living area after that, sitting across from each other at the table. For a while, you sipped your tea in silence, the sound of the quiet ticking clock in the background the only thing breaking the stillness.

Finally, you set your cup down and looked at him, really looked at him. The expression on your face was softer than before, but there was still a guardedness there. It wasn’t anger anymore, not like it had been the last time you saw each other, but there was an undeniable caution. The sting of everything you had been through still hung between you two.

“Jisung,” you began slowly, your voice almost too calm for what was about to come next. “I didn’t... I didn’t want any of this to happen.” You paused, collecting your thoughts before continuing. “I didn’t want to push you away, but I also couldn’t keep holding on to something that wasn’t... real anymore. I wanted to make this work with you, more than anything, but I needed to know that I was enough, that I wasn’t just waiting around for something to fall apart.”

He nodded, his throat tight. He could feel the sincerity in your words, but it was difficult to take it all in without feeling the weight of his own mistakes. He had let his fear, his pride, get in the way of something that could have worked. Could have meant something more.

“I get it,” Jisung said, his voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t there when you needed me to be. I let my own bullshit cloud everything, and I—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. He needed to get this out. “I didn’t want to be a father, but I never stopped wanting you. I just... I didn’t know how to fix everything I broke.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were full of regret, but there was something else there too: determination. Like he was willing to do whatever it took to make it right, even if it meant starting from scratch.

“I’m not perfect either,” you said softly. “I made mistakes too. I wasn’t honest with you about how scared I was. I didn’t let you in. I didn’t... I didn’t let you be part of this because I thought I could do it all on my own.” You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Turns out I can’t.”

Jisung’s eyes softened at that. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said, his voice steady now. “I’m not asking for everything to be fixed in one day. But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You looked down at your cup, swirling it absentmindedly before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know if I’m ready to let you back in,” you said, your voice quiet, almost apologetic. “But... I’m willing to try.“

Jisung didn’t speak right away, but the quiet relief in his eyes was unmistakable. You weren’t saying you were ready to forgive him completely, but you were willing to take the first step, the most important one. He could work with that. He’d take whatever you were willing to give.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I swear, I won’t mess this up.”

You nodded slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You weren’t sure what the future would look like, but at least, for now, you were both willing to find out.

As the door clicked shut behind Jisung, you stood there for a moment, your hand still resting on the doorframe. The quietness of your apartment felt almost too loud after everything that had happened. You took a slow, deep breath, feeling the tension leave your body in waves. It was as if the moment he stepped out, a weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying was finally lifted off your shoulders.

For the first time in months, you felt something that resembled peace, something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The tightness in your chest that had been there ever since everything fell apart had started to ease, just a little. The storm inside of you, the one that had raged every time you thought about him, about what could have been seemed quieter now. You hadn’t expected it, but the feeling of calm that washed over you was almost surprising.

You walked slowly back to the couch, each step lighter than the last, and gingerly sat down. The soft hum of the city outside your window mixed with the calmness inside, a strange but comforting contrast. You rubbed your belly absently, still feeling the warmth from the conversation you’d had with Jisung. It hadn’t been perfect, it never could be, but it was the first real conversation the two of you had in months. It felt like a small start, an opening to something that could, maybe, be better.

As you leaned back into the cushions, your mind replayed moments from the conversation. Jisung’s sincerity, the way his eyes softened when he spoke about wanting to be there for you and the baby, even when he had no idea how to fix the mess he’d made. It had been raw, real, and full of regret, but also hope. He wasn’t expecting things to be fine overnight, and neither were you. But that first step? The one where he admitted that he had been wrong, and that he wanted to try? That was everything. It meant more than the words themselves, more than the mistakes he had made. It was a promise. A promise that he would try to make it right, no matter how long it took.

You pressed your palm to your belly and let out a soft exhale. That feeling of warmth and comfort began to spread through you, almost like the little kicks that had become more frequent lately. You closed your eyes, focusing on the movement inside you, each little nudge a reminder of the life you were creating. It was as though the baby inside of you could sense that something had shifted, that you were making the decision to move forward in a way that felt right, not just for you, but for them, too.

The tiny movements against your hand felt almost like reassurance, like a little voice whispering in your heart: It’s okay. You’re doing the right thing. You’re not alone. The idea that Jisung might really try this time, that he might actually want to be there for both you and the baby, settled in your chest like a comforting embrace. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let him all the way in yet, there was still so much hurt, so many walls to tear down, but the thought that you might finally have the chance to build something together, something stable, was enough for now.

A second chance. That’s what you had just given him. A second chance to prove that he could do what he had promised. And a second chance for you, too. A chance to heal. To open yourself up to the possibility of something different. Something real.

It wasn’t going to be easy. There would still be hurdles, and there was still so much to sort through. But in that quiet moment, with the subtle rhythm of your baby’s movements underneath your hand, you allowed yourself to believe that things could get better. You could try to make them better.

You let your hand rest on your belly, smiling softly. It wasn’t perfect, and it was far from where you wanted things to be, but it was a start. And sometimes, that’s all you needed: the belief that you could make it work, one step at a time.

The tiny kicks continued, like a reassurance, a little reminder that you were doing the right thing. You weren’t alone. You had made your decision, and now, no matter what happened, you could move forward. You could allow yourself to heal. And, maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself to hope again.

It was the beginning of something new. A second chance. For you. For Jisung. And for the baby who was growing stronger inside of you every day.

After sitting there for a little while longer, soaking in the quiet and letting yourself feel everything relief, nervousness, hope you finally got up from the couch. You made yourself another cup of tea, needing something warm to hold, something grounding.

The day outside had started to brighten, golden sunlight peeking through your curtains, casting a soft glow across your apartment. It made everything feel even more surreal, like the heavy fog that had been hanging over you for months was finally starting to lift.

You weren't naïve. You knew things wouldn’t magically fall into place because of one conversation. You knew trust didn’t rebuild itself overnight. But still, you had to start somewhere. And you had chosen to start here.

Meanwhile, across the city, Jisung sat alone in his apartment, the overwhelming aftermath of the morning sinking in. He was finally sober now, feeling the full weight of his mistakes. He replayed everything, your guarded but soft voice, the look in your eyes when you told him you were willing to try. It was a second chance he hadn’t deserved but one he swore he would never take for granted again.

For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like drowning himself in work, distractions, or alcohol. Instead, he felt determined. He needed to get his act together, for real this time. He needed to show you, not just tell you, that he could be the man you and the baby needed him to be.

The first thing he did was clean his apartment really clean it, not just a lazy sweep. He threw out the alcohol bottles, aired out the rooms, and opened the windows to let fresh air in. It was a small, physical act of change, but to him, it felt important. A symbol of letting go of the past he’d been clinging to.

The next few days were careful, tentative. Jisung texted you, not overbearing, just small check-ins: “Good morning, hope you’re feeling okay today.” or “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be around.” Simple, unobtrusive. He was careful not to pressure you, to give you the space you needed to adjust, but he wanted you to know he was there.

And surprisingly, you found yourself responding. Short answers at first, but they warmed up quickly, especially when he’d send you cheesy jokes or tell you random little things about his day, just trying to make you laugh. There were still walls between you, but you could feel them starting to thin out, piece by piece.

You were moving slowly, and that was exactly what you needed.

Then, one afternoon, a week later, Jisung asked if he could come by no pressure, no expectations just to drop off something. You hesitated but said yes.

When you opened the door, he was standing there with a small, awkwardly wrapped package in his hands. It was a simple thing, a tiny onesie, soft and pastel, with a silly little duck on the front. He handed it to you with a sheepish look, scratching the back of his neck.

“I saw it and thought...you know, maybe you could use it later.”

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t a perfect apology. But it was effort. It was real.

And in that moment, you realized...maybe things could really change. Maybe it was okay to hope for something better after all.

So you smiled, small but genuine, and you invited him inside again.

It was a beginning. Your beginning.
Slow, fragile, but real.

-

It happened more naturally than you would have ever expected.

You hadn’t spoken to Jisung much in the past week, not because either of you was upset or because something had gone wrong, but simply because life got busy. He had warned you ahead of time that he would be caught up with work, that there were long studio nights coming, meetings, deadlines. You’d appreciated the honesty; it had been a small, early test of communication between the two of you, and he’d passed. Still, the silence had been a little strange not painful like before, but noticeable. You found yourself missing his casual updates, his small jokes, even just the way he asked how you were feeling every day.

That morning, you had been going through the list of things you still needed for the baby the hospital bag essentials, a stroller, bottles, a few more newborn clothes, blankets and the weight of it felt heavier when you realized how close your due date actually was. Your first instinct had been to call Jia or Lana, but somewhere deep inside you, an impulse stirred.
You pulled out your phone, hesitated, but finally typed out a message to Jisung:

"Would you want to go baby shopping with me today? If you’re free."

You didn’t expect a fast reply. Maybe you even prepared yourself for him to say no, he was busy, after all, and you didn’t want to be disappointed.
But barely a minute later, your phone lit up.

"Of course. I’ll come pick you up. What time?"

No hesitation. No excuses.
Your heart thudded heavily, emotions a little tangled nervous, happy, scared. But above all, hopeful.

An hour later, you stood by the window of your apartment, watching the street below. Jisung’s familiar car pulled up, and you grabbed your bag quickly, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. You smoothed your hands over your dress, instinctively resting a palm against your belly as you took a deep breath and headed out the door.

When you slid into the passenger seat, you found him smiling nervously at you.
“You look great,” he said, and there was something so genuine about it, not just an empty compliment.
You thanked him quietly, your cheeks warming, and the two of you set off.

At first, the drive was a little quiet. Not uncomfortable, but tentative. Jisung asked about how you were feeling lately, about the baby’s kicks, about if you were sleeping okay. You answered honestly, and then you found yourself asking about his work, about how he’d been managing everything. The conversation picked up from there, flowing more easily the longer you talked.

By the time you reached the baby store, some of the tension had melted away completely.

Inside, everything felt overwhelming at first. So many options, so many tiny clothes, gadgets, things you didn’t even know existed. You stared at a wall of strollers, feeling a little helpless, until Jisung bumped your shoulder playfully.
“Looks like we’re going to need a map for this place,” he joked.
You laughed, the sound breaking the last bit of awkwardness lingering between you.

The two of you wandered the aisles together, picking out onesies, swaddles, a diaper bag. He was attentive, reading labels, asking questions, genuinely interested. Not rushing through it, not treating it like a chore.

At one point, you found a tiny beanie, soft and knitted, and you held it up to show him. Without thinking, he leaned down, brushing his fingers over the fabric and then so carefully over the curve of your belly.
“They’re gonna look so cute in that,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You swallowed hard, trying to fight the sudden sting in your eyes.

That moment, so small and simple was when you truly let him in. Not because of anything grand or dramatic, but because he was just there, with you, in a way that he hadn’t been before.

You smiled at him, and he smiled back, something soft and vulnerable in his expression.

Later, when you loaded the bags into the trunk of his car, Jisung surprised you again by suggesting you both grab dinner, no pressure, he said, just something casual. And for the first time in a long time, you said yes easily.

It was still early evening by the time you and Jisung finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment complex, the car packed full of bags, far more than you had originally intended to buy.
It had been... easy with him today, far easier than you would have thought a few weeks ago. You were tired now, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came from a full, good day, not the emotional kind that usually dragged you down.

You unlocked your front door, letting Jisung in first as he carried several bags over his arms, insisting you shouldn’t be lifting too much. You laughed under your breath but didn’t fight him on it, your back was aching slightly anyway, and truthfully it was nice having someone there to help.
Once inside, you both got to work unpacking everything, laying it out over your couch and coffee table. Tiny onesies, a mountain of soft baby blankets, bottles, pacifiers, diapers, little pairs of socks so small they barely fit in the palm of your hand.

You sat back against the couch for a moment, letting out a small sigh of contentment. Jisung settled next to you, holding up a pale yellow onesie you had picked out, his lips curving into the softest smile you had seen on him in a long, long time.
"Look at this," he said, voice full of wonder. "It’s so tiny... I still can’t believe we’re going to have a tiny human wearing this."

You chuckled lightly, resting your hand on your belly instinctively as you leaned over to look at it with him.
"I know," you murmured, a little awe in your own voice.
Without thinking, you both leaned your heads together, admiring the onesie like it was the most precious thing in the world. It was such a warm, natural moment that your heart squeezed painfully in your chest, not in a bad way, but in the way that happens when you feel something real settling inside of you.

But then

BEEP BEEP, the code to your door punched in.
The door swung open with a loud bang as three very familiar faces burst through: Jia, Chan, and Lana.

You and Jisung both jerked upright, startled, the onesie slipping out of Jisung's hands and landing softly on the couch.
For a long second, none of you moved.

Jia’s eyes widened almost comically, her mouth opening slightly but no words coming out. She glanced between you and Jisung like she couldn't quite piece it together fast enough.
Chan’s brows lifted, but unlike Jia, he didn't look angry or shocked, more curious, even a little relieved.
Lana... Lana just stood there, her arms crossed loosely, looking more amused than anything else, like she had expected this and was just waiting to see how it would unfold.

The air was thick with tension and awkward silence.
You were the first to move, standing up slowly, brushing your hands down your sides in a nervous gesture.
"Uh… hi," you said, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Jisung stood too, glancing at you uncertainly, waiting for your lead.

Jia finally managed to say something, although it came out more like a strangled squeak.
"We, uh… we just came to check on you! Not, uh, not to—interrupt?" she said, her eyes darting to Jisung again.

You could feel your cheeks burn, but you forced yourself to speak calmly.
"I was going to tell you guys..." you began, feeling a little defensive but mostly just embarrassed. "I just… wasn't ready yet."

Chan gave you a small, understanding smile.
"You don’t owe us an explanation," he said gently. "As long as you're okay."
His words and the genuine way he said them, made some of the tension in your shoulders ease.

Lana, meanwhile, just lifted a brow and muttered, "Well, I’m glad someone finally stepped up," earning her a sharp nudge from Jia.

You glanced at Jisung, who gave you a tentative but encouraging nod, silently telling you he was here for whatever you needed to say.
You inhaled deeply and looked back at your friends.

"Jisung and I... we’re trying," you said, the words tasting strange but right in your mouth. "We’re not rushing into anything. We’re just… trying to figure it out together."

Jia still looked a little wary, like she wanted to protect you but was biting her tongue.
Chan gave Jisung a small, respectful nod, and you could see the slight relief on Jisung’s face like maybe he had been expecting Chan to punch him or something.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Slowly, your friends trickled further inside. Lana picked up a few of the baby things, making little comments about how adorable everything was. Jia offered to help organize, and Chan drifted over to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone.

Jisung stayed close to you, not too close, but enough that you could feel his presence solid and steady by your side.
When you caught him looking at you that soft, unguarded look again, you realized something.

You weren’t alone anymore.

Not in the way you had been, not even when you had your friends around.
This was different.
This was the beginning of something healing, something real, something that could one day, if you both worked hard enough, be a family.

And maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to let that happen.

-

The evening settled into a kind of chaotic comfort, the kind that only happens when you're surrounded by people who feel like home.

Jia and Chan were bickering loudly over the TV remote, their voices rising in playful (but intense) competitiveness.
"You picked the last movie!" Jia accused, trying to yank the remote from Chan's hand.
"You didn't even watch it! You fell asleep twenty minutes in!" Chan shot back, holding the remote high above her head.

Lana, sitting cross-legged on the rug, sighed dramatically and tried to mediate, though she clearly wasn’t really trying that hard.
"Just give it to Jia," Lana said, her tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "You're just making it worse, Chan."

You sat on the couch, a little farther away from the chaos, with Jisung beside you.
There was a little pile of tiny onesies and newborn clothes between you both, freshly laundered and soft to the touch. You were showing him how you liked to fold them, smoothing the tiny sleeves inward, then folding up the bottom half carefully.

"Like this," you said, demonstrating slowly, smiling a little to yourself at the concentration on Jisung's face as he tried to mimic you. His brows furrowed, his tongue poking out slightly in focus as he carefully mirrored your actions.

You couldn't help but giggle quietly, nudging his elbow when he finally got it right.
"There you go," you praised, and he looked so absurdly proud that it made your heart twist in your chest.

The noise from Jia and Chan faded into the background as you and Jisung worked together, folding onesie after onesie, your hands brushing once in a while.
It was easy, surprisingly easy. And even though you were still cautious, still hesitant deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you felt lighter around him.

At one point, after folding a particularly small pair of socks, Jisung shifted closer to you slightly, setting the socks down neatly before speaking.
His voice was low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should break the comfortable quiet between you.

"I'm really... thankful," he said, glancing over at you, his eyes earnest and soft. "That you have them. Jia, Lana... even Chan. It’s clear they care about you so much."

You smiled, following his gaze to where your friends were still tangled in a ridiculous argument about movie choices.
"Yeah," you said softly, your heart swelling a little. "They’ve been here for me... when I didn’t even know how much I needed someone."

Jisung nodded slowly, his fingers playing with the hem of a tiny shirt.
"And... I’m thankful," he continued, voice a little rough now, "that they didn’t treat me like... like I didn’t belong here. They didn’t make me feel like I wasn’t welcome. Even after everything I did wrong."

Your breath caught a little in your chest. You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were open, vulnerable, no walls left.
He wasn’t perfect, you both weren’t. You had hurt each other. But he was trying. He was here.

You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles where his hand rested on his knee.
"They know I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t want to try," you said gently. "And they trust me."

Jisung’s lips curved into the smallest, most grateful smile you’d ever seen.

For a long moment, you both just sat there, your friends’ laughter and squabbling a warm, distant hum around you.
You realized you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time not fully, not truly.

Hope.

It wasn’t going to be easy.
You still had to rebuild trust.
You still had so much healing to do, separately and together.

But maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

You and Jisung finished folding the last of the baby clothes, placing them carefully in a basket you’d set aside.
And when Jia finally wrestled the remote away from Chan and put on some random cheesy movie, and everyone settled down to watch, Jisung stayed close.
Not too close, not pushing any boundaries, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, steady and solid beside you.

It was a start.
And for the first time in a long time, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips, not out of obligation, not out of politeness.
Out of real, tentative happiness.

Because maybe you weren’t alone anymore.
Maybe you hadn’t been for a while.
Maybe... you were finally ready to believe that you could build something new, something better not just for you, but for the tiny life growing inside of you too.

The next few months passed like a series of soft, tentative steps forward. Nothing was rushed, nothing was forced, it all unfolded in the kind of natural way that only happens when two people are really trying, when the effort itself means something.

As your due date crept closer and closer, the atmosphere around you changed too, like a gentle hum in the background of your everyday life. Things weren’t perfect, there were still tough days, moments of uncertainty where you questioned whether you were doing the right thing by letting him back into your life, but they were outweighed, slowly but surely, by the good days.
And Jisung, he made sure you had more of those good days.

He became part of your group almost seamlessly, something you never would’ve expected when you first opened your door that early morning and saw him standing there, a mess of mismatched shoes and regret.
It was awkward at first, of course it was.
Especially with Chan.

At first, there was a lingering tension between them whenever they were in the same room. Jisung was polite, if a little stiff. Chan was friendly, but you could tell he was holding back a little too, unsure of where the boundaries were supposed to lie.
There was a certain unspoken protectiveness that Chan carried when it came to you, and even though you had never given him any reason to think you wanted anything more than friendship, you could understand why Jisung might have felt a little... threatened.

But one afternoon, after you had gone into the kitchen to grab some snacks during a movie night at your apartment, you overheard them talking.
You paused, just out of sight, feeling a little guilty for eavesdropping but too curious to stop yourself.

“She’s lucky to have you,” Jisung had said, voice low but sincere.
Chan chuckled, a little awkwardly. “Nah, man. She’s strong all on her own. Always has been. I’m just glad she has more people looking out for her now.”

There was a brief pause, the kind that spoke volumes.
Then Chan added, “I’m not gonna pretend it wasn’t weird at first. But if you’re serious about being there for her and the baby... that’s what matters.”

And from then on, things got easier between them.

They bonded, slowly, mostly over music at first, it was neutral ground.
Chan had experience producing a few tracks for friends back in Australia, and Jisung, passionate and hardworking as always, immediately lit up whenever they talked shop.
You’d catch them having full conversations about studio software, instrumentals, and beat progressions, both completely oblivious to the fact that the initial awkwardness had faded.

Jia and Lana were relieved.
They had been watching everything unfold with eagle eyes, ready to swoop in if needed.
You knew they were still protective of you, but their relief showed in their softer smiles and in the way they treated Jisung more like he was one of them now, no longer an outsider trying to claw his way back in, but someone they were cautiously welcoming back for your sake... and maybe for his own too.

It meant the world to you.
Because it wasn’t just about your relationship with Jisung anymore, it was about your world, your community, your support system.
You needed them all to mesh, to get along, to coexist in a way that didn’t leave you feeling like you had to pick sides.

And Jisung, he tried.
He was there for every little thing he could be.

If you had a doctor’s appointment, he’d move mountains to be there, even if it meant showing up straight from work in slightly wrinkled clothes, with tired eyes but a bright, excited smile.
He read every book you mentioned offhandedly, studied every article about pregnancy and baby care until he could quote things you didn’t even know.
He was there when you were too tired to get up from the couch, cooking you simple meals (even if sometimes he had to call Lana for help halfway through).
He was there when you needed a hand up from a chair, when you dropped something you couldn’t bend down to pick up anymore, when the loneliness crept in during the nights and you didn’t know how to tell anyone somehow, he just knew.

There were late-night calls that turned into sleepy conversations where he told you about his day and asked you about yours, moments where you’d accidentally fall asleep on the phone and wake up to a simple "goodnight" text he’d left after hanging up.

There were moments when you’d catch him staring at your belly with this look of wonder like he couldn’t believe this was real, that he had almost thrown it all away.
He’d ask to feel the baby kick, and every time he felt the tiny flutter of life beneath your skin, his entire face would light up like the sun had decided to live inside of him.
It was healing, in its own slow, imperfect way.

You still weren’t naive about it.
You still had your guard up sometimes, and he never pushed you past what you were comfortable with.
You both knew there were still conversations that needed to happen, still trust that needed to be rebuilt fully.

But you were getting there.
Step by step.
Moment by moment.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel like a scary, lonely thing anymore.
It felt like something you could walk into together bruised but stronger, fractured but healing, cautious but hopeful.

It felt like maybe, just maybe you could have the tiny family you always dreamed of.
Even if it looked a little different than you had originally imagined.
Even if it took a long, winding road to get there.

You weren't alone anymore.
And neither was he.

Your baby boy arrived exactly on your due date, and somehow, despite the chaos and the endless scheduling, Jisung had managed to be there. He had told you countless times that he would make it work, that no matter how busy his schedule was, no matter what meetings or recording sessions he had, he would be there for you. And true to his word, when you felt the first rush of contractions that morning, he dropped everything and rushed to your side.

It was a long and exhausting labor, but with each breath, each push, you felt a sense of clarity. There was no going back from this moment. You weren’t doing this alone. The presence of Jisung, his hand in yours, his voice murmuring words of encouragement through gritted teeth, made all the pain and uncertainty fade into the background.

And when the cries of your baby boy filled the room, it felt like the world had shifted, like everything you had fought for, everything you had hoped for was standing in front of you, in his tiny, wriggling form.

Jisung had been there the entire time, right by your side, holding your hand through the hardest moments and softly kissing your forehead when you could barely hold your head up. But it was in the quiet moments after, when the rush of the birth had settled and you both were left with your son in your arms, that you truly saw the difference in him.

You’d been watching him quietly for a while now. Jisung was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, your baby boy cradled in his arms. His face was a soft picture of awe, his gaze fixed on the little bundle of joy in his arms like he was the most precious thing in the world.

He was so careful, so gentle with the baby, like he was afraid to breathe too loudly in case he’d break him. He rocked him slowly, softly, his eyes never leaving your son’s little face as he tried to wrap his head around everything that was happening. It was such a beautiful, surreal moment that you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh when you watched him. The sight was almost too perfect to be true. You had expected him to be nervous, to fumble a little. But no, he was doing this so naturally.

And then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you broke the silence with a teasing comment. “So, this is the baby you didn’t want, huh?”

Jisung’s head snapped up, his eyebrows furrowing as he gave you a playful glare. He shifted the baby gently in his arms, like he was preparing for an argument, but you could see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Really?” he said, his voice still thick with the emotion of the moment, but his teasing tone clear. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say after I just helped bring this little guy into the world?”

You let out a light laugh, the sound a little breathless from the exhaustion of labor, but your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “I mean,” you said with a smirk, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about what you said, you know? You weren’t exactly enthusiastic about having a baby back then.”

His eyes softened at the reminder, and you could see the shift in him, the genuine remorse that still lingered from the moment he realized he’d almost lost you, almost lost the chance to be a father to his child.

He leaned closer, his voice quieter now, as though speaking only for you and your son to hear. “I know I wasn’t ready back then, but... I’m here now. I’m here for both of you.”

You studied him for a moment, your heart swelling. Jisung wasn’t just holding your baby, he was holding your family in his arms. And there was no question in your mind now: He was ready, more ready than you had ever imagined.

You softened, smiling up at him. “It’s too early for jokes like that, huh?”

He nodded, a knowing, teasing smile finally reaching his lips. “A little too soon. He’s only a few hours old, give him a break.”

The moment settled between you, warm and quiet, as you both let your eyes linger on your son. You couldn’t stop the tear that escaped down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness, though. It was joy, pure, overwhelming joy.

You reached out and gently touched the little hand that Jisung had been holding so carefully. “I’m really happy you’re here, Jisung. And that you want to be here for him.”

He squeezed your hand back, looking at you with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, for him, for you... for us.”

The gravity of his words sank in, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the three of you, together. Everything that had been so uncertain between you two, all the hurt, the doubts, the tension seemed so distant now, so irrelevant. This was where you were supposed to be.
This was your family.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[taglist: @kenqki @mbioooo0000 @bearseuming @alisonyus @justjxnniie @chungdol @captainchrisstan @stilesks @banana-bread-thread @linosgrape @chaosandcandies @energyjuice4life @st4rv3lly @hanniebunch @nchhuhi @changbin-wife @felixleftchickennugget @psychobitchsthings @puppymsworld @silly250 @uyyoyyu @beppybeesnuggets @413ktz @emilyywhyy @betda @anastasiiiiaaaaa @vixensss @ready2readnwrite @hansmic @sunnysidesins @m-325 @b2ngch2n @zelianlop..]

[jensthwa]

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before. 

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much. 

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions. 

The main one being: What the fuck did you do? 

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess. 

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears. 

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it. 

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back. 

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions. 

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal: 

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worn out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn. 

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him. 

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool. 

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back. 

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out. 

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you. 

Yeah, you'll figure it out.  

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you. 

You are fucked. 

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon. 

“Mingi is driving you, right?” 

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation. 

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.” 

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?” 

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?” 

“R-right.” 

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink. 

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath. 

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.” 

“You made it, dear.” 

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!” 

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face. 

Maybe not the smartest option. 

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you. 

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love? 

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well. 

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization. 

The casual texting annoys you. 

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either! 

Oh, maybe that's why. 

But it ticks you off either way. 

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today? 

It doesn't make any sense. 

You hit send. 

> gi: aaaaand?  > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed. 

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf  > gi: my butt is all bruised.  > gi: kiss it better? 

Oh. 

Not casual texting. At. All. 

Or maybe it is? 

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer. 

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late. 

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being. 

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday. 

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way. 

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day. 

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget. 

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.  

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's. 

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue. 

God damnit, Y/N, get it together. 

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door. 

“You do know how to change a tire, son?” 

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile. 

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.” 

“And make sure to—” 

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?” 

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even. 

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning. 

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it. 

“I was just making sure that he—” 

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well. 

“Alright. Love you, take care!” 

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval. 

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief. 

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?” 

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.” 

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door. 

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now. 

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.” 

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.” 

“You can help me with that.” 

“Can I now?” 

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.” 

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation. 

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.” 

A bit of silence passes within the both of you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place. 

Nothing has changed. 

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into a hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing. 

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door. 

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in. 

“You made it!” 

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.” 

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?” 

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.” 

If Seonghwa catches the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—” 

“Mingi!” 

What the hell is she doing here? 

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe? 

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men. 

Right now? She's your worst nightmare. 

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away. 

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid. 

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised. 

“Well fuck me, am I right?” 

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on your shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.” 

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away. 

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.” 

“You can't possibly know that.” 

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.” 

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same. 

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.” 

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri. 

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.” 

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting. 

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.” 

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh. 

“We're just friends now!” 

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—” 

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him. 

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening. 

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend. 

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you. 

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts. 

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before. 

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you? 

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there. 

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!” 

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!” 

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask. 

“Who is sh—” 

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?” 

Huh?! 

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped. 

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—” 

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.” 

Great, that didn't work either. 

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?” 

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.” 

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.” 

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.” 

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this. 

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh. 

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool. 

“Sure thing.” 

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move. 

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi. 

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out. 

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe. 

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs. 

When you're tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you. 

“What the fuck, Mingi?” 

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror. 

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?” 

“People usually knock!” 

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax. 

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so. 

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back. 

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck. 

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.” 

You let out a sigh. 

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?” 

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.” 

“Cool.” 

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.” 

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, buddy.” 

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising. 

“What's so amusing?” 

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?” 

He's such a guy sometimes. 

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—” 

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.” 

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.” 

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—” 

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.” 

“Mingi, don't say that!” 

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason. 

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.  

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—” 

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!” 

“You don't even know her name, love.” 

“That's not the fucking point!” 

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words. 

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy. 

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense. 

You hate it. 

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment. 

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings. 

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you. 

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight. 

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.” 

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs. 

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing. 

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—” 

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.” 

“Did something happen or…?” 

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks. 

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means. 

“Ye—” 

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.” 

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder. 

Immature. Petty. Rude. 

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset. 

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again. 

As he should be. 

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street. 

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is. 

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step. 

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.” 

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head. 

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating. 

He's angry. Shit. 

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it. 

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff. 

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road. 

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment. 

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything. 

“You shouldn't have bothered.” 

“I am bothered. You bothered me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?” 

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!” 

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.” 

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support. 

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car. 

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance. 

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation. 

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.” 

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short. 

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.” 

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.” 

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up. 

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.  

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line. 

“Well, she's a friendly girl!” 

“She didn't even say hi to me!” 

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!” 

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.” 

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.” 

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi. 

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you. 

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back. 

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—” 

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it. 

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you. 

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right. 

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it. 

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…” 

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.” 

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.” 

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.” 

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?” 

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—” 

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later. 

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold. 

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving. 

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop. 

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for. 

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made. 

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again. 

“This goddamn dress, love.” 

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?” 

“Been thinking about it all day…” 

“It worked, by the way.” 

“Woo?” 

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.” 

“And Jongho?” 

“Probably plotting against me right now.” 

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.” 

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick. 

“Worked on you, too.” 

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.” 

“Oh?” 

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience. 

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.” 

This is it. 

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again. 

“I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if it's too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too. 

You kiss him until it hurts. 

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more. 

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time. 

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands. 

And then it doesn't. 

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way. 

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist. 

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and lets his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms. 

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so. 

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?” 

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit. 

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again. 

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question. 

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?” 

“Fuck, Mingi…” 

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right. 

“Y-yes.” 

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.” 

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away. 

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?” 

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.” 

“Mingi…” 

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—” 

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—” 

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.” 

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips. 

What a tease. 

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease. 

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit. 

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second. 

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high. 

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close. 

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth. 

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does. 

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly. 

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.” 

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?” 

“You don't have to, love.” 

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.” 

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods. 

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it. 

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting. 

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it. 

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car. 

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.” 

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier. 

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again. 

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick from touching is your hand. 

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor. 

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable. 

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth. 

“Condom. Now.” 

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.” 

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!” 

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…” 

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously. 

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…” 

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago. 

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling. 

“Baby… Harder.” 

“Yeah?” 

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break. 

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. 

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge. 

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well. 

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple. 

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns. 

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.” 

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does. 

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there. 

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you. 

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?” 

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?” 

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.” 

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.” 

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.” 

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.” 

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.” 

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't see it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.” 

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended. 

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment hanging out. 

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents. 

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason. 

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you. 

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways. 

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions. 

But everyone seems unaffected by it. 

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.” 

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on. 

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff. 

“And no one told us?!” 

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust. 

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.” 

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.” 

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile. 

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh? 

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?” 

“I’m sure Mingi did—” 

“Wooyoung!” 

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all. 

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.” 

“Am not!” 

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.  

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops. 

There's some story there you don't know. 

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.” 

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts. 

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter. 

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away. 

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.” 

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night. 

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis. 

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him. 

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all. 

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.” 

You smile “Well, she's right.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off. 

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth. 

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips. 

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!” 

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[cherrygarcia-07]

spencer fluff when you’re anxious and can’t sleep

Thank you so much for the req! This is perfect for me as a lifelong insomniac, I actually just wrote this in one sitting on no sleep😭 Oh to have Spencer Reid take care of me when I can’t sleep

Bedtime Stories // Spencer Reid📚

Synopsis: Spencer wakes up to you tossing and turning in bed, insistent on reading you a bedtime story to calm you down and soothe you through the night.

Pairing: Spencer x gn! reader

Genre: fluff

Notes/Tags: reader kind of has a panic attack almost but Spencer helps them through it, lots of lovey dovey cuddles and kisses, Spencer is literally a dream boyfriend, Spencer talks about his childhood a little (cherrygarcia-07 staple sorry), Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland mention yayyyy, talks about Spencer as a kid (cute I promise not completely sad for once), some light banter between the two of them, this was not planned out at all I just sat and wrote so lmk if it’s messy lol I also wrote it on zero sleep myself :3

Word Count: 2k

masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog!! it helps so much!!

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Your eyes shot open again for what felt like the 10th time that night, painfully alert despite the heaviness weighing down your eyelids. That feeling in your throat wouldn’t go away- that hoarse, hard-to-breathe feeling of dread that clawed at you from the inside. Your chest heaved, but you couldn’t figure out why. Nothing was wrong, was it? Your brows furrowed as you tried to think; am I forgetting a deadline? Did I leave something on in my apartment before coming here? Is the universe about to implode and it’s just waiting for me to fall asleep so it can get it over with? The frustration got the better of you, tired tears pricking your lash line and you turned your head to the side, hoping to relieve your anxiety with the view resting on the pillow beside you.

It was unfair, really, how pretty Spencer looked when he slept- how pretty he looked all the time but especially like this. At his most peaceful. His lips were parted slightly, gentle puffs of air faintly hitting your shoulder where his face rested so close to you (proof of how clingy a sleeper he was no matter how much he would deny it). His soft hair fell half over his eyes and half over his pillow, the moonlight creeping in through the curtains highlighting that tiny bump on his nose you’ve traced with your finger a thousand times. It should have calmed you down. It usually does. But tonight, the way his eyelids fluttered ever so delicately as he dreamt just made you feel worse as you watched him, wide, wide awake.

With a huff, you tossed onto your side with your back to him as you planted your gaze on the digital clock glaring back at you, its violent red lights mocking you from the nightstand. You were so focused on trying to calm your relentlessly unsteady breathing that you didn’t notice the arm sneaking around your waist from behind you.

“Hey,” a raspy voice whispered, making you jump slightly, but you didn’t turn around. “Is everything okay?”

“Just can’t sleep.” You mumbled quietly, narrowing your eyes so that the blaring red numbers became nothing but a blur.

The arm pulled you closer. “Yeah, I know. I’ve woken up to you going to the bathroom four times tonight already, that’s far higher than your nightly average.”

Guiltily, your eyes squeezed shut as you sucked a sharp breath in through your teeth. You thought you’d gotten away with not waking him up. You’d been trying absolutely anything to appease your brain and convince it to let you get even an hour of sleep. At first you thought maybe I just need to pee and haven’t realised it, but then after another thirty minutes in bed you convinced yourself you must just be too warm and needed to splash some cold water on your face. The third time you thought brushing your teeth again might reinforce the ‘okay it’s bedtime’ part of your brain- and the fourth time had just been to cry.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.”

“Always wake me if something’s wrong, sweetheart.” Spencer pressed a small kiss to your shoulder as his thumb rubbed circles over your stomach. Sighing, you finally decided to roll over to face him.

God, those eyes. They were always the first thing you saw when you looked at him, how could they not be? Even half asleep they glimmered in the low light, hues of brown and gold glowing through the darkness of the twilight. Right now they were looking at you with so much love and so much worry that it almost made you feel at ease again- but not quite.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I think I feel sick.” You spoke, voice small yet pounding in your head with every word.

“Sick how, baby?” Spencer asked, his voice like honey as he moved to run a gentle hand through your hair.

You pouted slightly as you thought about it, but you didn’t really know. Did you even feel sick? You thought you felt a little nauseous, but maybe it was just the breathlessness you were still fighting.

“Anxiety.” You decided on. You tried to force out more words than that, but they wouldn’t come.

“Okay,” he nodded understandingly, fingers never stopping their tender motions against your scalp, “can you tell me what you’re anxious about?”

You felt bad- he was trying so hard to help and you couldn’t even meet him half way.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Your voice shook as you trailed off and the look in his eyes hardened slightly but not at you, never at you, at whatever had happened in the past to make you apologise for needing help.

“Why are you saying sorry?”

“Because I woke you up and I can’t even tell you why.” You sniffled, scrunching up your nose in a way you’d picked up from him. “I’m keeping us both awake and I don’t even know why.”

“Well, can you tell me what you’re thinking about now?” He asked, voice low and soothing like some kind of angelic white noise.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. All you saw behind your eyelids was the unforgiving blinking of the clock behind you.

“I’m thinking that it’s two o’clock in the damn morning and I’ve been trying to sleep for three hours. I’m thinking that even if I fall asleep now I’ll only get four hours of sleep, but actually I’m going to get even less than that because of the time I’m wasting right now talking about it. That’s not even what was bothering me in the first place, though.”

“But it’s certainly not helping, is it?” Spencer hummed and you nodded into his touch. “Could you try and tell me what was bothering you?”

You shook your head and your face crumpled, the feeling in your throat tightening as you threw your forehead against his shoulder. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close as he pressed a dozen kisses into your hair. A small whimper left your lips, muffled against his sleep shirt, and you allowed yourself to melt into him as his hands rubbed your spine in time with his coos against your ear.

“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Breathe with me, yeah? In and out, that’s it.”

Eventually your breathing evened out as it matched his pace. You immediately felt so much calmer, like your lungs had forgotten their rhythm without him but were finally back in harmony. A tranquil silence wrapped the two of you in a warm embrace as you breathed in his comforting smell, grounding yourself to him. After a while, he pulled back, pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose as he spoke.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Not perfect, but yeah.” You gave him a small smile, and you watched the worry vanish from his eyes as you did. “I still don’t know what was wrong, though. I just couldn’t get my brain to shut up.”

“It’s okay not to know sometimes, but you can’t let yourself spiral like that on your own. Not when I’m right here for you.”

“I know, Spence. I’m s-“

“Hey.” He cut you off with mock seriousness, brows furrowing as you let out a tiny giggle. “No more talk of the ‘S’ word, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips. “My apologies.”

The side glance he shot you almost made you burst out laughing in his face, but you bit it back.

“You won’t win me over with your sarcastic use of synonyms.” He warned, though the smile growing on his face said otherwise. “Hey, can I try reading to you? It might help you get some sleep, or if not it’ll at least relax you a little.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, replacing the unnamed dread from earlier. It may not help you to sleep, but the promise of listening to his heavenly voice babble on as you tuck yourself into him was simply too good to pass up.

“I would love that if you don’t mind staying awake.”

“For all you know this could just be my clever ruse to trick you into letting me stay up all night reading.” Spencer hopped out of bed excitedly, leaning back over the mattress to press a quick kiss to your lips before darting out of the room.

In his absence, you hugged his pillow to your chest, smiling to yourself as you listened to him stumble around the living room in the dark as he made his way to the library worthy bookshelves lining the walls. After a few moments he wandered back in, mirroring your position as he clung his chosen book to his own chest.

“Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow slightly as he climbed back into bed beside you.

“You don’t like it?” He asked, turning the book over in his hands. “I could go and pick something else?”

“No, no. Alice is fine. I promise.” You added when you noticed he still had one leg on the floor ready to jump back into action. “It’s just whenever you run off to get a book I expect you to bring back something five thousand pages long and written in Russian.”

He chuckled as he pulled his leg up onto the bed with finality, pulling the duvet up over you both. “I’m not convinced that would make as good a bedtime story.”

Sighing contently, you nestled into his side as his arm draped around your shoulders. “What makes Alice a good bedtime story, then?” You asked, just to hear him ramble.

“Actually,” he began, voice quieter, more vulnerable than before, “I used to read this to myself as a kid when I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you were reading, like, Shakespeare and stuff as a kid.” You mumbled, gleefully picturing a little Spencer in his too-big glasses in your head.

“I was.” He laughed lightly, pausing to take a short breath before continuing. “But I used to read this when I was anxious, like you. Some nights I would be so worried about my mom that I couldn’t sleep and this would always be the first book I went to. It’s absurd, it’s irrational- at times even scary- but the fact it all worked out in the end made me feel better.”

“I never knew that.” You whispered. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth slowly, his gaze distant for a moment before falling back to you.

“Getting lost in someone else’s world gave me hope about my own, and more importantly right now, always put me to sleep.” He took your hand in his, gently pulling your arm around his waist as his other hand flicked open the cover of the book. “I hope it does the same for you.”

With a dramatic clearing of his throat and a spill of laughter from you, Spencer began reading. As he spoke you couldn’t help but picture him as a young boy tucked up in bed with a mini flashlight between his teeth or a lamp on his nightstand, glasses slipping down his nose as he read. You wondered if he read in his head, painting vivid imagery in his mind like his own private movie, or if he read aloud to himself quietly, mindful of his sleeping mother down the hall. Did he read with the same excitement in his voice as he narrated Alice’s head poking through the roof of the house? Did he give the blue caterpillar the same silly voice he’s speaking in now or has he made it up fresh to make you smile? You wondered as your eyelids grew heavy again if when he fell asleep he dreamt of white rabbits and mad hatters, his glasses still perched on his nose and book open in his little lap.

You couldn’t pin point where in the story you’d finally dozed off, but you know you fell asleep happy wrapped in the arms of the love of your life, the sweetest soul to ever grace the air you breathe. Next time, you wouldn’t hesitate to wake him up.

-

[passionwillow]

Soft dom Robby when his girl uses their safe word for the first time. I’m thinking thoughts.

Oh my sweet baby Robby 😭😭

“Red- Red!”

The word leaves your mouth in a choked cry, your thighs trembling as they close around Robby’s hand, trying to stop the vibrations running like lightening through your clit.

He’d had the vibrator glued to your clit for half an hour, forcing orgasm after orgasm from your body. Fucking you while it massaged your clit, laying back and just watching you come undone.

There wasn’t anything that conquered the stress of the day more than giving yourself over to him, letting him take control and emptying your mind.

But today had been so much.. Too much. The sensitivity, the overwhelming sensations finally pushed you over the edge. You’d never used your safe word with him, not in the 3 years you’d dated.

He pulled away and turned off the vibrator, tossing it blindly on the bed as he gathered you in his arms, sitting back against the pillows and holding you to his chest. “Shh, shh, you’re alright. Hey, baby, just breathe. Breathe with me, okay?”

He breathed slowly in and out as he held you, hands rubbing your back and legs as you tried to match his pace. You didn’t notice the tears on your cheeks until he was wiping them, brown eyes concerned and guilty as he studied you. “Hey, honey. You’re okay.. I’m so sorry.”

“No-.. Robby, it isn’t your fault. You did everything right, I tapped and you stopped. It just.. It was too much today,” you whispered, eyes closing as you nuzzled into his chest. He nodded and cradling you tight, pressing kisses to your temple and cheek before hooking his arms under your legs and around your body, getting up.

He carried you to the bathroom and gently placed you on the counter, cupping your cheeks. “Can you sit for just a second? Let me get the water running?”

You smiled at his expression, brown eyes wide and face soft. You nodded and kissed the tip of his nose, watching him run the warm water and add your favorite bubbles and oils.

He was picking you up a few moments later, placing you in the bath and climbing in behind you. His arms snaked around your middle, his broad legs on either side of you as he relaxed into his chest. “This feels like heaven, baby.”

“Good, you deserve it.. You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Robby, I promise. You did nothing wrong.” You looked back at him and smiled, his brows relaxing as he ducked his head and kissed your shoulder, arms giving you a snug squeeze. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you, too.”

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: You Look Like You Love Me

Request: "I wondered if you could do a Tyler Owens fic where it’s the end of the day and everyone’s exhausted from chasing all day and stuff. Readers just gotten out of the shower and is in her sleep dress, hair wet and decides to join all the storm chasers/ the team out by the bonfire so she throws one of Tyler’s flannels on, puts her boots on and goes to find Tyler and once she does there’s a slow song that comes on the speaker (I feel like they’d have music playing that the whole parking lot can hear) and it just ends with them slow dancing by the fire looking into each others eyes and talking about their future, JTyler just has this look on his face knowing he is going to marry this woman one day<3"

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

A/N: thanks for the request, this was such a cute idea / fun plot to write :) Enjoy!! 

“You comin’?” Tyler asked, giving your hand a slight squeeze and nodding towards the group of people already clustered around the fire. 

You offered a small smile, which was about all you were capable of after the long day you’d had. 

“I’m really tired,” you explained. “Think I’m just gonna grab a shower then crash.”

You didn’t miss the look of disappointment that flashed across his face. But it was quickly replaced by a gentle nod. “Course, let me just grab our stuff, then I’ll head up.”

“No, you stay,” you encouraged him, nodding towards the group. “This is right up your alley, don’t miss out because I’m a tired slug.”  

Tyler tipped his head to the side affectionately. “You’re about the cutest tired slug I think I’ve ever seen,” he said in a tone that was far too serious for the context. 

You shook your head, lips tugging into a grin as you pulled your hand away from his to adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. “Shut up,” you mumbled adoringly before nodding towards the fire. “Look, they have music goin’. Why don’t you go slow dance with Boone or something?” 

“Yeah alright,” Tyler agreed, taking a step backwards. His tongue poked through his teeth in the same way that, even after almost two years together, still made your stomach flip. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

“Have fun,” you called before he turned and began walking towards where everyone else had gathered. 

Meanwhile, you had the pleasure of trudging up a flight of stairs to get to the room Tyler had booked for the night. After nearly eight hours of driving that day, the muscles in your legs felt wobbly as you made the ascent. But when you finally were able to climb into the room’s shower– the warm water rinsing off all the dirt and sweat you’d acquired for the day, you sighed out a breath of relief. 

Although you appreciated how good it felt, you didn’t waste time in the shower. Instead, you quickly lathered up your hair, rinsed it out, and scrubbed yourself clean before grabbing a towel from the rack and drying off. Before long, you had your wet hair combed out, pajamas on, and were crawling into the queen bed positioned in the center of the room. You climbed in with full intentions of passing out without a second thought. 

However, to your absolute dismay, that wasn't the case. Instead, you tossed and turned, almost nodding off– but then reaching for someone that wasn't there yet. Eyes snapping open, you sighed defeatedly. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have a hard time sleeping without Tyler. But with how exhausted you felt, you’d been hopeful. 

You laid there for about half an hour before giving up. You were just growing increasingly frustrated and knew that no amount of laying there without him was going to work. 

So instead, you climbed out of bed, grabbed Tyler’s flannel, which laid conveniently at the top of your bag and threw your boots back on. Your hair was still damp when you left the room. Luckily the June air was warm– even after the sun had gone down. As you climbed back down the stairs, noise from the fire and people gathered filled your ears. You heard music coming through a nearby speaker and the collective murmuring and laughter from each conversation blurring together in a loud hum. 

As you approached the crowd, it didn’t take long before you spotted Tyler and the rest of the crew. He was sitting back in a camp chair, dimples on full display as he laughed at something Lilly was saying in the chair next to him. Boone was crouched on the sand, knees tucked into his chest while he used a stick to poke at the fire. Dani was kicked back in an adirondack chair, sipping casually on a beer. Meanwhile, Dexter was nowhere to be seen– presumably already gone to bed for the night. 

Wrapping his flannel tighter yourself, you began weaving your way through the crowd of people and towards him. Tyler spotted you after only a moment, like his eyes were born to find you in a crowd. At first his gaze was worried, eyebrows knitting together in a look of concern. 

“There she is!” Boone announced your arrival like your own personal cheerleader. 

You offered a smile and mumbled a weak hello before heading right for Tyler. 

“Hey baby,” he said. He moved like he was going to get up, but before he could, you walked to his side and plopped yourself down across his knees. Instantly, his hand found your waist while you wrapped your arms around his neck, nestling your face into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Everything okay?” he murmured, lips lingering along your hairline. He ran a hand up your back soothingly. 

You nodded, inhaling the scent of him. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” Tyler said, already knowing that what you really meant was, just couldn’t sleep without you. “We can head up, if you want. Let me grab my stuff.”

But you shook your head. Pulling away from him long enough to watch the scene around you. “No, it’s nice out here. Let’s stay a little longer.”

You felt his lips connect with your temple. “Whatever you want, baby.”

“Did you and Boone get to slow dance?” you asked, a hint of playfulness evident in your tone. 

Tyler snorted. “No, we hadn’t gotten the chance yet.”

“Shame,” you muttered groggily. “You’re such a good dancer.” 

“Well you know I’d much prefer to dance with you.”

“Hey,” Boone piped in. “Now see? I know y’all are the world’s cutest couple and all that bullshit. But that right there very much hurts my feelings, T.” 

You both laughed at his antics. 

“Sorry, Boone,” Tyler said. “You’ve got tough competition.”

“Aw, c’mon Boone,” Lilly said. “Don’t let them get to ya. Dani and I will dance with you– c’mon.” 

Together, the three of them got up and joined the crowd of people dancing, leaving you and Tyler alone. 

“Alright, Owens,” you said, mustering up the strength to climb off his lap. “Our turn. Show me what kind of dance moves you got.”

He let you drag him towards a quieter part of the lawn. Using one hand, Tyler gripped your waist and pulled you close. With the other, he cupped your hand to hold out from him. Gently, he began swaying you back and forth to the beat of the song. 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever told me who taught you to dance,” you observed. 

“My mom,” he replied softly. His green eyes sparkled– the same way they did anytime he talked about his mom. 

“I’d never wanted to go to any of the school dances– never had an interest. I was always workin’ the farm or out with friends. But in my junior year of high school, I was trying to impress this girl. Her name was Sally Wakefield– so, I bought us a coupla’ tickets to the prom without even asking her first.”

“What?” you laughed. 

“I know, I know–” he said. “I got the order a little backwards there. Anyway, I went to my mom and told her I had a date to the prom and that I had to learn how to dance before. So, we spent an entire weekend in the living room. She had me push all the furniture– the couch and table and all the chairs, to the side and make a little dance floor. She put her Elton John records on repeat and that's how I learned to dance.” 

“That’s really sweet,” you smiled, just imagining teenage-Tyler slow dancing in the living room with his mom. 

“Yeah, well it didn’t end so sweet. I asked Sally Wakefield to prom the next Monday at school and she laughed in my face,” he chuckled. “So all that hard work went right to waste.”

You scoffed. “Fuck Sally Wakefield.” 

“I actually ran into her at the market a few years back– she was really nice. She’s married, has a few kids now..”

“It was for cathartic effect, Tyler. But if you insist– fuck high-school version of Sally Wakefield.”

“Oh–” he nodded. “Right. Yeah, fuck high school Sally Wakefield.”

“Plus,” you added, melting a little inside as soon as your eyes connected with his. “I don’t think all that hard work went to waste. I, for one, really enjoy dancing with you.” 

His face beamed as he gazed down at you softly. “Remember that night we went line dancin’ when we were down in Austin?”

You let out a bubble of laughter as you leaned into his embrace. “Oh my God, and Boone slipped on the lemonade that lady spilled–”

Tyler chuckled. “Him and his beer went flyin’.”

“I swear I have never seen a human being hit the ground that hard,” you said through your laughter. 

“Me either–”

“Remember when we went to your cousin's wedding– and they had that live band and an entire dance floor and we were like… the only people using it? Everyone else just stayed at their tables.”

Tyler shook his head. “Still can’t believe that.”

“Yeah, I mean ninety-five degrees or not… if I go to a wedding, I’m dancing.”

“What about your wedding?” Tyler asked suddenly, gaze softening as he peered down at you. 

Something in your chest fluttered. It wasn’t the first time Tyler had mentioned weddings or marriage, but every time he did, it pleasantly reminded you that you two were in this for the long haul. 

“What about my wedding?” you said, trying to sound casual. 

“Will there be lots of dancing at your wedding?” 

You pulled back gently from Tyler’s embrace, just enough so that you could get a better look at him. You marveled at how handsome he really was– especially under the soft, flickering glow from the fire. 

“Of course there’ll be dancing– lots of it. I wouldn’t want all your mom’s hard work to go to waste now would I?”

Tyler’s swaying slowed as he took a moment to really study you. His gaze was soft and sweet and intimate all at once. Unable to help yourself, your face broke out into an even wider grin.

“What?” he wondered.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, biting your lip. “You’re just lookin’ at me like you love me. And that makes me smile.” 

Tyler beamed. “I love you so much– you know that, right?” 

Without even hesitating you nodded. “Course I do,” you replied, leaning your head against his chest and allowing him to tighten his hold on you. “I love you, too.”

For a few more minutes, the two of you swayed casually to the music. Tyler’s embrace was safe and warm and comforting, and the longer you danced like that, the more tired you became. 

“Think we’ll see anything tomorrow?” you yawned sleepily into his shirt. You felt his cheek rest on top of your head, nestling you into the crook of his neck.  

Tyler clicked his tongue above you. “I don’t think so. Dexter wasn’t tracking anything on the radar, but you never know.” 

“What if we just had a slow day tomorrow? We could just sleep in and hang out here for another day? I saw they had a pool out back– that’d keep Boone entertained.” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “I think we could make that work.” 

You smiled against his skin, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Gradually, you began leaning more and more of your weight against him, until finally, he gave your back a gentle rub. 

“Let’s say you and I head up to the room, yeah?”

You nodded against him, too tired to reply. 

“There we go,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You leaned into his side, letting him guide the way. He called goodnight to everyone for you before practically carrying you up the flight of stairs towards the room. 

When you were finally inside, Tyler helped you climb into bed. You frowned when he didn’t immediately follow. Instead, you watched him head into the bathroom and close the door. 

With how tired you were– you were surprised you didn’t fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. But the longer you laid there without Tyler, the more awake you felt. 

After only a few short minutes, he emerged from the bathroom and crossed the room quietly. 

“You’re not asleep yet?” he asked, peeling back the covers and climbing into bed beside you. “Thought you’d be snorin’ by the time I came back.”

Without replying, you scooted across the bed until you were wrapped back up in his embrace. You felt arms wound around your waist, anchoring you to him. You smelled his aftershave and mouthwash as you nuzzled into his chest. You heard the sound of his heartbeat, even through the fabric of his T-shirt. His presence totally engulfed all of your senses– and you knew that was exactly how it should be. 

As you finally drifted off, all you knew was Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. 

And what a wonderful thing to know. 

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to know how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[6esiree]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖: 𝐍𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐑𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

One, two, three, four… that’s how many times you tentatively pressed your lips against Alastor’s cheek until he finally stirred awake. It was late—about 3 AM, give or take—but you just couldn’t sleep, not after he took you out to watch a particularly frightening film earlier in celebration of Halloween. And with it being the witching hour, every creak, every groan, and every meager noise that resounded throughout the aging house your dear husband inherited from his departed mother made you all the less willing to close your eyes.

“Is something the matter, sweetheart?” Alastor eventually rasped, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched his pupils dilate to adjust to the darkness, but he couldn’t see all that well anyway. “Can’t sleep, I presume?”

With an abashed nod, you shuffled closer to him, tossing your arms around his waist and bringing your bodies flush together, your cold nose pressing against the hollow of his throat. He returned your embrace almost instinctively, his knee nestling in the space between your legs as his hands traveled past your nightgown without an ounce of shame. But it was perfect—the way he firmly squeezed your hips and melded to your smaller frame with his larger one like a puzzle piece. He was perfect.

Or so that’s what you thought.

“Pray tell, how could you allow some…” Alastor murmured into your hair, slender fingers delicately tracing the fine curvature of your body, moving up and up and up till they arrived at the supple flesh beneath your breasts, “…silly little phobia to keep you awake?”

Your eyes fluttered shut with a breathy sigh, nails haphazardly raking up his sides in response to the tantalizing manner in which he thumbed at one of your nipples. His other hand slid up the back of your neck, grasping a handful of your hair and pulling your head back ever so gently. Unbelievable—he tutted, and you would have felt even more embarrassed if he hadn’t nipped at the column of your throat, or made his arousal known to you, his hardening erection bumping against your clit oh-so perfectly.

One, two, three, four… that’s how many times Alastor nipped at you, his teeth leaving tiny bruises on your skin almost in revenge for rising him from such a peaceful slumber. And even though he thought your reason to be rather childish in nature, he wouldn’t allow you to suffer for any longer than you already had; so, he pushed you down onto the mattress, a hand dipping into your panties with the intention of melting away the fear in your bones. Your lips parted in gratification—much like your legs did—hole fluttering at the delicate press of his fingers.

“It’s more of a fear of the unknown,” You admitted with a sheepishness that had Alastor chuckling, but only for a moment, his attention quickly stolen by the sticky sound of his fingers circulating your clit. “Not… knowing what… malevolent being may be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the—ha—perfect opportunity to strike.”

Hmph—that was the only thing he was able to muster as he picked up the pace; and while he couldn’t see you all that well, he could feel your cunt flutter, and he could hear the sheets rustle with every twist and turn of your body. But before you could come undone at a meager rubbing, he abandoned your clit and trailed his slick-drenched fingers down your folds, pushing past them and into your neglected hole, eliciting a pleasured cry from you. A deep groan reverberated throughout his chest as your walls swallowed two of his fingers, and so effortlessly, too.

“Hand me my glasses, won’t you?” As soon as those words left Alastor’s mouth, you stretched an arm towards the nightstand on his side of the bed. “Anyway, there are more things that are worth fearing in this world, sweetheart. Not some invisible force such as a spirit.”

“Like the Bayou Butcher?” You innocently asked between bouts of pants, your hand desperately searching for his glasses in the darkness, all while his hand searched for that velvety spot in your walls that had you coming undone in no time. “I don’t want to end up in a gator’s stomach.”

“I suppose,” Alastor responded rather curtly, but you were far too lost in your pleasure to take notice of that, “Although, I wouldn’t fear them either,” He continued, the truth almost tumbling from his lips, “So long as I live, you don’t have to worry about a gruesome demise befalling you.”

At least that little bit he added towards the end was truthful, but because you didn’t know that, you chose to shrug it off. Your husband was a hunter, and you vividly recalled the way he effortlessly took down a stag with a singular bullet as you finally located his glasses, including the unrelenting strength he had in his muscles to carry it back on the way home. Still, you refused to believe he could keep you safe from a serial killer, the same one that had been tormenting New Orleans for quite some time already.

Alastor knew by the slow and tentative nod of your head as he put on his glasses that you doubted him, but he couldn’t do anything else to prove himself. So, he curled his fingers and assaulted that spot in your walls with a feverishness that had you writhing and moaning almost instantaneously, his palm moving against your swollen clit. He loomed over you almost menacingly as he fucked you with his hand, watching your back delicately arch up towards him, your hardened nipples peaking through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

But the squelching from your cunt… oh, that was what made Alastor’s self-control snap. He pulled his hand out of you before you could finish, and you would have whined at the loss if he hadn’t pulled down his pajama pants so hastily, the sound of his weeping cock smacking against his stomach making your hole thron with anticipation rather than disappointment. But as he flipped you onto your stomach and pulled your slick-drenched panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cool air, he leaned in and nosed at your shoulder with a few more words.

“I meant what I said,” His lips moved against you as he grasped the flesh of your hip with one hand, the other moving the head of his cock up and down your folds, lathering himself with your wetness. “If I can kill a stag, I can definitely kill a man…” He continued, finally pushing into you, your face falling into the pillow with a gratified moan, “…to ensure your safety, of course.”

Your dear husband would kill a man to ensure your safety, how… nice, you thought, communicating your appreciation by pushing your hips back with a nod that was much more firm and reassuring. A deep groan caressed your ear as you forced Alastor to bottom out, his cock kissing your cervix; and while he was well aware of the fact that you didn’t doubt him any less, he held onto you with a force that would surely leave bruises come morning, pulling his cock completely out of you before slamming back into you.

And he repeated this over and over again, unconsciously taking his frustration out on your poor cunt for waking him up over some silly little fear of ghosts, and for especially doubting his ability to take a human being’s life. However, he supposed that you would eventually find out the harrowing truth behind his late-night shifts at the radio station as he reached down to rub at your swollen clit, encouraging you to come undone alongside him. And you did, your walls clamping down around him with a long whine.

“No more horror films from now on, you hear me?” Alastor stated as he went to plant a gentle kiss on your shoulder, his cock pulsating inside of your fluttering walls, but you swiftly turned your head to the side and captured his lips. “Oh, you cheeky little thing,” He murmured, whatever frustration he previously felt completely forgotten.

[sunnypopoki]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.2

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.1 / Р.3

The bed was cold whenever you woke up. Your fingers slid across the crisp sheets, feeling for Kieran's warmth even though you already knew he wasn't there. A headache pounded against your temples. Your cheeks were stiff with dried tears. The air was cold and you already wanted to roll back over and go back to sleep, hating the chill in the room.

You didn't feel as distraught as last night. Maybe it was the solid eight hours of sleep, but your brain was fuzzy and lacking. A groan tore through your lips as you stumbled out of bed and wiped at your eyes.

The floorboards were cold and you wondered if Kieran accidentally turned off the heat. You shivered and ran your hands down your arms.

The house was still. Even the dust in the air seemed to move in slow motion, barely drifting through the rays of sunlight that poured through the open windows. You shuffled down the hallway and glanced at the living room. Undisturbed, neat, stale. You almost forgot that you sat there with Kieran last night before he got his phone call. A nasty taste formed under your tongue, lips pursing into a thin line.

If only there was a switch you were able to turn off in your brain. It was the morning and you were already regretting waking up to get breakfast. You rubbed at your eyes and paused at the kitchen doorway and the cold tiled flooring bit at your bare feet.

The clock ticked, telling you it was 4:00 PM. You woke up late again.

A single message was laid on the counter on a pink posted note. You picked it up and noticed Kieran's handwriting that was scribbled down in a rush. Next to it was a small doodle of him holding a heart. It read;

Good morning my кошечка! I'm writing this before leaving for work, but I made you some breakfast and put it in the fridge. Strawberry pancakes and the syrup, if you want any, are in the pantry on the top shelf. I will be back around 5 this evening, remember to eat lunch. I will eat dinner with you tonight. I love you.

You were grateful for any food that he made you. Hell, you were grateful that he even thought of you in the first place to make you food whenever he didn't have to... But you'd rather have his presence instead of some warmed-up pancakes. You crumpled up the posted note and tossed it away. You were hungry but you didn't want to eat, you didn't have the energy or motivation to chew and swallow, much less sit down at the table.

Leaning against the counter, you ran your hands down your face. There were so many things you didn't want to do. You didn't want to brush your teeth, take a shower, or put on a fresh pair of clothes. You didn't want to sleep and you didn't want to be awake either.

The only thing you could think of was Kieran, yet you couldn't shake him off.

The pancakes were left untouched. It was just another meal in the fridge that was waiting to go bad. You couldn't promise that you were going to eat them later whenever you didn't even want to look at them. Kieran would ask later, 'What's wrong? you didn't eat the pancakes I left for you' and you would have to say another lie. It was just your stomach, or you didn't see the note until after you ate something else, or you weren't in the mood for pancakes.

It took everything in your power just to force yourself to go to the bathroom. Even then, he stayed on your mind as you splashed your face with cold water. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you frowned at the dark circles and reluctantly brushed your teeth. A pimple was right above your right brow. God, you didn't want to catch glimpses of yourself either, much less stare into the mirror.

What can I do to make the rest of this day productive?

You hadn't a clue. This only left you waltzing around the house, dabbling in some things, but getting up again whenever you got bored. You couldn't keep still no matter what you tried to do. By six, your mood was bitter, annoyed at your lack of interest in anything and annoyed at why you were feeling so depressed.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, your eyes snapped to the closed door on the right. That was Kieren's at-home office. He rarely ever used it and it was mostly used as a place for him to store things from his rented out big office or important documents. You were aware that all your birth certificates and SSN cards were locked up in a safe in there. But what else? The last time you went in there was like two months ago, but he usually went in there weekly, even if it was just to grab something.

What if he is hiding something?

Reaching out to the handle, you hesitated. However, that lasted only a short time because curiosity got the best of you. You turned the handle and peeked inside.

His home office was small and cramped, which was why he rented out a room in a small building in the city to have his own office for editing and focusing on work. The walls were lined with books and files, and a small desk was cluttered with papers of all kinds. He needed to clean it out. However, you felt grateful that he hadn't already.

A small look around wouldn't hurt anyone, right? Guilt was already threatening to turn you around and march you back to your room, to put yourself in time-out, but you needed to know if something was going on with him. Your hands fiddled with the handle of the door before you stepped into the room and closed it behind you. A small peak. That's all you wanted. It wasn't like you were going to turn the room upside down to look for things against him.

The inside wasn't dusty and you noticed recent documents on his desk. It was good that he didn't desert the small room entirely for his bigger office. You shuffled to sit on the chair and drummed your fingers against the wood.

Where to start?

You didn't know what you were looking for. Something to give you peace of mind that didn't include talking to Kieran about it. If he was cheating, he wasn't going to outright tell you about it. You weren't sure where he'd hide things if he didn't want them to be found. He had his phone on him and that wasn't something you felt comfortable snooping in, but his laptop had everything about his work.

You hesitantly pulled his laptop closer and opened it. A small peak. It wouldn't do anything. It wasn't like you were going to shame if you found anything raunchy. Sure... it was something he probably should talk to you about, but you didn't blame him, since you weren't exactly someone who was giving him fun nights even if the two of you were married.

Maybe he has gotten bored of me because I haven't had sex with him yet, you thought. It's not that I don't find him attractive it's just...

The idea of intimacy like that scared you. All the possibilities of what could go wrong, what would hurt, and what would be uncomfortable.

Kieran always said he understood and that it didn't bother him that the tow is you weren't intimate in bed. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe he found pleasure in stuff on the internet or some woman he kept seeing. You'd be fine living a life with him even if it meant no intimate pleasures at all, but maybe he didn't think the same way you did. He probably had a lot of pent-up stress and desires, so was it your fault for not doing it with him? Right?

Was he going to leave you for someone else because of that?

Your hands were shaking as the screen turned on. His password was his old childhood cat's name: Sonya. At least he didn't bother to change the password into something you didn't know, that was a good sign, right? You swallowed the lump in your throat and tapped at the keyboard. Ding. You were in.

There were a lot of random things on his desktop. You noticed the editor and graphic design apps, such as Microsoft and Blender, and a few games that you haven't played before in your life.  You tapped at the desk absentmindedly and debated with yourself, wondering if you should just go and watch TV, but an app caught your eye.

M?

You noticed the icon at the bottom of the screen with the letter M. It wasn't a familiar-looking app, nothing you've downloaded onto your laptop before, and it was suspicious. The design wasn't good at all. You chewed on your bottom lip and dragged the cursor over to open it. This app would be the only thing you'd look at. Not his search history or anything—no. You'd have to give him some privacy.

That didn't change the fact that it was hard giving him privacy—not whenever his privacy was the whole reason you were suspicious of him in the first place.

The one thing you wanted to know was where he was going with his business trips. As an editor, you knew that he could have a business trip. Sometimes he met up with clients, however, lately, it's been very frequent. You were jealous of it. If it was someone he was meeting, even for work, why were they more important than his wife? he didn't need to go to work that often, right?

The app opened up and you blinked at the messages that were waiting there. All empty chats with numbers as names, except one. It was named 'Sam' and you noticed a couple of messages within the chat. Maybe a client? Or was it someone he was cheating on you with? Your mouth ran dry.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't be looking at his stuff. Just because you were suspicious, shouldn't you wait until you see him in the act of cheating instead of snooping? This wasn't right. It was a shady app, but maybe this was a client that he wasn't supposed to tell you about. As an editor, he wasn't allowed to share the works he was helping writers with, which went against his agreement.

"I shouldn't be looking at this..."

Yes, you shouldn't, but you needed to know. Why was he always leaving late at night and going on long business trips? Why was he always late whenever the two of you went on dates? Why was he always getting calls? Why did he never stay long enough to sleep in your shared bed? It didn't even feel like his bed anymore...

"Just one peek and that's it," you whispered, "please, don't let me find anything."

You opened the chat and gnawed on your bottom lip. There were only a couple of messages, all of them sporadic at what time they were sent. You paused, freezing when your eyes were glued to a specific set of messages.

Sam -- 3:25 AM

Come see me.

Kieran -- 3:27 AM

Make it quick.

Your hands froze above the keyboard. If you had to be honest, you weren't sure what you were looking at. That was about two weeks ago. What was he doing two weeks ago? Your brain wracked to remember what he did that week and how many times he left the house, but it was a blur. Every week was the same in the long run. You glanced down at the most recent message. It was from Sam.

Sam -- 10:00 AM

Where the hell are you at? Respond to this when you see it. You told me you'd see me today.

Your muscles collapsed. Falling back into the seat, you stared at the screen dumbly, lungs gathering in as much air as they could before you stopped breathing entirely. Everything was cold; your bones, muscles, and blood.

Sam was a unisex name. For all you knew, this was the woman he could be cheating on you with. The messages were distrustful enough. The one from two weeks ago was at three in the morning and this Sam person was asking to meet him? He agreed, so even if you didn't remember that week perfectly, it wouldn't have surprised you to know he went somewhere at three in the morning. Just last night, he left at an odd time and has yet to come back.

Is he with her now?

The thought was crushing. You could imagine it at the forefront of your mind; you saw him panting, grinding his hips into some woman you didn't know, moaning her name like some sort of mantra. His hands would be all over her body and her palms would graze down his inked skin, tracing the very same lines that you have. He would hold her hands, he would kiss her lips, and move his hips like a starved beast.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

No.

No, no, no.

None of this was real. You were just jumping to conclusions again, you didn't know that this person was a woman, and even if it was—him going to meet her at 3 in the morning wasn't cheating, right? That didn't guarantee that he was having sex with her, dating her, kissing her.

Your nails carved crescents into your palms.

You were angry. You didn't quite get it, but all the hurt you felt manifested like a hot steel rod through your heart. Short breaths escaped your lips and a choking sob followed. You didn't want to cry, you were tired of crying, but that didn't stop your heart from collapsing and burning all over again. So you punched, you punched at your knees and thighs until you knew bruises would form later, and you didn't stop.

"Damn it!" you wheezed, fist slamming down on his desk so hard that a pile of papers slipped to the floor. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

The chair tipped back whenever you got up. You were dizzy and you blamed it on how fast you were breathing, aggressively wiping at your tears until your eyes turned red and raw. The office door slammed shut behind you as you fumbled to throw on some new clothes and shoes, tossing on a hat to hide your hair. You needed out of the house. Anywhere, yes anywhere! You'd go anywhere that was better than this place.

He wouldn't have done it, right? No, he wouldn't have! You didn't know anything for certain. Yes, you just had to stop jumping to conclusions. In fact, it would be better if you just stopped thinking entirely. Shut your brain off and stop questioning your husband's loyalty, because no way he would cheat on you—

But what if he is? you thought, Sam could be better than me in everything. She could be prettier, smarter, sexier. What if she gives him what he wants with sex? What if he is happy and satisfied with her?

Wouldn't that make you selfish for wanting to keep hanging onto him?

You kicked the pot outside. It shattered when it fell off the porch and you cursed, stomping past it, and going down the street. Your eyes were puffy and red, cheeks blotchy from your stupid waterworks, and you looked messy. You didn't care. You couldn't gather the energy to care. So you walked down to the store that was a couple blocks away at the bottom of the hill, gripping your wallet tightly.

You needed a long walk to calm you down. So you did just that—you walked to the store as slowly as possible, sucking in the cold air, wishing all your foul emotions would melt away like that sloshy snow on the side of the road.

It didn't take long to reach the store. Unluckily for you, you didn't notice the slightly dimming sky. It always got dark early in winter.

The store was welcoming. There was no one inside except two workers who were minding their own business. They flashed you a smile before you scurried to the back of the store, grabbing a pack of your favorite chips and a soda from one of the fridges. You exhaled and glanced at the tempting chocolates near the front. You didn't need them, plus you had a feeling you'd eat them all in one go and make yourself sick, so you refrained from buying them.

Sighing, you walked up to the front and placed your items on the counter. An older lady walked up to the register, the pretty red ribbons styling in her hair catching your eye. They matched the red eyeshadow around her eyes and the red mascara she was wearing.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" the cashier raised a worried eyebrow when she noticed your appearance, glanced around, and then lowered her voice, "Do you need me to call someone for you? Are you in trouble?"

You managed a weak smile. "I'm good, just a rough day."

It took everything in your power to not spill your guts to this lady. Oh, how you wanted to tell someone about what you were going through, what you were thinking, but who would you tell? All your friends were in happy relationships, they wouldn't understand, and couldn't speak to the one man you usually told everything to because it was about him.

The cashier smiled softly, saying, "Oh, I apologize. I heard there have been a lot of kidnappings around here recently, so I wanted to make sure there was no bad person in the store with you. Women need to look out for other women!"

Your chest warmed up at her smile. "Yes, we do. Thank you. I love how your charms and makeup match, it's very pretty."

The cashier bashfully waved her hand and laughed. "Aww thank you! You look like you have a kind heart, so I things get better for you, sweetie. Hopefully, these snacks will make you feel better."

She handed you the bag and you nodded, muttering a 'thank you' and a simple 'I hope you have a good evening' before you turned on your heel and bolted for the exit.

The doors slid open and that warm feeling in your chest faded, pausing to stop and stare at the sky. It got dark quickly. It wasn't fully dark, the sun was just over the horizon, painting orange and pink streaks into the clouds. A bird flew down and perched on a lamppost.

If only you were a bird. They were able to fly anywhere they wanted to go, they didn't have a care in the world, and they didn't have to struggle with whatever mess you were struggling with. You didn't know how you should label what you were going through. You didn't know if your spouse was a cheater, you didn't know if you deserved to be cheated on, and you didn't know why you were dragging it with you.

Just like that, the nice interaction you had was in the back of your mind, and you felt like shit again.

Why can't I just be the type of wife who trusts him?

You always compared yourself to the images of wives you saw on TV and the internet. Smiling, happy, and who had great communication with their spouses—yet here you were, afraid to ask your husband just because you didn't want to face the fact that it might be real. To face the fact you could potentially lose him. You were angry at him too, you didn't want to hear excuses, and you didn't want to look at him.

Yeah, maybe you did deserve to get cheated on, but you were still pissed at him for discarding you if he did. For tossing you out like you were nothing as if he forgot all the years the two of you have been together.

If he cared, you were starting to no longer feel it. That gnawing thought that each time he kissed you, he imagined it was another girl. His touches felt distant at times and you wondered what else he had on his mind to make him so ghostly.

You glanced down at the chips and soda in your bag. So much for trying to eat the pancakes he made later. You didn't have the desire to eat anything he made, you'd end up crying again if you did. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you glanced down, moving the heavy bag around as you struggled to get your phone out.

Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.

Kieran ❤︎  -- 9:48 PM

Where are you?

Your lip twitched into a frown. From what you saw earlier, you didn't want to talk to him at all. Your mind was still reeling with what message you saw on his laptop, wondering just who Sam was, and why everything was so suspicious. Your face was stiff from the bitter cold and all the dried-up tears you sobbed earlier.

It wasn't fair. He was asking where you were but each time you asked him, he either was vague or said some sort of response that didn't make sense! Your teeth gritted together and you felt tears welling back up. Angry. You were absolutely livid at him. You were livid at yourself. Hell, you wanted to scream at something but you didn't know who deserved to be screamed at.

Was it you because you weren't a good enough wife for him to stay around? Or was it him for not staying around in the first place?

You managed to type back. Even so, no matter how angry you were, or how sad, you always found yourself responding the longer you stared at his name on the top of the screen.

You — 9:49 PM

Store. Walking home now.

You watched the bubble appear. Within seconds, before you had the chance to put your phone away and pretend you never saw his message, he replied.

Kieran ❤︎ — 9:50 PM

Stay put and don't leave the store. I'm coming to pick you up. It's not safe for you to be walking out when it is getting dark ❤

You wanted to throw your phone. You stomped your foot and shoved your phone into your pocket, glaring holes into the cement as you stood out on the sidewalk outside the story.

It wasn't terribly dark yet but it was dark enough that it wasn't safe. That was your fault, you were the idiot for giving into your compulsions and going to the store whenever you wanted to go out of the house. Yes, you should wait for Kieran, no matter how angry you were because it was the responsible thing to do.

But you didn't want to wait. The house was only two blocks away and you knew everyone in the neighborhood. It wasn't like you hadn't walked out to the store before in the dark, so what would happen this time? You had your keys and the can of soda in the bag would be a good weapon to swing at someone.

He never tells me where he's going, you cussed inwardly, so he can just suck it up and wait for me to walk home.

Yes, you were being petty.

But who wouldn't be? You just found a very suspicious message on your husband's laptop from someone named 'Sam', and now he wanted you to wait for him to come and pick you up. You were hurt. You were angry. You were confused. You didn't want to see his face but at the same time, all you wanted to do was to snap at him for him to explain everything.

It had to be your fault, right? Why else wouldn't he want to spend time with you if it wasn't your fault?

You let your emotions get the best of you, storming down the side of the street as you ventured farther and farther away from the sanctuary of the store. Street lamps flickered as you walked up the hill with your shoes clicking against the sidewalk. There was no sign of the car he was in.

The thought of sitting down on the concrete and letting your heart out was tempting. There was no one around and you were getting tired of the same bleak, lonely expanse of your home. The sidewalk looked more welcoming than the bed at home you could cry on. You stopped dead in your tracks and sighed, tears welling up. 

You didn't even realize you were sinking to your knees before you were already sitting on the sidewalk. You weren't sobbing, no wailing, but single tears that rolled quietly down.

So many people would say so many things if they saw you like this. Maybe they'd call you dramatic, maybe they were right, but everything felt so suffocating. You felt trapped. You didn't want to go home but you wanted to be home, you wanted Kieran to hold you but you also didn't want to see him. It was all so complex.

Maybe everyone would call you cowardly and pathetic. God, you already knew that. You were crying on the sidewalk instead of going up to him and asking him—but what if he said an answer you didn't want to hear? What if he admitted to cheating? What if he said he didn't love you anymore? The fear of rejection was the one reason you kept your mouth shut... the fear of losing him.

If you lost him, you didn't think you could fall in love again.

You don't think you would want to.

All you wanted was to have the love of your life back; his smiles, his hugs, him holding you to sleep. You wanted the man you saw at your wedding—when he looked at you as if you were the only person to exist. But now maybe that wasn't true. Maybe you were just a woman he didn't want to be around anymore. Maybe you were dragging him down and he was just waiting for the perfect time to tell you.

God, I'm so scared, you thought. What if I'm right? What if it isn't all in my head?

Your phone buzzed. No. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to stay here, you wanted to cry until all that was left was a numb destroyed path.

The last time you had a good unashamed cry, you couldn't remember. It was always muffled because Kieran was around or you were in your car, but now no one was around, but now you were too tired to sob like you wanted to. Crying made you feel like a crybaby, like some bitch who couldn't keep it together, even though you had every reason to shed a couple tears.

You were angry at yourself for going behind his back to snoop through his laptop because you were too scared to have an adult conversation with him, you were angry at him for always leaving you alone and confused, and you were angry that this situation was even happening.

God, you felt so repetitive. Yeah, you were angry and sad, maybe you should just stop whining and dwelling on it. How easy everything would be if you could.

"Hey girly, you okay?"

You froze. For a split second, you thought it was Kieran, but it was two men when you looked up. Two white men, one with a buzz cut and the other had a short perm, tattoos covering their arms. Cigarettes hung from their fingertips. Maybe it was because you were used to how Kieran looked, but you didn't immediately assume they were 'bad guys' because of how they looked.

You wiped your tears away and sniffled, "Uhm, shit, yes I'm okay."

The man with the buzz cut raised an eyebrow. A shiver shot down your spine whenever he smiled. Okay, maybe he was a bad guy because something about this felt wrong.

"Why is a cute thing like you cryin' in a place like this?" he asked, then glanced at his friend, "a poor girly like this shouldn't be cryin' out on the street, don'cha agree?"

The other man nodded, "Yeah. Where are ya' going?"

Sweat trickled down your back. You stumbled up from the ground, backing away from them, gripping your bag just in case you had to swing it. You cleared your throat and did your best to sound firm, "I'm heading home, so if you'll excuse me..."

The men smiled like preying hyenas. "Oh, we can walk you home--"

"(Y/N), thank god!"

Your head snapped to the side when Kieran shouted. There he was, rushing towards you in a jog, stopping to catch his breath. Why wasn't he in the car? He looked distraught. His hair was a wild mess, sweat on his brow, panic in his eyes that fell into relief whenever he saw you. He didn't give you a chance to speak before he grabbed your shoulders, yanked you into him, and crushed you in a hug.

"Why the hell did you not answer any of my calls? You didn't text me back either, fuck, I thought something happened to you! I told you I was going to pick you up!"

You were stunned. He pulled back and cupped your face, noticing your tear-stained cheeks. He looked like he just got sucker punched in the gut.

"Why are you crying, Котик? Did something happen?"

Oh, how it looked in his eyes. He probably assumed the worst happened to you whenever you weren't at the store and all his calls and messages were ignored. You couldn't blame him for being panicked. Guilt stabbed you through the heart; you just scared him to death just because you were angry and sad over a questionable situation. It was an immature reaction based on an assumption and now he was the one dealing with the aftermath.

Suddenly, you felt like the worst piece of shit in the world.

However, anything you wanted to say was stolen from your lips whenever Kieran looked up. The two men who tried talking to you stared back with unimpressed, raised eyebrows. Kieran's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

The man with the buzz cut grinned. "Oh, well we saw this girly sitting on the sidewalk so—"

"I asked who you are?" Kieran deadpanned, "that means your name."

Both the men shuffled on their feet. The man with the shaggy hair spoke, glaring, "What do you want our names for? It doesn't matter."

Kieran pursed his lips. Whatever he was thinking, you couldn't read it, and you could tell they couldn't either by the way they started to glance at each other. He sighed and his fingers fumbled with the edge of your shirt. He glanced down at you, giving you whiplash with how soft he looked at you.

"Did these men hurt you? What happened?"

"Hey! We already said--"

Kieran's voice dropped and he glanced at them, his glare cold enough to send a chill through hell, "I didn't fucking ask you, so keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open."

You didn't try to speak, you just shook your head and gripped his arm tighter. Kieran snapped his head back up to glare at them and they squirmed. He analyzed them for a bit, letting them get increasingly nervous by the second.

"Now that I look at you, you seem familiar. Elliot? Elliot Smith?"

The man with the buzz cut, Elliot, froze.

"I heard about you. I have a friend who works in the police, he told me about you. Weren't you charged with sexual harassment three months ago?" Kieran stared, his expression cold, "There have been some rumors recently that you've been trying to get into gang activity as well."

Elliot's face turned red as if all the air supply was cut off to his face. He looked like a plum when his cheeks grew from red to purple, his eyes shifting through different emotions to gauge what to say next. You blinked. He was charged with sexual harassment? How did Kieran know about something like that? When did he get a friend who was a cop?

Is the cop Sam?

Kieran wasn't a man who watched the news that often, so you doubted he was lying about where he got the information. You shuffled on your feet and his hand held you tighter. Damn it. You really threw "stranger danger" out the window just because you were pissed and wanted to spite your husband by walking home instead of waiting for him.

Elliot stumbled forward and started to stammer out his words. Kieran didn't step back, but you didn't miss the way his muscles tensed up like a wild cat about to lunge forward. He started to drum his fingers against your arm—you weren't sure if he was trying to comfort you or distract you.

"I am not in the mafia, Russian bastard!"

Kieran raised an eyebrow. He ignored the obvious attack on his ethnicity, not caring that he was called a Russian bastard. He tilted his head, "the mafia?"

"Yeah! You're accusing me of working with the mafia just because of some still rumors you heard from a cop. Those rumors aren't--"

"Ah, no," he smiled humorlessly, "I imagine they aren't interested in уличные дворняги. Plus I said gang activity, as in little boys running around with baseball bats and pockets filled with drugs."

Elliot's buddy jumped forward to save his friend's skin. His glare didn't match Kieran's, it was weak and anxious. His hand was shaking and he pointed a hand at you. You feared what bullshit he was going to come up with and you didn't get a chance to interrupt before he spouted it.

"You should give us to her, man. If you go around accusing people of crimes, you probably do shit yourself, like abusing her. I bet you're the one who made her cry. Her eyes are puffy, she looked fuckin' defeated when we saw her. So hand her over before we call the cops."

Time stopped.

Kieran sucked in a breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm saying that you probably abuse her or something! If you don't leave her with us, man, we will call the cops on you!"

Kieran's face shifted into something darker. Much darker. That sweet and worried expression he had for you molded into something malicious. The last time you saw a look like that was whenever some kid in your freshman year of high school insulted you. That same kid got two of his teeth knocked out that same day. Kieran never told you he did it, he acted like he didn't know, but you remembered vividly how he tried to hide the blood caked under his nails back then.

You never thought something like this would happen. Sure, they haven't harrassed you, but accusing Kieran of abuse whenever he hasn't done anything wrong made your chest bubble up. You were the one who screwed up and got all of you in this situation, not him.

"Hey, he's not—"

Kieran squeezed your shoulder. You saw the way he glanced down at you, subtly shaking his head, telling you to leave it to him. You weren't sure what he was thinking anymore or what he was doing—all you wanted was to go home. It was you who put everything in this situation because of an emotional mistake, so you should be the one to suck up your responsibility and leave the situation.

"leave her with you?"

Elliot spoke up. "The poor girly was crying and now some tattooed, large bastard like you comes up! You think the police would believe—"

"And they'll believe someone who was recently released from prison for sexual harassment?"

Elliot clamped his mouth shut. His eyes snapped to you, narrowing into daggers, and sweat built on your brow. He pointed an angry finger at you.

"Well isn't it her fucking fault for walking out whenever it's dark? She doesn't have brains if she thinks that someone looking like her would be able to go home without getting hit on! It's normal for good-looking women."

Oh, if looks could kill, you were sure that those two men would have dropped dead. Elliot paled when he noticed how Kieran was glaring at him. He was on the edge, two seconds away from grabbing that hand and seeing how many times he could bend his finger until it snapped off.

It was scary. You'd be lying if you said that you weren't scared of an expression like that, because you had a feeling that the only reason he wasn't violent was because you were there.

Just like when the two of you were younger.

"...Kieran, why—why don't we go home? Okay?" you stammered, "We don't need to waste our time here. We wanted to have dinner together, remember?"

Kieran's lip twitched and his green eyes shifted down to you. They were sharp and calculating, his arm wrapped around you like a coiled spring.

"Let's just go home," you whispered. Please.

By the look of Elliot's face, he was hoping the two of you would leave too, scurrying back closer to his friend who had been quiet throughout the entire ordeal. You didn't blame him. He looked just as grey and sickly as the cement beneath their feet.

Kieran's jaw was clenched. He stared at you as if he was debating all the options he had. You knew him, he didn't like being violent in front of you and always lied in the past about where he was. You weren't naive. You were very much aware that he was violent and you knew that he hated that you knew. To him, he just wanted you to view him as a dazzling husband.

Which he was—just dangerous too.

The two men didn't dare act cocky whenever he finally turned to leave with you. His hand grasped yours and he dragged you back down to the store, not looking back, as if he feared he might actually break their fingers off if he looked at their faces again.

You had a hard time keeping up with his long strides. His head was in the clouds so he didn't bother to slow down, gritting his teeth as he barely managed to make it to the parking lot without turning back.

Kieran sometimes had to use self-restraint when it came down to hurting others. Sometimes, you said, because it wasn't every day that he listened to it. You stumbled behind him.

"Slow down a bit! My legs—my legs aren't as long as yours!"

It was a miracle he actually heard you. Like a dog hearing a special command, he stopped dead in his tracks and you almost rammed your nose into his back. You inhaled sharply and let the burning of your legs rest a bit. He was basically jogging! You barely had enough courage to meet his eye whenever you noticed the familiar sensation of his gaze boring into your head.

His green eyes were dark.

Oh.

He was angry at you.

The silence was loud even though there was the distant sound of cars honking, the wind between houses, and some cat in an alleyway. You didn't know what to say. You wanted to apologize to him, for making him worry and putting yourself in a dangerous situation because of an emotional decision, but nothing would leave your lips. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. You must have looked like a gaping fish out of water.

He had every right to be angry at you. You were aware that you tended to blame yourself in situations where you weren't involved, but you knew that you messed up.

Guilt twisted your gut up into one big knot. You didn't know what to do or say to untangle it, much less make it to where Kieran wasn't staring at you in the way that he was. Angry, confused, questioning why the hell you didn't just wait for him—and you felt guilty because you knew you couldn't just tell him why.

"I..."

He wasn't speaking. Was he waiting for you to give him something to work with? Even if it was some shitty lie or bad excuse? Your hand let go of his and started to fuddle at the hem of your shirt.

"...I'm sorry, I know I—I messed up. I, uhm, I made a bad decision—"

Kieran took a deep breath. How odd that such a small action caused every word you planned to speak to collapse, cutting your apology short. You couldn't look him in the eye. Dangerous thoughts started to swirl around in your head like poison; was he disappointed in you? Was dumb mistakes like this the reason he never stayed around you? Maybe he viewed you as a child who couldn't make reasonable decisions? Were you being emotional? Maybe he wasn't mad at you and you were assuming things?

You wished you had the courage to ask him all those questions. You wished you had the bravery to listen to the answers without crying. But you didn't, so you kept your mouth shut.

Kieran shuffled on his feet and placed a hand under your chin, lifting your head.

"Look at me."

His green eyes weren't as dark as before. He wasn't happy, yeah, but he looked as if he was trying to be gentle and understanding. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Thank you for apologizing," he murmured sincerely and he took a deep breath,  hanging his head, "I'm also sorry that men like that decided to target you. You were probably so scared and me acting like... me probably wasn't helping, was it?"

"Well, you—you were with me so I wasn't scared. I was more just... nervous I guess. I don't know, I went off on my own because I was emotional, I'm sorry—"

His eyebrows creased and his hands cupped your face. He was so tender with how his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and he leaned in close, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. He melted at the touch of your skin, fluidly stepping forward and leaning in as close as possible. He drank in your presence, your warmth, the smell of your hair, and the rising and falling off your shoulders.

"Let's... let's talk about this at home, okay? I'm not mad, I just..." he trailed off and his eyes darkened, "I was scared something happened to you. When I couldn't find you at the store, when you weren't responding to my calls or texts, and when I saw those fucking свиньи with you—"

He cut himself off. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths.

"We're going home. Come on."

You yelped whenever his hands curved under your knees and he picked you up, carrying you like you were some damsel in distress. Any questions, excuses, or complaints you wanted to say dissipated when you saw that distant look on his face. Just like you've seen before, he looked ghostly, like he saw something you couldn't see. Just where was his head at?

You looked away. Anger buzzed in your bones, guilt was drowning your heart, and you too had a fuzzy feeling inside your head that made you feel distant.

I shouldn't have left the house.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LINKS :

— 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳

— 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥

— 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘷

[ P.3 ]