#every morning I wonder if today will be the day
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betting on all three for us two
pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader
summary: you think you like being a little more friendly and a little less competition with luke castellan this year. a sequel to this fic
word count: 3.1k
warnings: none
author's note: frat luke my dearly beloved loser son who studies pre-med this is for you you know who you are i love you
1.
The fall semester comes at you faster than you’d like, this rapid change from a golden summer to the crisp air of being back on campus. You’re rooming with someone from an old anthropology elective you took, Silena finally moving into her sorority house. It should feel weirder, how everything has changed since spring break.
You take the opportunity to build new habits. Early runs, no caffeine after 2pm. Little things that make the day go a tiny bit faster, building blocks to fit around your class schedule. Silena schedules weekly lunches for the three of you and there’s this gravity to it all that you want to study.
It had been nice to be home for a few months. Your mom had missed having you there, being able to show you the new flowers she planted, how the lemon tree in the yard is twisting weirdly. Board games and family dinners and friends who never left your town. Being back home was resetting. Being back on campus was restarting.
Lee catches you as you leave the gym, offering to walk you to class if you’re heading in that direction. You smile, telling him that you have a late start and pretend he doesn’t frown when your phone buzzes. He mentions that he’s thinking of starting a study group for one of your classes and you tell him you’ll think about joining.
While he heads towards the main building, you make your way to the campus coffee shop - caught behind the early risers desperate for something to get them through their first lecture of the day.
“Can I get a flat white and an iced americano with caramel to go please?” You smile at the girl working the counter, stepping aside to glance at your watch.
You run through your schedule for today, ignoring the text that comes through. You know exactly what it says, the same thing every morning, and you don’t even bother to roll your eyes at this point.
“I can’t believe you ignored my text,” Luke says when you reach the courtyard between the library and the medical building. “Not even a flame emoji.”
You stop in front of him, drinking in the jeans and sweater combination he’s settled on today. It’s a really nice sweater, dark blue and a little baggy. You wonder how quickly he’d notice it going missing. Probably not as quickly as he’d notice the stupid hat he’s wearing go missing. His backpack leans against the bench, pristine.
“No one uses those except you,” you shake your head, handing him the iced drink. “What time does your lecture start?”
Luke tells you as if he really needs to. It’s this thing you’ve started doing since the semester began, acting like you don’t know his schedule as well as your own. As if the both of you haven’t fallen into this routine in just a few weeks. Like it’s not a highlight of your day.
Clarisse thinks it’s adorable. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. You think it’s nice to have someone to share your free time with, beyond whatever else you and Luke have. It had been a fear of yours, when Silena mentioned not sharing a dorm with you, that you would fall to the sidelines. That life would come with these new priorities for everyone and you would only be fourth or fifth on their lists, too cemented in the day-to-day that you’d be forgotten.
Morning coffee with Luke stops that fear.
“Did Silena tell you about the party on Friday?”
“I have a study group in the afternoon,” Luke says, swirling his plastic cup around so the ice clinks together. “If I do go, I’m showing up late.”
“Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for you there, Castellan.”
He laughs and it’s like summer again. There’s something insane about hearing Luke laugh like this, unbroken and loud, nothing like it had been over the phone while you were back home.
“You’ve got dinner with Silena and Clarisse tonight, right?” He asks, swinging his bag over one shoulder. You throw your empty cup into the trash can as you both start walking. “Is there any point in asking if you want to come round after?”
You knock his arm with your shoulder, laughing, and, instead of feigning hurt like usual, Luke just takes your hand in his, the skin a little colder than you expect. Gazing down at your linked hands, you bite your lip before sighing.
“If I’m home before eleven, I’ll consider it.”
Last year, when you first met him, you thought Luke only got that determined glint in his eyes when he was competing. That it was a sign of an unanticipated thrill. Since then, you’ve learnt that it’s not that at all. It’s this thing that ignites within him, determined and passionate and a little boyish.
You think it might be one of your favorite things about him.
“I will take that deal.”
2.
You wish you could say you were a little drunk. At least that way you would have something to blame. As it stands, you’re stone cold sober, maybe a little tired from class but nothing that can really be blamed for the lack of weight your actions seem to have right now.
The only thing you can blame, and you will, is the boy next to you, completely engrossed in the movie playing. They’d been watching it when you arrived, all settled on the couches and you assume this is something they do regularly, and at any other time you might’ve called it cute.
Not tonight. Not when you walked in to the discovery that Luke wears glasses and you didn’t know about it. It was something you played off, making a joke and settling into the cushions beside him. In the time since, Chris has left for his date with Clarisse and Charlie has pulled out some work to go through in the corner of the room.
“What’s up?” Luke asks when he realizes you’ve hardly moved in ten minutes, barely even breathing. And it’s the worst possible thing he could do, glance down through the frames with that small smile you’ve gotten used to and curls loose.
“Nothing’s up,” you let your eyes trail back to the screen. “This is a very cute tradition you guys have going on.”
Charlie lets out a little laugh from across the room. You feel the way Luke exhales against the side of your face. You think you’re able to go back to pretending everything is normal, make a joke and enjoy the rest of the movie. The second you feel Luke’s fingertips on the skin of your knee, gentle and warm, you know you can’t.
“You’re swerving,” he whispers, throwing a quick glance at Charlie to see if he can hear but the other boy is engrossed in his work. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” you bite the inside of your cheek when he nods encouragingly, incredibly aware of the patterns he’s tracing on your skin. “I just think it’s interesting that you’d choose to wear a hat all the time when the glasses are right there.”
“What?”
His hand stills and you wait. You wait and you stare at the shape of his jaw and you chuckle when it finally clicks, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallows the conclusion down. “Are you saying you like my glasses?”
You don’t like how uneven this all feels. Whenever you’ve been with Luke so far, there’s been this mutual balance that you’ve grown used to. Even before now, back when you were locked in silly competitions, you did it on even footing, the expectation that everything meant nothing and you wouldn’t be affected.
This, the way Luke grins around the realization, hand moving to rest on your thigh, is different. It’s heavier. It’s a loss after a winning streak and you’re kind of obsessed with the way it could drag you down.
“I just think that hat is stupid.”
“Yeah, okay,” Luke nods and you know, even if he doesn’t do it outright, he’s laughing. He’s categorizing the information you’ve just given him, placing it where it belongs in his mind, and it’s going to bite you in the ass. “Tell me more.”
“Luke,” you mutter, gritting your teeth. His fingertips brush against the hem of your shorts and, when you glare at him for it, he just shrugs. You throw a glance over in Charlie’s direction. Still nothing. “Are you insane?”
He tilts his head like he’s considering the question carefully. If Charlie were to look over, you know he’d assume you were locked in a debate about something silly - a staple of you and Luke - and it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know for a second that you were holding onto Luke’s wrist, his hand itching to move just a little to the left.
You sigh and the boy beside you raises an eyebrow. You both know that you’ve lost this round.
When you press your lips to his bicep as the film credits roll, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, you mumble, “I really like your glasses.”
3.
You aren’t used to watching things from a crowd. You’re used to focusing on yourself, on your team - not watching from a distance, surrounded by people who are there purely for enjoyment. There’s no winning from the stands.
Luke doesn’t know you’re here. You’d sent him a text that morning wishing him luck, arranging to meet him when his debate was over. You hadn’t bothered to message him when your afternoon class got canceled, choosing instead to race across campus and find a seat in the dim auditorium they’re using.
There isn’t the crackle of energy you get from swimming, or from watching Luke during track sessions. It’s less intense, for sure, a balance between the fire you know exists within him when he’s competing and the confidence he has in his own intelligence. You’ve argued with Luke, stupid things that neither of you care to take too seriously, and this is just the next stage of that.
He’s got his glasses on, you note, when the debate gets underway. He’s wearing his lucky green polo, even if he’d never personally call it that, and he’s switched his smartwatch out for an analogue one. The cheap biro you’re used to seeing him use has been replaced by a fancy silver pen that he still taps against his thigh while thinking. He’s sitting straighter than usual, shoulders back.
It’s almost like meeting him for the first time, focused and confident and sharp at the edges.
You’re kind of obsessed with it.
An hour and a winning handshake later, you make your way through the small crowd leaving to find Luke in conversation with one of his teammates. She smiles as you wrap an arm around his waist from behind, the slight tension still lingering in his bones melting away when he realizes it’s you.
“What are you doing here?” He says, turning enough that he’s actually facing you now. The girl waves you both goodbye. “I thought you had class.”
“Professor Chase had to cancel. His daughter got sent home from school with a fever.”
Luke nods, pressing his lips to the top of your head quickly. “You didn’t have to come to my debate.”
In the few months you’ve known Luke, you’ve learnt more about him than you expected to. You know from summer that Connecticut means looking after his sick mother, that he’s hoping to introduce some new charity events to ksig, that he used to go to a summer camp growing up. You know that his dad never showed up for anything and that he sits in the stands of all of your swim meets regardless of whether it cuts into his study time or not.
More than all of that, you know that the way he’s gazing at you now, a cross between awe and something deeper, is going to drive you crazy one day. You hope he can read the same expression on your face.
“Thank you for coming,” he says when everyone is finally dismissed, an arm thrown across your shoulders as you make your way out of the building. You loop a finger around one of his, just because you want to. “It means a lot.”
“I told you I would,” and you had, months ago, staring at Luke’s bedroom ceiling, back when you were still caught in the casualness of it all. When Luke was just someone you pretended you weren’t trying to bump into at parties. You’d told him that you would show up for him if you ever got the chance. He’d rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over you both and told you to go to sleep. He’d drifted off with his nose pressed against your neck. “I keep my word, Castellan.”
“I know.”
In the evening light of campus, you think it might mean something more. Buried under the timing and the bitter wind until it’s a promise only you and Luke could translate. Asking him about where he wants to go for dinner, you like that no one else could understand the depth of it.
+1.
Silena catches your attention as you enter the kitchen, grinning wildly and explaining her concept for tonight. Drew gave her permission to throw this week’s party, something themed and fun and it’s something she’s so proud of that you can’t help but grin back at her energy.
“Even Charlie came,” she tells you excitedly, handing you a drink. “I feel like tonight is going to be it.”
In all the years you’ve known her, she’s been counting down to it. You don’t exactly understand the fundamentals of what it is, if it’s a real thing or something she can just sense intrinsically. There have been moments where she’s thought of it before, mentioned it offhandedly before shaking her head - as if knowing she was wrong.
“What even is it?” You ask and, for the first time, she breathes deeply instead of shrugging it off.
“The beginning of the end,” she says and that doesn’t exactly explain anything. “Everything is about to change.”
You still don’t really get it, but she’s as confident in this as she is about her clothes, so you nod like you understand. She sends you away not long after that, turning her attention to the new group that’s just walked through the doorway, mentioning that you need to be in the basement in about an hour and you just accept your fate, moving into the next room and falling into conversation with Rachel.
*
Luke slips into the basement just as Silena starts yelling for everyone to do so, catching your eye across the room and waving. When you’re all instructed to sit down in a circle, you wonder exactly what Silena has planned for tonight. When she places a near empty bottle down in the center of you all, you laugh.
“Are we actually playing spin the bottle?” Chris asks, prompting a murmured chorus of agreement from everyone else in the room. Silena frowns at him.
“Wanna bet he ends up getting the most into it?” Luke whispers in your ear and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Loser has to buy the coffee tomorrow morning.”
“You’re on,” you bump your fist to his to seal the deal. “I think he’s gonna get bored by round 3.”
“Only boring people get bored of this game. It’s about drive.”
“It’s about power?” Luke lets out a laugh and Silena turns her glare to you. “Sorry.”
She starts to explain the rules of the game, as if you’re all twelve again, and you bite your lip harder with every comment Luke makes under his breath. It’s a little mean, a little stupid, and you wish you were fifteen again, playing a proper game of spin the bottle for the first time.
Nothing much happens for the first few rounds, Chris starting to grumble the longer the game goes on. Luke clicks his tongue when you point it out, cursing his best friend like this was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him.
Lee spins and it’s like cosmic interference when the bottle stops between you and Luke, the two of you glancing at each other and then back towards Lee.
“Should I spin it again?” Lee asks when no one says anything. Silena shakes her head and says, “You can choose or we can vote if that makes you more comfortable.”
“Please let us vote,” Chris shouts, animated and you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the smug smile Luke gives you. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
Lee glances between you both again, at where your knee rests against Luke’s thigh and the beer you’ve been sharing for the past twenty minutes sits between you. “It might be better to vote.”
“Sure,” Silena smiles before silencing you all. “Everyone that wants Lee to kiss Luke, raise your hands.”
You raise your hand and Luke mumbles beside you, flicking your leg and you poke him in return. Anything to avoid kissing Lee Fletcher after two years of avoiding it.
“That is an overwhelming majority,” Silena says and you know, just by the way her eyes slide over to you, that she didn’t even bother to actually count. “Lee, you may now kiss Luke.”
There’s this moment where you think Lee is going to just leave but instead he stares at the boy next to you, the relaxed set to his jaw, the annoying baseball cap on his head, how he’s so unbothered by it all. You watch as something clicks in his mind, you really want to know what it is.
Whatever it was, it makes him grab the bottle again, ignoring Silena’s protests. It lands on the girl from Luke’s debate team and she straightens her back ever so slightly.
“Silena,” Lee says as he leans towards the girl. “I’m not going to kiss Luke or his girlfriend.”
“Damn straight,” Luke mumbles, grabbing your hand from your lap and holding it in his instead. It’s stupid and it really doesn’t matter to either of you, you know that, but there’s this way he says it - almost like it’s the worst thing he could’ve imagined - and it settles in your gut with the beer you’ve been drinking. “Me or my girlfriend.”
“I’d really like to meet her,” you say, laughing when he huffs and pulls his hat down on your head. When you push the visor up to see him properly, all rosy cheeks and compacted curls, you think you might have found it. Whatever it is.
Based on the way Luke’s nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle, you think he understands that too.
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LOCK YOUR PHONE!
synopsis. a secret relationship. a fantasy.
content. itoshi sae x cisfem!reader. aged up characters (+20). fluffy but suggestive. implied sexy times. profanity. secret relationship. sending and receiving nudes. sae's kinda possessive in this but there's nothing crazy. lowercase intended.
wc. 1.3k
message from noe. i adore him i fear... listen to billie nossa nova by billie eilish for a better experience. been wanting to write something based on this song for a while and i thought sae fit perfectly! enjoy.
there’s a warm body in sae’s bed.
his still asleep brain takes a second to make the connection; the softness of you under him is no longer a feeling he’s used to. he puts two and two together, eventually, and wraps his arms tighter around you. awake, but unwilling to let the moment end, he buries his face into your neck.
too late. you stir, push yourself away from him. he can’t bring himself to blame you: it’s hot in the room, hot under the sheets.
there will be no more sleeping for him, but it isn’t too late for you — with that thought in mind he too rolls away, blinking once, twice, context coming back to him as his surroundings do.
the bed is neither his nor yours, though he could have put that together himself — the satin sheets gliding on his skin in such an alien way.
creams and soft pinks blur before his eyes, pale under the early morning’s light. paris. the hotel room he booked for you in a haze, almost feverish in his longing for you.
the downside of keeping a relationship under wraps, he supposes: his noose-tight schedule and the hawk eye of the public force meetings to be few and far in-between, the secret protected like crown jewels. he knows you’re tired of it; he knows because he is, too. it’s exhausting, constantly looking over his shoulder when taking you to his place, or on his way to yours. it’s exhausting, always having to find a different hang out spot, for fear of the media figuring him out. it’s exhausting, waking up and wondering: is today the day the world sinks its teeth into you?
sae’s never cared to keep secrets, at least never willingly — he says things as they are, does things as they need doing, full transparency, if it’s up to him.
it’s exhausting, it is. but that’s just one more thing on the list — and it’s so. damn. worth it. every downside comes with an upside, or else itoshi sae wouldn’t ever bother.
these hidden moments sae shares with you, no one else is privy to them. only he gets to know you like this, love you like this, warm and soft underneath him. no one knows because no one needs to know. just you and him.
no one gets to see you in your entirety: the shine of your eyes when they land on him; the loving curve of your mouth as you smile at him.
everything that belongs to you. for him only.
the face you made when you first entered today’s suite will stick with him for a while, he thinks. the pure delight and adoration shining in your eyes. your lips parting in wonder. all for him. all because of him. your princess room, that’s what you’d called it. a child’s dream, delicate in its simplicity, crushed and torn apart by the cruel world’s sharp, sharp teeth. stitched back together by him.
he knows how it feels, to be ripped to shreds. he’s glad he can do this for you, at the very least.
the world awakens and so does he; slumber slipping through his fingers as he rubs it away from his eyes, tiny sand grains leaving a small sting behind. he slept well. better than usual.
his phone is still on do not disturb. he doesn’t bother checking the time.
sae sits up, covers dropping to his thighs. beside him, you stir again, whine a little. maybe you can feel him leaving, even now in your sleep, feel the shadow of his absence. maybe you’re just bothered by his movements rocking the mattress. either way, you sleep. finding his pants in the mess of the suite bedroom, without the aggressive light of his phone’s flashlight to aid him, proves to be no easy task, but he manages eventually. he slips them on and slips away, closing the bedroom door softly.
it isn’t much brighter in the living space. the lazy sun is barely rising, only the idea of it permeating the gradual brightening of the sky.
phone still clutched in his hand, sae lets himself drop on the abnormally large leather couch, massaging the tender spots you viciously bit into his neck. with just a few swipes, he’s opened his camera roll. time to collect the prize: the surprise you leave for him after every passionate encounter.
the first time you did it, he didn’t even notice until a few days after the fact, when he went browsing through his pictures for a home screen-worthy photo of you.
there it was: a beautifully crafted souvenir of the time spent together. the flash of his phone camera punctuating every shot, barely noticed in the heat of the moment. the red of the set you wore that day.
selfies of you before, and after. your lingerie still intact — and the canvas of your chest painted purple by his loving mouth. not a single video, but at least a dozen pictures: of you, of him, of the two of you together.
a gift from you to him — one that had his blood boiling, had him flushed, aching, yearning all over again.
he sent you his favorite of the bunch — a mirror selfie of you, chest painted purple, a teasing finger pulling your bottom lip down — followed by a question mark. a wordless interrogation.
finally, thought you were never gonna see them, 11:22pm
-is the answer he got.
want more? 11:23pm
and he did. and he got more.
it’s been a while, since then — long enough for it to become a tradition, a little present left in his phone after a secret rendez-vous. so you don’t forget me, you joke.
but how could he?
he’s learned a lot, since that first time. the most important: you’re a fucking tease. lighting, cropping, outfit, pose, it’s an art form to you, down to the time it is for him, when you press send. more often than not, he gets the pictures in the middle of the day, when he can see but can’t do anything.
you’re decent enough to warn him beforehand, at least.
you better lock your phone ;)
and then the raunchiest picture he’s ever seen — you outdo yourself every time — is all over his screen. he’s had many, many close calls. you don’t stop. he never asks you to. he loves the damn pics.
always pictures, never videos — they’re not your thing, he’s learned. not that it matters.
sae would’ve never guessed you’d be such a great soft porn photographer.
the couch’s leather sticks to his skin as he moves, trying to get just a bit more comfortable. he’s about to open his camera roll, ready to unwrap his present, when shuffling near his head startles him out of his reverie.
“why’d you leave?” you murmur, voice still rough with sleep.
you’re completely wrapped in a thin sheet, the only barrier between his hungry eyes and your soft, soft skin. the only glimpse he gets is that of your ankles. a small golden chain rests there, snug. his name is spelled out among the links, hidden. for his eyes only. his chest constricts, almost painfully.
he doesn’t answer; only opens his arms so you can take your rightful place tucked against him. you lay down, covering the both of you with the sheet.
the sun finally peeks from below the horizon, warming your face. it’s peaceful.
“i didn’t want to wake you,” sae decides to say.
you shrug. “more time with you.”
he feels the same — still, your sleep and your comfort take precedence over anything, for him. over anything.
you look so beautiful, like this. waking the sun, blessed by its gentle glow. for his eyes only.
it won’t last. he knows it won’t — secrets never stay secret for long. but for now, simply living like this is enough, more than enough. enjoying the sun. enjoying you.
sae slept well. better than usual. you’re warm on his chest, traces of you warm on his skin. there’s a present waiting for him in his camera roll.
it won’t last — but it won’t hurt to enjoy it while it does.
you fall back asleep quickly, lulled by his steady heartbeat. he follows easily. his dreams are swaddled in creams and soft pinks, and the warmth of the sun on his chest.
LOVERSMANTRA © 2024, all rights reserved. do not translate, crosspost, or copy. steal my work and i'll steal your kneecaps. bitch.
#☆ — by noe#❥ — sae#bllk#blue lock#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae#itoshi sae x you#itoshi sae x y/n#blue lock x reader#blue lock scenarios#blue lock x you#itoshi sae fluff#itoshi sae smut#blue lock fanfiction
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the setback ─ rafe cameron; part nine
summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.
warnings: swearing, angst, topper being topper
author's note: i listened to 'one more hour' by tame impala before writing this so do what you will with that (this is a warning in itself)
As the morning sun filtered through your shut eyelids, you groaned, trying to fend off the burning light that threatened to pull you from the depths of sleep. But despite your efforts, the persistent glow seeped through, coaxing you back to consciousness.
With a reluctant sigh, you finally succumbed to wakefulness, blinking away the haze of sleep as you reached out to check the time on your phone. But just as your fingers brushed against the familiar shape of your device, the door to your room burst open with a bang, startling you from your drowsy reverie.
"Y/n, wake up!" JJ's voice echoed through the room, filled with urgency and impatience. "You've got twenty minutes before your shift at the golf course starts!"
You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden intrusion. "What?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you tried to process JJ's words.
"Your shift, remember?" JJ reminded you, his tone tinged with exasperation. "Our job at the golf course starts today, first shift remember?"
Realization dawned on you as the fog of sleep lifted from your mind, memories of your earlier conversation with JJ flooding back to you. "Right, my shift," you muttered, scrambling to sit up in bed as you shook off the remnants of sleep.
JJ stood in the doorway, arms crossed impatiently as he waited for you to get moving. "Come on, y/n, chop chop! We don't have all day," he urged, his tone bordering on frantic.
With a resigned sigh, you threw back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, forcing yourself to push through the grogginess that still clung to your limbs. "Alright, alright, I'm up," you grumbled, shooting JJ a half-hearted glare as you dragged yourself out of bed.
As you splashed cold water on your face, the sensation jolting you into wakefulness, you couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. It had been a while since you last set foot in the golf course, since you left the familiar shores of the Outer Banks behind. And now, as you prepared to return to your old stomping grounds, a wave of uncertainty washed over you like a tidal surge.
The golf course was a haven for the kooks – the privileged elite who roamed the island with an air of entitlement that bordered on arrogance. It was a world apart from the humble simplicity of life in the Outer Banks, a world where money and status reigned supreme.
You sighed, trying to shake off the lingering doubts and fears that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't let the expectations of others dictate your life – couldn't let the judgmental glares and whispered gossip of the kooks dictate your worth.
With a determined shake of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You slicked back your hair, tying it into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face as you braced yourself for the day ahead. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, steeling yourself for whatever challenges lay in store.
"It's not a big deal," you whispered to yourself, the words a silent mantra of encouragement. "It's just the golf course."
With a quick brush of your teeth, you left the bathroom feeling slightly more refreshed. Hastily throwing on your tennis skirt and tank-top uniform, you wasted no time in rushing out into the kitchen, eager to ensure that JJ was ready to go.
"Hurry up, JJ!" you called out, your voice echoing through the empty hallway as you searched for your boyfriend.
Just as you were starting to worry, JJ emerged from his room with a sheepish grin, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep. "I'm ready, I'm ready!" he exclaimed, his words punctuated by a hint of breathlessness.
You couldn't help but giggle at his disheveled appearance, shaking your head in amusement at his lack of time management when it came to getting ready. "You really need to work on your timing, JJ," you teased, unable to resist poking fun at him.
JJ rolled his eyes playfully, though there was a hint of sheepishness in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he admitted with a chuckle, his tone filled with good-natured resignation. "But hey, at least we're not late, right?"
You nodded in agreement, unable to suppress a smile at JJ's infectious enthusiasm. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the blond as you prepared to face the day together.
As you followed JJ out of the front door and towards his motorcycle parked in the front yard, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Riding on the back of JJ's motorcycle always brought a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of freedom and exhilaration that you couldn't find anywhere else.
But just as you were about to hop on behind him, JJ stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Before you could protest, he swiftly placed a helmet over your head, securing it in place with practiced ease.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his gesture, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. JJ had always been one to prioritize safety, even if it meant being a bit overprotective at times. But deep down, you couldn't deny the warmth that flooded your heart at his show of affection and care for you.
"Thanks, Jay," you said, your voice soft with gratitude as you adjusted the helmet, ensuring that it fit snugly over your head.
JJ flashed you a grin in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he climbed onto the motorcycle, revving the engine to life. "Safety first, y/n," he teased, his tone lighthearted yet sincere.
You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you settled onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms around JJ's waist as he guided the bike onto the road.
As the motorcycle roared to life and JJ guided it onto the road, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through your veins. The ride to the golf course seemed to pass in a blur, each moment tinged with a sense of urgency and anticipation that made time fly by in an instant.
You attributed the quickness of the journey to your own anxiety, the nerves coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach as you braced yourself for the day ahead. But despite the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, there was a small sense of relief in the feeling of the wind against your skin and the warmth of JJ's body pressed close to yours.
As you clung to him, the steady rhythm of the motorcycle beneath you provided a comforting anchor, grounding you in the present moment and soothing the turmoil that churned inside you. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity that you hadn't realized you'd been craving.
And as the golf course loomed into view, the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling establishment filling the air, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disquietude wash over you.
"If you had went any faster you probably would have killed us," you quipped as you removed the bulky helmet off of your head, "I think I have whiplash."
"Yeah, whatever boosts your ego," you replied with a playful shrug, grabbing your tote bag from the bike's satchel. "I just can't believe you managed to get us our jobs back here." Shaking your head, you turned your gaze to the ground beneath you as you and JJ approached the golf course's main entrance gate.
Your heart raced a million beats per minute as you stepped foot onto the lush Bermuda grass that covered the course. Though JJ was likely still talking to you, your attention was elsewhere, your mind consumed by the memories and emotions that flooded back at the familiar sight of the golf course.
With a heavy sigh, you hauled yourself and the looming anxiety into the locker room, determined to put away your bag and clock in for your shift. The familiar routine helped to ground you, providing a sense of structure amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts.
As you stowed your belongings and straightened up your appearance, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of apprehension that settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach. The prospect of facing whoever would show up during your shift, especially Rafe Cameron, sent a shiver down your spine.
Summoning every ounce of courage you could muster, you pulled up your socks just above your ankles, a small gesture of determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the course, ready to begin your shift.
Despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you pushed aside your fears and focused on the task at hand. You had a job to do, and you were determined to do it to the best of your ability, no matter what – even if it meant coming face to face with Rafe Cameron.
As you ventured out onto the course, the warm rays of the sun danced across your glistening skin, casting a comforting glow over the lush green landscape. The figure-eight pattern of sunlight filtered through the swaying branches of the trees, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow that enveloped you as you went about your duties.
The first half of your shift passed by without much incident, the familiar routine of serving drinks and catering to the whims of the patrons keeping you busy. You dealt with your fair share of middle-aged men who were more interested in flirting with a girl half their age than actually playing golf, but you handled them with ease, deftly navigating their advances with a polite yet firm demeanor.
Despite the occasional flirtatious comment or suggestive wink, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, the tasks at hand becoming second nature as you moved from one group of patrons to the next. It was smooth sailing for the most part, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude as the hours ticked by without any mishaps or run-ins with your past to corrupt your day.
As you were in the midst of refilling the cooler of drinks, lost in your own thoughts, your boss's sudden appearance jolted you back to reality. He approached with purpose, pulling you out of your reverie as he delivered the news of a large group of young men arriving to golf for the next few hours.
The request was simple – ensure their needs were met and provide exceptional service throughout their time at the course. While you obliged with a nod of understanding, internally, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of dealing with a rowdy group of young men.
Though you maintained a professional demeanor, the thought of catering to their demands and managing their potentially unruly behavior wasn't exactly thrilling. Nevertheless, you knew it was all part of the job, and you were determined to fulfill your duties to the best of your ability, regardless of any personal reservations.
With a resigned sigh, you set aside your misgivings and prepared yourself to meet the challenge head-on. After all, you were no stranger to handling difficult patrons, and you were confident in your ability to navigate the situation with grace and professionalism. With a reassuring nod to your boss, you returned to your tasks, steeling yourself for whatever the next few hours might bring.
As you braced yourself for the impending arrival of the group, you couldn't help but feel the need to vent to JJ before diving into what promised to be a challenging few hours. You wandered around the course, scanning the area until you spotted JJ outside, meticulously polishing golf clubs hung up on the racks.
With a sense of determination, you made your way over to him, catching him by surprise with your abrupt greeting. JJ looked up, noting the irritation in your tone, and immediately sensed that something was amiss. He set down the club he was working on and turned his full attention to you, ready to listen.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows furrowing with concern as he regarded you.
You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you prepared to unload your frustrations. "There's a group of kooks coming in soon, and I have a feeling they're going to be a handful," you explained, your voice tinged with exasperation.
JJ's expression hardened at the mention of the kooks, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He knew all too well the challenges that came with dealing with entitled tourists, especially those who frequented the golf course.
"Well, you know you can handle them," JJ reassured you, his tone firm yet supportive. "And if they give you any trouble, just let me know. I'll take care of it."
As you exchanged a nod and a small smile with JJ, appreciative of his offer of support, the sound of your boss's voice shattered the moment, calling out for you to head over to the other end of the course to greet the arriving group.
"Looks like duty calls," you remarked with a wry grin, casting a glance over your shoulder at JJ.
"Yeah, go handle those kooks. You got this," JJ replied, his tone laced with confidence.
Rolling your eyes playfully, you shot back, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with them."
With a chuckle, JJ waved you off. "Just remember, if they give you any trouble, you know where to find me." Nodding in agreement, you turned and began to make your way towards the other end of the course, your steps quickening with each stride.
Hurriedly making your way over to the other side of the golf course, you felt a sense of urgency creeping in as you fumbled to find your notepad. The weight of the impending interaction with the large group of customers loomed over you, fueling your determination to be prepared for whatever they might throw your way.
As you approached the group, you plastered on your best fake customer service voice, offering a warm greeting despite the mounting tension in your chest. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! Welcome to the golf course. How can I assist you today?" Your words flowed smoothly, practiced and polished, even as your gaze remained fixated on your skirt pocket, still searching for your notepad. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at your inability to locate the notepad.
The sound of a male voice broke through the tension, pulling you out of your internal turmoil. "No shot," the voice exclaimed, its familiarity causing your heart to skip a beat. "Y/N, is that you?"
Your head snapped up at the mention of your name, your eyes widening in disbelief as you locked gazes with the source of the voice. And there, standing before you, was none other than Topper. Time seemed to stand still as you took in his appearance, his blond hair tousled by the breeze, his features sharp and familiar.
For a moment, you couldn't believe your eyes. It felt as though you were either dreaming or on the brink of insanity. Topper, of all people, here at the golf course – it was a surreal sight to behold. Your heart raced in your chest as you stood there in stunned silence, unable to form words as you processed the unexpected encounter.
You stumbled over your words, the unexpected encounter catching you off guard. "Hey, Top…" you stammered, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find your footing in the conversation. Your gaze flickered to the ground, a feeble attempt to avoid further interaction with him, but deep down, you knew Topper thrived on drama.
His snarky remark pierced through the awkward silence, poking at your nerves with surgical precision. "I haven't seen your face in a while. How was your little trip to Barbados?" His words hung in the air, laced with an unmistakable edge as he watched you carefully, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing.
Your eyes shot up to meet his, a mix of surprise and suspicion flickering in your gaze. How did he know about your trip to Barbados? It was something you hadn't even shared with Rafe, let alone anyone else. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a nagging sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you grappled with the implications of Topper's words.
Caught off guard by the sudden interruption, you welcomed the distraction with a relieved cough, hoping to diffuse the tension that had been building between you and Topper. But before you could respond, another member of the group chimed in, his words cutting through the air like a knife.
"Wait… Holy shit, are you Rafe's ex?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, as the group turned their attention to you, awaiting your response. You felt a surge of panic rise within you, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected turn of events. The truth threatened to spill from your lips, but you quickly clamped down on the impulse, your mind racing as you searched for a suitable response.
The weight of everyone's attention bore down on you, intensifying the clamminess in your palms and the heat rising to your cheeks. "Um…" you began, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to find the right words. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you shook your head, attempting to deflect the question with a vague response. "We used to be close is all," you muttered, your tone terse as you kept your reply short and to the point.
You hoped your answer would suffice, deflecting any further inquiries about your relationship with Rafe. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air, knowing that the truth was far more complicated than you were willing to admit.
Topper's laughter cut through the air like a knife, his amusement at your response evident in the way his laughter echoed around you. But it was his next words that struck deep, like a blow to the chest.
"That's a funny way of saying you two dated until he found out you were a backstabbing bitch."
Your eyes widened in shock at the venom in his words, feeling the sting of his insult like a physical blow. The tightness in your throat threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to process the weight of his accusation. Flinching at the sincerity in his voice, you realized with a sinking feeling that Rafe must have confided in Topper about the real reason for your breakup all those years ago.
The truth of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger, hurt, and betrayal mingled together, leaving you feeling raw and exposed in front of Topper and the rest of the group. You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure as you grappled with the devastating revelation that your past had come back to haunt you in the most unexpected of ways.
"What's going on? What are you guys laughing at-" The sound of a familiar voice cut through the laughter like a knife, bringing a sudden halt to the jovial atmosphere. Your heart sank as you recognized the voice, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. And then, as if on cue, his face came into view, confirming your worst fears.
Rafe.
Your breath caught in your throat as you locked gazes with him, feeling a wave of emotions crash over you like a tidal wave. Guilt, fear, and a deep-seated sense of apprehension washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.
As Rafe's eyes scanned the scene before him, confusion flickering across his features, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that was sure to follow. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread gnawing at your insides as you waited for him to speak.
You watched with bated breath as Rafe's shoulders slumped, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as he realized the source of his friends' laughter. The sight of you, on the verge of tears, must have been a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere he had walked into.
"Rafe! Look who we ran into. Funny, right? Who would've thought she'd show her face here after what she did." Topper's snarl pierced through the tense silence, his gesture pointing towards you as if you were some spectacle to be mocked.
Rafe's expression hardened at Topper's words, a glimmer of warning in his voice as he responded, "Top, knock it off. It's all in the past."
His words were like a lifeline in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that despite the hurt and betrayal of the past, there was still a chance for redemption and forgiveness. You felt a faint flicker of hope stir within you, tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. But for now, in this moment, you clung to Rafe's words as a beacon of hope in the heat of the moment.
Topper's chuckle grated on your nerves, his persistence in dredging up the past only adding fuel to the fire of your emotions. His next words cut through the air like a knife, each syllable laced with venomous intent.
"Oh, c'mon, you hated her guts right after she left. You think I forgot all those times you said she was nothing but a heartless bitch?" Topper's jab landed with precision, causing Rafe's expression to falter, his facade of composure cracking under the weight of his friend's accusations.
Rafe's gaze immediately found yours, searching for any sign of the impact Topper's words had on you. As you met his eyes, he saw the hurt reflected in your expression, a painful reminder of the wounds that had yet to heal. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, hitting him with the force of a truck as he realized the depth of the pain he had caused you.
In that moment, the tension between you and Rafe was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface. And as you held each other's gaze, the weight of the past hung heavy in the air, threatening to suffocate you both with its unresolved emotions.
Fighting back tears, you clenched your jaw, determined to maintain your composure and professionalism in front of the large group of men. With a quick nod, you shielded your emotions from the prying eyes of the boys surrounding you.
"Right. Well, if you guys need anything, I'll be over here. Enjoy your day," you replied stoically, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within you. Turning on your heel, you swiftly walked away, each step a silent retreat from the painful confrontation unfolding before you. Reaching a nearby golf cart, you wasted no time in packing up your belongings and drinks, your movements brisk and efficient as you prepared to escape to somewhere far away from the suffocating presence of Rafe and his friends.
"Y/N please, wait."
As you hurriedly packed up your things, a voice called out your name from behind, growing closer with each step. You recognized the voice all too well, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. It was Rafe.
Despite knowing it was him, you refused to turn around and acknowledge him. You couldn't bear to face him after everything that had transpired. You knew he was probably coming over to do damage control for his friend's spitefulness, but after what Topper had said, you had heard enough.
"Go away, Rafe," you muttered, your voice tinged with hurt and frustration as you continued to focus on packing up your belongings. It came out more harshly than you intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him, not after the pain his friend's words had caused you.
Despite your request, you knew Rafe well enough to anticipate that he wouldn't simply leave until you faced him. His stubbornness had always been both a blessing and a curse to you.
"Y/N, look, I'm sorry about what happened back there. You know Topper, he just says things," Rafe's voice broke through the tension, his tone laced with regret and sincerity.
"So you weren't calling me a heartless bitch while I was gone?" you spat, the bitterness evident in your words as you crossed your arms defensively, turning to face Rafe abruptly. The hurt and anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.
Rafe fell silent, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between yours as he struggled to find the right words. Eventually, he sighed, a gesture of resignation as he brought a hand to his temple in frustration.
"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't," he began, his voice heavy with remorse, "and I know it was wrong. But I did it because I was hurt and angry at you for leaving, okay? I shouldn't have said it, but I did, and I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean it."
His admission hung in the air, the weight of his words sinking in as you processed his apology. Despite the pain and anger that still lingered within you, you couldn't deny the sincerity in Rafe's voice. He was vulnerable in that moment, his walls crumbling as he laid bare his regrets and shortcomings.
You felt a twinge of sympathy, recognizing the turmoil that must have plagued him in the aftermath of your departure. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw the flicker of remorse mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for forgiveness that tugged at your heartstrings.
For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond to his apology. But deep down, you knew that holding onto resentment would only prolong the pain for both of you. With a sigh, you let your arms fall to your sides, the tension easing from your stance as you met Rafe's gaze with a nod of acknowledgment.
You looked up at him, a softness in your gaze as you nodded, taking in his apology and the acceptance of his words. "We can't keep hurting each other like this, Rafe," you admitted, your voice filled with a mixture of weariness and determination.
The weight of the past hung heavy between you, a reminder of the pain and heartache that had plagued your relationship. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a longing for a future where the wounds of the past could be healed, and where you and Rafe could find a way to move forward together.
Rafe met your gaze with a solemn nod, his expression reflecting a similar sentiment. "I know, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice tinged with regret, "I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I want to do better, for both of us." His words resonated with you, stirring a sense of hopefulness within your heart.
As you closed your eyes, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity. The weight of your choices hung heavy on your shoulders, each one fraught with its own set of consequences. You couldn't help but feel torn between loyalty to JJ, your best friend, and the lingering feelings you still held for Rafe, your first love.
The thought of hurting either of them filled you with a profound sense of guilt and despair. You wished you could simply escape from it all, to tune out the world and retreat into solitude where the weight of your decisions couldn't reach you. But you knew that running away wasn't an option, not when the consequences of your actions were looming over you like a storm cloud on the horizon.
With a heavy heart, you knew that you had to face the reality of your situation head-on. No matter how much you wished for an easy way out, the truth was that there was no escaping the difficult choices that lay before you. And as you took another deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that you couldn't afford to remain passive any longer. It was time to confront the complexities of your heart and the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe, knowing that the path forward would be anything but easy.
"I still have things to figure out for now, Rafe," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty, "and I hope that you can be okay with that until I'm able to do so. I just... I don't want to hurt anyone else more than I've already done."
Rafe's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of your dilemma. "I understand, Y/N," he replied gently, his voice a soothing presence amidst the turmoil of your emotions, "I'll respect your need for time and space. Just... know that I'll be here, whenever you're ready."
You offered him a small, grateful smile, the weight of your indecision still heavy on your heart. "Thank you, Rafe," you murmured, hoping that he could sense the depth of your gratitude and the complexity of your emotions.
As you drove across the expansive golf course, the hum of the cart's engine providing a steady backdrop to your turbulent thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. The weight of the choices you faced seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, threatening to crush you beneath their burden.
You hated the complexity of the situation, the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe. It felt like no matter which path you chose, someone would end up hurt, and the thought weighed heavily on your conscience.
Memories of your past with Rafe flashed through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the bond you once shared and the feelings that still lingered beneath the surface. Despite your efforts to move on, it seemed that the past had a way of catching up to you, refusing to let you forget the love you once knew.
And yet, as you navigated the winding paths of the golf course, you knew that you couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The present demanded your attention, and the future loomed uncertain and fraught with challenges.
You spotted JJ outside the lobby building, his expression grave as he motioned for you to come over. Your heart sank as you approached, already bracing yourself for bad news.
"What's going on, Jay?" you asked, your voice tinged with worry as you crossed your arms, waiting for his response.
"Okay, so get this. Pope just called and told me they found out that Ward is trying to track John B before he can expose all of Ward's fucked up lies. Apparently, he has a hit out on him," JJ explained urgently, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.
Your eyes widened in horror, your arms falling to your sides as you processed the gravity of the situation. The thought of John B being in danger sent a surge of fear coursing through your veins.
"Shit," you breathed, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend the direness of the situation. "We have to do something, Jay. We can't just sit back and let Ward get away with this."
JJ fell silent for a moment, his expression telling you he was hesitant to say whatever it was that he wanted to tell you. You cocked your eyebrow, waiting for him to speak but to no avail.
"Well, what is it JJ?"
"Look, I know it's a lot to ask," JJ began, his tone hesitant as he gauged your reaction. "But we really need you to spy on Rafe again. It's the only way we can find out what Ward's next move is."
You felt a surge of confliction, the memories of your previous attempts to spy on Rafe flooding back with a pang of guilt. "Spy on Rafe?" you repeated, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you processed JJ's request.
"Yeah," JJ confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression grave. "I know it's asking a lot, but we need to know what Ward's planning. Rafe might have some insight that could help us."
Your heart sank at the thought of betraying Rafe's trust once again, but you couldn't deny the urgency of the situation. "But JJ, you know what happened last time I tried to spy on him," you reminded him, your voice tinged with apprehension.
JJ's gaze softened with understanding, his tone gentle as he replied, "I know, Y/N. I'm not asking you to do this lightly. But right now, we need all the information we can get if we're going to take down Ward and keep John B safe."
You shook your head, your gaze falling to the floor, overwhelmed by JJ's request. "JJ, this is a lot to ask... I don't know if I can do this again. I feel like I'm just hurting him all over again."
"Why does it matter if he's hurt? He's Rafe Cameron, he doesn't deserve your pity," JJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration.
You looked up at JJ, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I know he's made mistakes, but he's still a person, JJ. I can't just use him like some pawn in a game," you insisted, your voice tinged with anguish.
"But this isn't about him, Y/N. It's about taking down Ward and keeping John B safe," JJ argued, his tone firm.
You sighed heavily, torn between loyalty to your friends and your own moral compass. "I need some time to think about it, JJ. This isn't a decision I can make lightly," you replied, your voice wavering with uncertainty.
JJ folded his arms, frustration evident on his face. "Well, let me know when you make your decision, although I thought it should be pretty easy considering John B is your friend, too," he stated firmly, his tone laced with disappointment.
You flinched at JJ's words, feeling the weight of his expectations bearing down on you. "I know, JJ. I'll... I'll figure it out," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to meet his gaze.
With that, JJ nodded stoically and turned back around to go into the building, leaving you standing there with the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to steel yourself against the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you feeling torn between loyalty to your friend and the potential consequences of betraying someone you cared about.
As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, the world seemed to blur around you, the only sound echoing in your ears being the tumultuous beating of your own heart. With each passing moment, the weight of the choice you had to make grew heavier, threatening to crush you under its burden.
But despite the overwhelming uncertainty that loomed over you, one thing remained clear – whatever decision you made would have far-reaching consequences, forever altering the course of your relationships and the trajectory of your life. And as you grappled with the weight of your choices, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any path forward that wouldn't leave you broken and alone in the end.
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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (10/?)
Part Summary: “Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.
“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.
“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you again.
Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.200+ | Warnings: UST, fluff, very light angst | Author's note: I think the summary should tell you what to expect *winks*.
Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX
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Despite going to bed very late, getting up in the morning isn't hard for you. Though it’s mainly because you barely had any rest at all. The real reason you couldn't sleep wasn’t the couch’s fault—it was the soft, irregular snores drifting in from the bedroom and the new, quiet awareness of someone else in your apartment. Every so often, Leigh would make a sound or shift in her sleep, and you would clench your fist hard against the blanket, resisting the urge to go check on her.
The stillness of the early dawn settles around you, and Leigh’s words come back to you like a quiet sail. “Do you know how intimate it is to sleep at someone’s house and not have sex?” she had said once, during one of your long, winding confrontations about Matt. It was a statement that had deeply affected you then, and even more so now, with her just a room away. You remember recoiling when she nearly spat the words at you. You wonder if Leigh also remembers, especially considering last night.
You rise from the couch before your alarm has a chance to ring, padding softly into the kitchen.
Cooking breakfast has become a kind of ritual, an act of service between the two of you. Smiling at this thought, you crack eggs into a bowl, add milk and vanilla, and start whisking. You soak slices of bread in the mixture, heat up the pan, and place them down to cook. French toast is on the menu today, and you hope Leigh likes it.
You set the table quietly, arranging the plates and cutlery, pouring orange juice into glasses. As you lay down the last slice of French toast on the plates, you add a light dusting of powdered sugar and a few slices of fresh strawberries for a pop of color and sweetness. With everything prepared, you sit down at the dining table to wait for Leigh to wake up.
After a while you glance at the clock and see it's 6:30 AM. You need to be at the clinic in an hour. With a sigh, you cover Leigh's plate with a napkin to keep it warm and start eating alone, just as you've done since moving here.
Finishing your breakfast, you wash the dishes and put everything away, your movements mechanical. You know you should get in the shower soon, but everything you'll need to prepare is in the bedroom. Pushing the door open just a crack, you peek inside to see Leigh sleeping peacefully, her face so different from its usual, more troubled visage when awake. She’s lying on her back with her mouth slightly open. The sheets have slipped past her hips, and her shirt has ridden up, exposing her stomach to the cool air. You tiptoe into the room and carefully pull the covers back up over her, tucking them around her gently.
Afterward, you crouch by the bed for a minute, simply observing her steady breathing. You feel a surge of affection as you watch her, wondering if she feels safe here, with you. Her face, relaxed and unguarded, is the very same one that Matt woke up to every day of his life for the past decade until he left this world. You think to yourself what a privilege it was for him, to have shared so many mornings with her, to have been woven into her waking thoughts and dreams.
While you’re cautiously sweeping a few strands of hair from her face, Leigh’s lips suddenly move in her sleep. They part slightly as if she's talking, but no sound escapes. Her forehead creases into a frown—she's clearly dreaming. It's a serious, focused expression that makes her look like she’s deep in conversation with someone in her dream world, and you cover your mouth to stifle a giggle at the sight.
Realizing you've lingered longer than intended, you force yourself to stand. You quietly retrieve a towel and some clothes, deciding to take your shower in the living room bathroom. As you lather soap over your torso, the image of Leigh’s exposed skin haunts your thoughts—the small, soft patch of her stomach you saw earlier. Your fingers inadvertently brush over your own nipples, and you can't help but compare the sensation to what touching Leigh's skin might feel like, if the rest of her body feels just as smooth and supple as it looks. The thought sends a shiver through you, goosebumps forming despite the warm water. Your fingers wander lower almost of their own accord. A gasp escapes your lips when the tip of your forefinger brushes against your clit, the touch sparking an unexpected surge of arousal. Shocked by your own reaction, you quickly turn the shower knob, the water temperature dropping to a chill that snaps you out of your fantasies.
Get a grip, you mutter to yourself, feeling a combination of embarrassment and frustration. Leigh is just in the next room, trusting you, and here you are getting carried away. Shivering a bit under the cold spray, you finish up quickly, wrap yourself in a towel, and get dressed.
You take one last look at Leigh before you leave. She’s still sprawled out in the same comfy position, deep in sleep. Waking her doesn't feel right—not just to say a quick goodbye before you rush off to work. Instead, you jot down a note on a piece of your prescription pad. It’s a quick message letting her know breakfast is ready on the table, she should feel at home, and you’ve left an extra set of keys for her. You apologize for the early exit and sign your name with a flourish. You tuck the note under her plate of French toast, placing the keys beside it. Then, remembering the night might have left her with a bit of a hangover, you put a glass of water and an aspirin by her bed. You're trying to think of everything she might need to start her day off right.
“Bye, Leigh,” you whisper as you give the room one final glance. You step out into the morning, locking up but leaving a part of your mind behind, picturing her waking up comfortable and cared for. It’s ironic that just when you decided to keep your distance, you start running into situations that make you fall even harder for her. It's as if fate is constantly nudging you in her direction.
And frankly, you don't mind it at all.
-
Leigh stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open to a room that isn't hers. For a brief, groggy moment, she thinks she’s in Danny’s bed, but the scent is all wrong. Where Danny’s sheets carried a distinct note of sandalwood, they smell of lavender and something more… feminine. The soft difference in fragrance tugs at the edges of her memory, pulling forward the events of the previous day.
She blinks slowly, her mind piecing together the snapshots: the sharp words exchanged with Danny that morning, the solo trip out on Halloween, finding herself unexpectedly in Matt’s favorite restaurant. That’s when you came into the picture, dressed up for a date that never showed, and Leigh stepped in. You both shared a beer on the hood of your car, surrounded by glimmering, dreamlike sights, but all she could focus on was how the streetlights played over your face, making you look almost magical as you laughed, a half-empty box of donuts on your lap. You looked so... pretty, she thinks, the image stubbornly etched in her mind.
The night didn’t end there. She took you to a party. It was loud, crowded, but when you danced, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She remembers drawing you to the dance floor, guiding your hands to her hips as she swayed. She recalls gazing at your lips, wondering how they would feel against hers.
Leigh buries her face into your pillow, her cheeks burning as she reminisces how close you were, your lips barely an inch apart. She tries to laugh it off, but it’s hollow, and her face grows hotter as she recalls you pulling away, the almost-kiss dissolving into nothing. The last-second rejection stings, but what really makes her squirm is the heat flooding her body just from thinking about it. In an attempt to distract herself, Leigh snuggles deeper into your bed, but it backfires. One deep breath and she’s engulfed by the scent you left on the pillow. It feels as if you’re right there beside her, the illusion so convincing that it briefly soothes the ache of your actual absence.
And it's in this moment, surrounded by traces of you, that Leigh finally allows herself to fully acknowledge the attraction she’s been trying to ignore. It's been a slow, maddening realization, an interest that has compounded until it could no longer be overlooked. It’s ridiculous, really, because it sort of feels like she’s proving Matt right, wanting you just like he did. She sits up, clutching the sheets close, her heart racing as she turns over everything in her mind. It feels contradictory yet somehow... inexorable, as if it were always meant to happen.
But Leigh pushes back against the idea that anything in her life is fated, especially when it comes to who she might fall for. She's always believed in steering her own ship, picking her paths, her battles, her loves. Not just going with the flow of something because it feels like the universe is pushing her that way. She wraps the sheets tighter around her, needing to feel safeguarded, needing to remind herself that she calls the shots.
She climbs out of bed and starts pacing restlessly like a mad woman. Yes, there's something about you that pulls at her, but that doesn’t mean she has to lose herself to it. For all she knows, it’s just a silly crush, perhaps amplified by the thought that you might have liked her first. It's probably just that—reciprocal attraction—nothing more.
A sudden noise from the living room jerks Leigh out of her tumultuous thoughts, and she frantically whips her head towards the door. It’s been so loud inside her head, that she hasn’t even considered the possibility that you might be out there—in your own apartment. Leigh stops pacing and strains to hear more.
There’s another sound. Thud. Thud.
With a shaky breath, she calls out, “Y/N?”
When no answer comes, Leigh edges out of the bedroom tentatively, as if stepping into her own trial. Her nerves are strung tight with anticipation of confronting you, the newly-minted object of her affection. However, as she rounds the corner, she finds only an empty living room. The quiet is almost startling. Another thud makes her jump—a dull, persistent noise. Turning towards it, she sees only pigeons at the living room window, poking their beaks against the glass, and Leigh exhales a long sigh of relief.
Intrigued, Leigh approaches the window to observe the pigeons. They remain undisturbed as she draws closer, diligently pecking at seeds scattered on the windowsill. So, you’ve been feeding them. It’s a small, charming detail about you that she hadn’t known, and it warms her heart to see this caring, tender side of you. Much like the way you took care of her last night, she feels like one of those pigeons.
Leigh leans against the wall next to the window, watching the pigeons bob their heads and shuffle around. Her eyes then drift to the dining table and land on a plate, invitingly covered, with a piece of paper peeking out beneath it. She walks over and lifts the cover to reveal a hearty serving of French toast, artfully arranged and topped with a sprinkle of powdered sugar and fresh strawberries.
The sight of the breakfast makes her mouth water, and without thinking, she reaches out with her hands and takes a bite. It's still slightly warm, a sign that you haven't been gone long. Comforted by this thought, she pulls out a dining chair and settles in, making herself comfortable. Then, picking up the note, she unfolds it to read while she enjoys her breakfast.
Hope you enjoy the French toast. I had to head out early, but I wanted to make sure you had a warm start to your day. Please make yourself at home, help yourself to anything you need, and here’s some extra keys to the apartment just in case. Sorry to miss saying goodbye this morning. I hope we can catch up later when I'm back - Y/N
Leigh bites her lip, staring down at the note and the keys beside it. It feels so... domestic. Almost too familiar, but too quickly. She can't help but recall the countless times she left similar notes for Matt, scribbled in haste before dashing off to her early morning classes at the Beautiful Beast. Her trips to Danny's apartment never felt quite like this. It had always felt more like a love nest, designed for pleasure, not partnership. It was somewhere to escape to, not a space she could ever see herself belonging in, being her own. But here, with these keys in front of her, it's different. This feels like stepping back into an old pair of shoes that doesn't quite fit the same way anymore.
Leigh hesitates, unsure if this is a good thing. If you are a good thing. With Danny, everything was safe, predictable. He wants her more than she wants him, and in a twisted way, that imbalance has become an assurance. It’s easier, requiring less vulnerability on her part. But with you, the balance feels equal, perhaps even tipping in a way that makes Leigh unsure of where she stands, unsure of her control over the situation.
That terrifies her. And she hasn't felt this scared since Matt left.
As if on cue, a loud ringing blares through the apartment. Leigh blinks, pulled abruptly back to the present, and realizes she has no idea where she left her phone. She scrambles to her feet, her search for the phone turning into a clumsy dance as she trips over herself in the process. After a brief, frantic search that feels longer than it probably is, she traces her steps back to your bedroom. There, beside the bed where she'd woken up, her phone is vibrating against the hardwood floor. The screen lights up with the name “Jules”. Leigh swipes to answer, holding the phone a bit shakily to her ear.
“Danny’s here.”
Shit, shit shit.
“Just get rid of him, Jules. I'll call him later,” Leigh says.
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then—
“Where are you, anyway?” Jules asks.
Leigh glances around, fiddling with the phone in her hand before answering, “I’m at a friend’s place.”
“Oh,” Jules lets out a low whistle. “Anyone I know?”
Leigh takes a deep breath. “Y/N.”
Jules falls silent, her breath the only sound coming through the phone. Leigh can almost visualize her sister on the other end, puzzling over why Leigh spent the night at your apartment and wondering if something happened between you two. She anticipates the barrage of questions that will greet her when she gets home.
“Leigh, I—” Jules starts to say.
“Don't. I'm leaving soon. Please make sure Danny's not there when I arrive. Please,” Leigh says.
“Okay,” Jules says simply, and then the line goes dead.
Leigh leaves the keys where you left them and takes your note with her.
-
As the day wears on, your phone remains dishearteningly quiet. You keep checking, hoping for a simple message from Leigh—a thank you for the bed, a comment on the breakfast, or just a note to say she’s left your apartment. But nothing comes through. Each passing hour stretches your patience thinner and makes you question every detail of last night.
Her lack of reaction leaves you with too much time to think. After the debacle with Sara and the no-show date you met from a dating app, you had felt a surge of disillusionment. So much so that last night, after Leigh left your car and walked into the party, you found yourself uninstalling the dating app from your phone in a moment of clarity. You decide it's time to focus on what feels more real, on what your heart has been screaming all along.
Leigh.
You want Leigh, and you’re going to go after her. Forget about Danny. You won't let Leigh spend another Halloween alone, or Christmas, or New Year’s. You're resolved to be there for all the important dates—and, if you're lucky, every day in between.
Hey Leigh, just checking in to see how you’re doing. Hope your day was good, you type and hit send. You won’t wait anymore for her to reach out when you can just let her know you’ve been thinking of her. You toss your phone down and rub your hands on your face. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see if she feels the same.
-
Leigh postpones meeting with Danny until later that evening, having spent the day lounging in bed and replaying the songs you had on in your car the previous night. She received your text, but she hasn’t even opened it yet. It's silly, but she feels that if she starts talking to you, a dam will burst—and she's not ready for that. Instead, she reaches out to Danny, asking him over so they can talk.
When Danny arrives, she doesn't invite him inside. Since Jules and her mom are home, they walk to the front steps and sit side by side, maintaining a slight distance between them.
It’s Danny who breaks the silence first. “Leigh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. Look, I just think it's a great opportunity for us—or for me, at least. And since you’re not tied down to the Beautiful Beast anymore, and your writing and part-time job are flexible, I thought... Why not?”
Leigh's expression hardens at the mention of her old job, at Danny's reasoning, and his diligent insistence. She didn’t call him over to rehash the fight they just had yesterday.
“Just because I can work from anywhere doesn't mean I want to leave,” she says. “And if we're going to have the same argument again, then you should just go.”
When Danny told Leigh he had landed a job as a retail associate at a high-end hotel in Vegas, he expected she’d be happy for him. She was, but when he suggested they move there for a fresh start, her response was an unflinching no, leaving him feeling wounded.
“But what's really keeping you here, Leigh? I mean, besides your family. Is there something else?” he asks.
At the question, Leigh feels the past and present colliding. First, she sees Matt's face, always Matt's face—his smile, the comfort of his presence that used to fill her days. Then her mind flickers to the times she found herself passing your clinic after long, aimless drives meant to clear her head. Your face starts to overlap with her memories of Matt, not replacing but somehow intertwining.
“Matt,” Leigh forces herself to say, forces herself to believe. “If I leave this place, it's like... it's like I'm leaving him for good. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how it feels.”
“Matt's been gone for a long time. You think he'd want you to just stop living your life? Waiting for what? For a ghost?” Danny argues, his voice rising just a little. He looks away, down the shadowy street. His hands ball into fists and then relax. Under the weak glow of the streetlamp, it’s as if Matt’s shadow stretches beside him, a long, imposing figure that Danny can never seem to escape.
“Leigh, I’m just trying to help us move forward, that’s all,” he continues, softer, more defeated. Leigh catches the tightness of his expression, the effort it takes him to stay calm. She reaches out, her fingertips lightly touching his knuckles. Danny grabs this small sign of affection, quickly cradling Leigh’s face in his hands and drawing her into a fervent kiss. Leigh doesn’t respond immediately, but then she melts into its familiarity, allowing her lips to be pliable to his.
Danny breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he searches Leigh's eyes. “Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave Matt for good,” he whispers.
She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “I-I don't know, Danny—”
“Leigh, I love you.”
It's the first time either of them has said it. Leigh had imagined fireworks or something clicking into place when it happened. She expected the grand declaration to sweep her off her feet, but instead, she finds herself still teetering on the brink, not quite ready to leap. But what she cannot ignore is the sincerity in his words. Danny has loved her through her worst—in his own way. It's not easy to dismiss or reject such devotion.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Danny says quickly. He's afraid of hearing her say no again. Silence would be better; he could let himself believe that maybe she felt the same way. Silence could mean ‘yes’, right? he thinks, grasping at straws.
“Leigh, I’m taking that job, and I’m leaving after Thanksgiving. That gives us about a month,” he says, cradling her face now with both hands pleadingly. “Please, just think about it. Think about coming with me.”
Despite her reservations, Leigh ends up saying, “Okay, I'll think about it.”
Danny’s face breaks into a smile. He kisses her again, a soft, reaffirming kiss that seems to thank her for even considering his request.
The next second, Jules interrupts the moment, opening the door unceremoniously. Leigh throws her a sharp look, which her sister disregards with a shrug.
“Logan's been barking at the door for some time now, in case you didn't hear,” Jules drawls, cradling a bowl of cereal—her dinner.
At her words, Logan bursts through the opening and makes a beeline for Leigh. He leaps straight into Leigh's lap, settling in with a decisive huff, his eyes darting possessively from Leigh to Danny. It's as if he's laying claim to her, telling Danny without words that Leigh has roots here too deep to simply pull up, saying, she’s mine, you’re not going to take her away from me.
Leigh pulls Logan closer, thinking about how much you’ll miss him if she decides to go with Danny.
-
You get home from work just after nine, tossing your keys on the kitchen counter with a weary sigh. A quick check of your phone confirms what you'd been dreading all day: Leigh still hasn't read your message from the afternoon. That sinking feeling of disappointment hits you again—harder this time. It’s like a pattern with her: warm and engaging one day, distant and cold the next. You can't deny that this inconsistency is starting to wear on you. It's bordering on cruel.
What are you doing wrong? Why can’t you figure out what makes her switch off like this?
And then, unable to help it, you send another text.
[9:10 PM] You: Is everything okay?
Dinner is a microwave affair tonight, not that you're really tasting any of it. You sit down to eat, your phone still within sight. That message never gets read either.
-
Leigh has always been unpredictable, but she has never actively avoided you like this before. She knows what she's doing, leaving your messages unread for the past three days. Just when you declare to the universe that you'd pursue her, she shuts you out completely. You can't even feel sorry for yourself; somehow, you brought this on, right?
When the day rolls around for Logan's next vaccine appointment, you catch yourself nervously checking the time more often than usual. But when the appointment time comes, a different Shaw brings him in. Jules holds onto Logan's leash as he excitedly sniffs every corner of the waiting room, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
“Hey,” Jules greets you, a bit out of breath from handling Logan's forceful tugs. “Leigh had some things to take care of, so I'm on Logan duty today.”
“Of course, no problem at all. How’s he been?” You try to keep your tone light as you kneel down to give Logan some attention, scratching behind his ears the way you know he likes.
“He’s been great, a real bundle of energy,” Jules replies, watching you with Logan. She hesitates before adding, “And Leigh’s been... well, you know Leigh.”
Actually, you think, you don't know Leigh—not as well as you thought. “Yeah,” you respond, looking up at Jules with a forced smile. “I know.”
After you administer the vaccine, the appointment passes with small talk, mostly about Logan’s antics and not much else. Jules is friendly but doesn’t venture into whatever might be happening with Leigh.
Just as you’re seeing Jules off, the clinic door swings open again. And you’re completely unprepared for the person who steps in.
“Hi,” Sara smiles at you, and then lifts the kitten in her hands. “Think you can help me with her, doctor?”
In a moment of unpreparedness, you cough awkwardly to cover your reaction, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “Hi, Sara,” you say, a bit flustered as you usher her inside. “What do we have here?”
“It's a rescue. Found her all alone by the roadside,” Sara explains, handing the tiny kitten to you with a concerned frown.
Jules catches the interaction, her eyes narrowing slightly—not missing how your entire demeanor changes around Sara—who is undeniably beautiful.
“Right this way,” you tell the blonde, leading her to the examination table. “Let's see what we can do for her.”
As soon as you and Sara are out of earshot, Suzie muses aloud, “They'd make a lovely pair, don't you think? If only Y/N wasn't so hung up on a widow…”
Jules stiffens slightly, her voice cool as she says, “And you are?”
“Suzie,” Suzie responds cheerfully, extending a hand to Jules with a bright smile. “Y/N’s assistant and friend. Nice to meet you.”
Jules shakes her hand, her smile polite but reserved. “Jules,” she responds tersely, omitting her connection as Leigh's sister. “So, what about Sara and Y/N?”
Well, Suzie can’t resist a juicy bit of gossip now, can she?
-
You don't usually pour yourself a glass of wine on a weeknight, but after today, you've cracked open a bottle that's been gathering dust for a year. Sara’s surprise visit at the clinic left you rattled. She had called you out for being distant after the two of you ran into Leigh one morning, and it embarrassed you how right she was. You hadn't been upfront about your emotional availability—or lack thereof—because of your feelings for Leigh.
When you finally admitted to Sara that you were in love with someone else, you braced for a fallout. But instead, Sara laughed, a light, carefree sound that took you by surprise. “I don't mind if you're emotionally unavailable,” she had said with a shrug. “I'm just looking for something casual.”
For a split second, her proposition—friends with benefits—was like candy being dangled in front of you: appetizing and readily available. But that conversation was at work, in the middle of your clinic, and the timing felt all sorts of wrong.
You let the moment pass without responding, and Sara backtracked a little with a noncommittal, “Well, you have my number. I really like you, Y/N. We can be friends, and if you ever need to…unwind, well, I can be your best friend.”
You're midway through your glass of wine when you decide to check your phone again, automatically opening the chat window with Leigh. It's almost become a habit, expecting your messages to remain unread. But this time, Leigh's avatar is right there under the last text you sent. She's read them. Today.
Why now?
Before you can dedicate the rest of your evening into that question, a knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. It's late, and you don’t remember ordering food delivery. You set your glass down and head over to see who it is.
Upon opening the door, you're greeted by a downcast brunette. She looks nervous, clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline.
“Leigh?”
“Hi,” she says, lifting her eyes to meet yours, searching your face for a reaction. As confused as you are, your heart kicks up a notch simply because she’s there, so close you could reach out and touch her. For a moment, you wonder if you're dreaming, if the alcohol is taking effect and conjuring up your desires right before you.
You notice the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s standing—a bit too rigid, like she’s bracing for something tough.
Clearing your throat, you start to ask, “Would you like to come—”
“Is she here?” Leigh interrupts abruptly.
You blink in surprise.
“Who?”
“Sara,” Leigh replies, her chin jutting forward. She attempts to peer past you, as if she might find the answer somewhere inside your apartment.
“No, she's not,” you say slowly, puzzled and a bit annoyed by her tone. “Why would she be?”
You can't hide your surprise at her directness, or the discomfort it stirs in you. It's a bit ridiculous, even rude, how Leigh has been avoiding you, leaving your messages unread, and now she's here, asking you about another girl without a preamble. Leigh doesn't wait for an invitation; she brushes past you and steps further into your apartment, her eyes searching every corner of the room.
“I thought you said it didn't work out with Sara,” she says, almost accusingly, turning to face you again. The way she's acting—like she has any right to demand answers about your personal life after days of silence—is starting to grate on your nerves.
You press your lips together, taking a deep breath to quell your rising irritation.
“It didn’t. She brought a kitten to the clinic today, that’s all. We're not seeing each other, Leigh,” you tell her. Although she did tell me she’s interested in sleeping with me, you nearly say aloud.
Leigh’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Then why did Jules…” she trails off, her expression falling as it finally clicks.
Jules lied to her.
“Jules…?” you echo incredulously. “What did she tell you?”
Leigh's confidence wavers even further as she says, “She... she said she met Sara at your clinic. Called her your girlfriend.”
You shake your head, exasperation seeping through your features. “Sara is not my girlfriend,” you repeat firmly. The situation is quickly becoming absurd, and you decide to push a bit, to get to the heart of what's really bothering her. “But what does it matter to you if she was?”
“It doesn’t,” Leigh replies in a flat, unconvincing tone.
“Then what are you doing here?” you ask gently, as if addressing a child mid-tantrum.
Leigh doesn't answer right away, her cheeks glowing red as she looks anywhere but you. She's clearly embarrassed by the entire ordeal, and you find yourself struggling not to smile at the implications of her visit. She's bothered by the idea of you with Sara because—
“Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.
“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.
“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you once more.
“No, I... maybe. I don't know,” she stammers, then sighs deeply, her shoulders slumping as she finally meets your gaze. “Yes, I guess I am. I don't like thinking of you with someone else. Is that answer enough?”
As you take another step forward, Leigh instinctively moves back, and this dance continues until she finds herself against a wall. You're close now, close enough to feel the tension radiating from her. Her back is pressed against the concrete, your body just inches from hers, effectively trapping her in the corner.
Leigh doesn’t know at which point she’s closed her eyes. Was it when she felt your breath whisper across her upper lip as you sighed, clearly as affected by the proximity as she was? Or was it when her back met the cool wall, the hard reality telling her she had nowhere else to go? Perhaps it was simply the anticipation, the tightening expectation of your lips meeting hers, the thought of surrendering to this—whatever this is becoming between you.
But then, two seconds pass. Five. Ten. Nothing happens.
The anticipated kiss doesn’t come.
When she finally opens her eyes, the question in yours is unmistakable. You’re near enough, she could just lean in, but you’re giving her a choice, asking without words if this is what she wants. And that’s when she remembers how she ended up at your doorstep. Leigh's mind reels, darting back to Jules' little lie. She's struck by the realization that Jules probably felt compelled to lie because Leigh had been inadvertently pushing you away, leaving a door open for someone else to step in. And if she keeps this up, it might be Sara who ends up here, against your wall, in your arms. The image stabs at her heart, jealousy tightening her chest.
No, she can’t let that happen.
Summoning a courage she didn’t know she had left, Leigh reaches out and gently takes your hand. She brings it to her face, pressing her lips against your palm in a kiss so tender it steals your breath. It’s a silent plea. A tender claim.
It's just a small kiss, simple and soft, but it rushes through you like wildfire, stirring feelings deeper and more intense than any long, drawn-out foreplay ever did. You realize just how much you've been holding back, shielding yourself from potential pain. But now, as Leigh's kiss sears into your palm, all those defenses seem pointless. With a fervor driven by weeks of restrainment, you close the distance entirely.
Your kiss lands on Leigh's lips with everything you have, as if this moment, this single kiss, might be your only chance. Yet, even in your urgency, there's a tenderness, a reverence in the way your lips carefully slot between hers. As you kiss, there's a meticulous attention to the details—the softness of her lips, the way they fit perfectly against yours, the gentle give when you press a little harder. It’s as if you’re trying to memorize her through this kiss.
Leigh matches your ardor, her fingers weaving into your hair, tugging you closer as if she can't get enough. You react instinctively, your hands sliding from her hips to her waist, lifting her shirt just enough to feel her skin beneath your fingertips. The slight pressure of your nails makes Leigh gasp, a sound that breaks the seal of your lips just enough for you to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past her defenses. The act draws a guttural moan from her—a sound that vibrates through your core, sending ripples of desire pulsating through your body.
It shouldn’t be this perfect the first time, but it is.
The kiss grows wetter, more urgent. It's selfish, a relentless chase of sensation where both of you are simultaneously taking and giving everything you have, until it feels like there's nothing left to offer. While Leigh’s tongue explores every inch of your mouth, her hands find their way to either side of your neck, fingertips lightly grazing your skin, sending tingles straight down your spine. Your own hands aren't idle. They roam up her back, feeling the smooth expanse of her skin under your fingertips. As you slide your hands upward, you discover something that emits a low groan from you—she’s not wearing a bra. A part of you, the rational part that's still functioning, slowly begins to recognize the gravity of what’s unfolding. It's too easy to get lost in Leigh, in the rush and the heat, but something stops you. You want this—more than anything in the moment—but it has to mean something. Because once you cross this line with Leigh, there's no going back to the uninhibited, distant longing you've managed until now.
Just as the thought crystallizes, Leigh breaks the kiss with a wet pop. Her eyes flutter open, slowly, lazily. Her gaze is unfocused at first, pupils dilated, the vibrant green of her irises almost swallowed by the black. Oh, she definitely wants you too.
“Why did you stop?” you murmur, your voice unmistakably laden with desire as you rest your forehead against hers.
A grin tugs at Leigh’s lips as replies softly, “I just wanted to see you.”
Your smile widens as her fingers absentmindedly play with the little hairs at the nape of your neck. She seems mesmerized by your eyes, now darkened with lust, and without thinking, she blurts out, “You really do have espresso eyes.”
Her words make you freeze in her arms. That nickname—it's the same one you use anonymously for your submissions to your favorite advice column. Maybe it's just a coincidence, right?
But Leigh's reaction a moment later suggests otherwise. Her face blanches, eyes widening in a sudden flare of panic as she realizes what she's just said.
“Y/N—” Leigh starts but you cut her off by stepping out of her embrace, your stance becoming guarded.
The warmth vanishes from your eyes. “What did you just say?”
#unbetad#my writing#my fic#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen#leigh shaw x reader#leigh shaw x female reader#leigh shaw#sorry for your loss au#leigh shaw x you#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility
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𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐦. .
. . these seven years would be pretty dumb.
// tws ; slight cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au
a/n: bubble gum by clairo :3
all you could think about was him.
your classmate with light and airy strands of porcelain white hair, akin to the color of an elegant swan’s feathers, all tied together daintily with a single thin vermilion red ribbon.
your classmate with those piercing honey speckled eyes which could see right through you, as if you were translucent.
your classmate who was always dozing off, whatever the reason may be.
your classmate who always managed to appear ethereal somehow, even after just sleeping.
your classmate, jing yuan.
you doubted he ever noticed you. he was always either dozing off quietly or caught up in chatting with fu xuan.
oh, you realized he was doing the latter right now.
fu xuan — more commonly known around the school as diviner fu — gazed up at jing yuan with her amber eyes, a serious shimmer in them. her lilac pink hair was divided into two neatly made ponytails, secured by four golden ji hairpins. they glinted in the bright, blaring fluorescence of the lights in the classroom.
jing yuan leaned down and she murmured something in his ear.
he returned to his usual standing position, now also wearing the same serious expression fu xuan was.
jing yuan glanced around the room, ochre eyes flitting.
you stared at him, curious.
his eyes landed on you, narrowing.
surprised, you panicked.
oh god. looking down would make it obvious i was staring at him. i could keep looking at his direction and pretend that i was looking at soemthing else? but what if he thinks i was looking at him? what the fuck do i do? oh, wait, he looked away.
never mind, he’s coming towards me.
oh fuck he’s coming towards me.
oh fuck. ohfuck. ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck-
"hey," jing yuan said, voice deep and a bit rough. he smiled slightly at you, immediately sending off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.
"oh. uhm, hi," you greeted, your voice light and airy, nervousness bubbling up. you had been a shy person all your life, and your crush randomly coming up and talking with you did not help in easing your nervousness.
jing yuan glanced back at fu xuan, who shook her head furiously at him, signaling something to jing yuan you were unaware of. he rolled his eyes, but decided to comply with her.
"sorry for, uhm, bothering you. i was just wondering if you had the notes we were supposed to copy down today? i kind of fell asleep, and fu xuan doesn’t have them, so i was wondering if you did," he mumbled, an excuse for why he came over to you.
"oh, uh, yeah, i have them," you said, rummaging in your backpack to find your notes. pulling them out, you handed them over to jing yuan.
"thanks," he smiled, "i’ll return them to you tomorrow if that’s okay?"
you nodded.
he nodded.
then he walked away.
you probably should’ve tried talking to him a bit more. maybe make small talk. oh, god, but what if he started thinking you were interested in him if you did that? that you were trying too hard?
yeah , you convinced yourself, mustering up an excuse for your own cowardice. maybe it was better you hadn’t.
--
you had gotten back home from school. setting your backpack aside, you immediately made a beeline for your room.
as soon as you shut and locked the door, you began hacking up fuchsia and créme colored bleeding hearts was how you spent most of your time now.
every night after dinner, or the few bites of food you ate that you thought as dinner now, you'd go to bed with your dove-white sheets pulled up to your neck and with burgundy blood and toxic red bleeding hearts pooled around you.
every morning, you’d wake up wondering if today would be the day he'd finally notice you, if he'd finally know you existed. of course, you knew it was just wishful thinking, but you still craved for him to notice you, to talk to you for more than ten seconds.
and thinking about him lead to wheezing up even more bleeding hearts. all stained vermillion with blood and slick with mucus.
it was the the same cycle over and over again. rinse and repeat.
how you yearned for it to end. but you knew the cycle — and your hanahaki — could only end in one way at this point — death.
you had discovered that you had hanahaki a little too late. now you couldn’t do the surgery without the abnormally big chance of dying.
if you were to die either way, what was the point of doing the surgery then?
--
your hanahaki had gotten worse over the last few weeks.
now you coughed up whole bleeding hearts, coated and stained so much in your blood to the point where the original color of the flowers was unrecognizable.
now you wheezed the damned flowers whenever you fucking laid your damn eyes on him . now you avoided looking up from your seat even more than you used to.
now you hacked up the fucking flowers to the point where you would fucking blackout.
now you wanted to die. wanted to be put out of your damn misery.
--
you wished you could talk to him, but every time you began to walk up to him, you overthought everything and backed out like the coward you were.
it was like you were trapped in some sort of time loop from a horror movie — only instead of running away from something terrifying, this was more of a endless cycle of you wanting to talk to him but never doing so, one that you didn't quite know how to escape.
maybe, just maybe you should try and talk to him.
..
maybe tomorrow.
#jing yuan x reader#♡ -- jing yuan#jing yuan#jing yuan x you#hanahaki#hanahaki au#modern#modern au#angst#hanahaki disease#light angst#high school#shy reader#tw slight blood#how to angst#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai#what to tag pls
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I'll Find You in the Next
Oh, we've got some angsty drabbles today and it hurts my heart strings. But I can never leave it that way. There will always be a happy ending for Abby if I get any say in it. 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes.
When Abby writes about that day, her faded, leather-bound journal settled on her iron thigh, it’s the faint sweetness of damp earth she remembers first. The way her boots sank into the muddy ground, as if nature itself was begging her not to go.
She recalls your chilly nose pressed against her neck, your gentle, rain-kissed hands unzipping her jacket to wrap your arms around her in an embrace you both knew prying eyes couldn’t steal.
The memory of those soft fingertips climbing the notches of her spine in hungry whispers, how seamlessly you fit against her body as she bound her sprawling hand against your lower back to pull you closer.
It’s an ache in her gut, the sensation of your lips as they trembled against the delicate curve of her ear, your words a lonesome spider weaving an intricate web woven deep into the chambers of her heart.
“You’re not coming back, are you?” you asked. “This is the last time I’ll get to hold you like this.”
Abby’s own voice sounded foreign to her, squeezing past the hot daggers in her throat. She held you so tight it extracted every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. She leaned back just enough to trace the contours of your face with her blurry eyes.
“Don’t say shit like that, okay? I’m right here,” she said. “I’ll always come back for you.”
“Anderson—shake it and let’s go!” a gruff voice bellowed from inside the Humvee. “We’re losing daylight!”
“You’re still my girl, yeah?” Abby whispered.
“I’m still your girl,” you said.
There was a hollowness and distance in your voice she’d never heard before. Her tone wobbled with panic as tears threatened to rival the downpour and drown her.
“Say it again,” she ordered, her grip on you unyielding. “I need you to say it again, okay? Don’t send me off wondering if I’ve got someone to come home to.”
The truck came alive with a sinister growl, a powerful rumble that echoed through the stillness of the morning air.
“Baby, please,” Abby begged.
Your body convulsed with sobs, causing your shoulders to shake. Desperate to hold herself together, Abby pressed her forehead against your cheek and longed for the comfort of your fingers tangled in her hair, just like they always did when she nestled into you.
When your hands completely withdrew from her, she nearly buckled to the ground.
“May your survival be long,” you said.
With a forceful tug, Abby clutched your belt loops and closed the distance.
“Stop,” she uttered with a disjointed huff. “Look at me, okay? Don’t do this. I promise I’m coming back for you.”
“Come on, Abby. He’s not going to let that happen,” you said.
“He doesn’t have a choice,” she chuckled humorlessly. “You think I'd let him come between us?”
You kissed her so hard sparks danced behind her eyelids. Her lips, icy and numb, melted into your warmth. In her arms, you were weightless, your whimpers harmonizing with the pink caress of dawn that teased the surface of her skin through the treetops. Tears mingled with the wetness of your tongue; a slick, salty tang that stripped Abby bare.
She’d taste you forever if you’d let her.
Against her jaw, you spoke, your cries muffled and fractured.
“I love you, Abigail. Please be okay out there," you said.
“Fuck,” she muttered, loathed to break away from you. It felt like goodbye.
With a swift pivot, you left her, forcing her to watch you walk away, twigs snapping under your footsteps. The heavy burden of sadness split her down the middle.
It took her years to gather the courage to confess her feelings for you. There was a void in her life, a dull emptiness, until you entered the picture.
“Six months will go by in a flash,” Manny said, his hand dropping to her shoulder in reassurance. The collective sorrow of her squad washed over her as their hearts ached in solidarity. “You will get through this.”
“She’ll never forgive me,” Abby sniffed.
You tried to convince her that Isaac’s actions were driven by a desire to separate you both, but she refused to believe his intentions were so cruel. Time and again, Abby demonstrated her unwavering loyalty as a soldier, willingly sacrificing her life to carry out Isaac’s whims. This was an important mission that sought to enhance the lives of everyone in the community, including you.
Surely, after everything was over, he would allow her the safety and tenderness of your affection.
Two weeks after she had left, Abby finally got her hands on a radio to stay in touch with you. She’d gone to drastic lengths to acquire it, willing to do whatever it took. Discovering that you had packed your bags and deserted the WLF, she felt an unparalleled agony that seemed to seep into her very bones.
She has been on a constant quest to find you ever since.
With a hushed thud, Abby closes her journal, revealing a weathered photograph of you, a treasured keepsake from days gone by—one thousand and ninety-five, to be exact.
Three long years since she last held your beautiful face between her palms.
With the pen spinning effortlessly between her fingers, she imagines palm trees swaying in the breeze. Perhaps you made your way to California, lured by the promise of endless sunny days.
The walkie talkie crackles at her hip, filling the room with static. Absentmindedly, she tucks the pen behind her ear and listens.
“Yo, Anderson, there's someone at the gate asking for you.”
The pressure of a brewing headache intensifies behind her eyes, prompting her to pinch the bridge of her nose in a feeble effort to ward it off.
The responsibility of managing a military base has proven to be a demanding task, leaving her in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Juggling the search for you and the responsibility of keeping the ship running smoothly, she hasn't had a good night's sleep in a long time.
“Who?” she asks, completely resistant to leaving her bed. “Light a fire under Manny’s ass. He can handle it.”
"Uh, Boss, that's not gonna happen.”
The moment Abby catches wind of a familiar voice reprimanding her squad mate in the background, an explosion of adrenaline courses through her body like a supernova.
#abby the last of us#abby tlou#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby x you#tlou abby#lesbian#abby anderson
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rainy day
summary: you are terribly unprepared for the weather, luckily your neighbor is dressed for a flood.
warnings: fluff, swearing
steve harrington x reader ✿ 976 words
There was nothing more soothing to you than the gentle patter of rain, splashing onto your bedroom window, a stream of light filling your room with the sunrise. So, when you woke up to a mist of rain spraying through your opened bedroom window, you knew it was a good day.
You got ready in a hurry, quickly throwing on clothes suitable for the weather, brushing through your hair, and practically running to the front door to slip on your shoes and grab an umbrella. It wasn’t until you tried to open your only umbrella on the front porch that you realized maybe today wasn’t going to be a good day.
“Well, fuck,” you muttered, the umbrella springs weakly flopping back down after you attempted to shove it open. You love observing the rain, being around it, not being drenched with it. From the looks of the outdoors, you were going to get drenched without an umbrella.
Looking from under the roof of your porch revealed an absolute downpour of rain. The rain came down torrentially, sliding off your roof visually similar to a waterfall rather than singular droplets. Given that your raincoat from last season didn’t fit anymore, and your umbrella decided to shrivel back up on itself, you were screwed.
Bracing yourself, you stepped out from the protection of the roof, immediately being hit by heavy water droplets. Living only half a mile from Hawkins High School was usually great until it meant you lived too close to be a part of the bus system. Today, you despised your proximity to the school.
Walking as quickly as you could manage, you marched through puddles of water that were practically ponds due to the uneven road, quickly feeling the weight of water as it soaked through your normally warm sweater.
You only managed to make it one block before hearing the voice of your only other classmate who had to walk to Hawkins too: Steve Harrington. He jogged up to you in an outfit that sent deep waves of jealousy through your soul. He looked uncharacteristically nerdy as he was readily equipped with rain boots, a rain jacket, and an umbrella. I wonder if he’s even found waterproof hairspray for the weather, you accidentally let out a small snort at that last thought.
Steve was nice, nicer than you expected him to be given his popularity and seemingly exclusive friend group. Despite the fact that you two never talked outside of school, you’d developed a relationship as friendly acquaintances due to your close living proximity and shared understanding of just how shitty walking to school every morning was.
When he meets you, Steve gapes. His eyebrows raise so incredulously that they almost meet his scalp. “Y/N! Did you forget your umbrella?” His breath fills the air with small, quick puffs of clouds, coming out in quick pants after running to catch up with you.
Continuing your pace, not wishing to be out in the rain for any longer than necessary, you and Steve fall step in step making your way toward school. Recalling the events of your morning, you gain a new twinge of frustration in your heart but nod nonetheless. A small frown sets in on your face, “something similar to that. It just wouldn’t open this morning no matter how hard I pushed upwards.”
“Gosh, I hate it when that happens,” he huffs out. “You know the last time we had rain like this, the same thing happened to me,” he gestures to his outfit, with his hand on his hip, “hence why I’m wearing this.”
You let out a small laugh, tossing your head back a little, after observing the ridiculousness of his outfit for the second time this morning. His rain boots look extra silly as you walk on the evenly paved main road, barely even submerging into any water as it readily went down the storm drains. “You know, I was wondering why you had so much rain gear on,” you laugh.
He looks up at you, and a look of embarrassment spreads across his face, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. He has to fight the urge to facepalm himself when he notices your rain-soaked hair. Here he was in every item of rain gear he could ever need while the rain pelted your clothes, gradually lengthening your sweater as the weight of the rain pushed it down your torso.
Without a word, he moved his umbrella to cover both of your bodies and the immediate coverage from the rain was relieving. However, you couldn’t tell if the warmth came from the end of the torrential rain pelting your clothes, Steve’s warm shoulder brushing up against yours, or the heat that crept up your face because of his thoughtful actions.
“Thank you,” you spoke quietly, slightly embarrassed accepting a thoughtful gesture. You’d always struggled with that.
“I figured I should put you out of your misery,” Steve laughed, his brown eyes and cheeks crinkling as a smile overtook his face. You two walked shoulder to shoulder as Steve made an effort to stay close enough to cover the two of you, although his raincoat would probably have him covered.
Walking shoulder to shoulder, you two gradually made it to Hawkins High School, mostly in comfortable silence as you enjoyed the sound of the rain, the tweets of morning birds, and the rustling leaves on overhanging green trees.
When you reached the school, you were filled with a comfortable warmth that you weren’t sure was from the relief of the umbrella or your thoughtful savior who was comically overdressed for a rain storm.
“See you around neighbor,” Steve waved in his oversized raincoat, a few droplets shaking off from the action, with a newfound twinkle in his eye you hadn’t noticed early this morning.
“Have a good one, Steve.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader fluff#stranger things#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington scenario
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hello ! i was wondering if you would be able to write a fic of Percy ( PJO ) befriending a child of ares reader ( or hypnos , either is fine ! ). If you are not able to, that is alright as well! Have a great day / night !
- 🗡️
hi 🗡!! of course I could! I did child of hypnos because I thought it was cooler and shit idrk ; also gave reader some little sleep powers cause why not ; have a good day/night to you as well! ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!
PERCY JACKSON ; slumbering demi-god
summary ; you meet good old Percy Jackson and helped him when he couldn't sleep
warnings ; language
disclaimers ; Percy is a little ooc but I was attempting to make him a little bit older (about 14-16 but no like danger or quests to go on yk)
word count ; 710
masterlist
"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry!" You exclaim, holding your shoulder after accidently walking into another camper.
"You're fine, sorry, that was my fault" He awkwardly smiles, "You okay?"
"Yeah, sorry"
"What's your name? I don't think I've seen you before?" The boy asks, pushing his curly blonde hair away from his face.
"Y/n" You answer, rubbing your eyes a bit, "Sorry, really drowsy this morning"
"You say sorry a lot"
"I know, jackass"
"Gods, okay, damn"
"Oh, yeah, I know Y/n" Annabeth nods, "They're a child of Hypnos, like, the personification of sleep and slumber"
Percy nods, humming in response. "So, like, they just sleep a lot?"
"They can make people sleep slash fall into a deep slumber on command, basically. But they have to sleep a lot to keep themselves charged"
"Huh, interesting," Percy shrugs. "Like how I just drink gallons of water every day to keep myself hydrated? And somehow I don't fall ill to water poisoning?"
"Yeah, something like that, Perc"
You roll your eyes, sending the young camper to sleep on command with a wave of your fingers. "Sorry, but I'm not dealing with cranky kids in the morning"
You sigh, retrieving outside to get a breath of air before heading to bed.
"Hey, Y/n!" You hear a slightly familiar voice call.
You quickly turn your head toward the source of the sound, that kid you bumped into earlier today. He still wears the same orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, his blonde curls a mess upon his head now.
"Hi?" You reply, more like a question if anything. "I don't know your name, so-"
"Percy" He answers, "So, like, you can make people sleep on command?"
"Mhm," You hum, "What? You need some sleep?"
Percy awkwardly rubs the nape of his neck with a sideways smile. "Uh, yeah. Kinda, yeah"
You softly smile, walking down to him. "You're lucky I'm not forcing you to sleep right here, Percy. Lead the way home"
He spins on his heels, leading you toward the Poseidon cabin, which he ran and was the only resident of. He welcomes you in, apologizing for the mess of empty water bottles across the floor.
"Gods, how much water do you drink?" You ask him, picking a few up to throw them away. You were not navigating through that whole maze at a time like this.
"Uh, a lot," He answers, not really giving a definite explanation. "Sorry for this, by the way. I just haven't been able to sleep recently-"
"It's fine." You shrug, tossing the empty bottles into the bin. "What I'm here for, right?" You smile, re-tying the drawstrings on your pajama pants. "You can like, lay down, unless you're planning to sleep on the floor"
He nods, climbing into his bed. Halfway through the motion, you wave your fingers, and into slumber, he falls. His blanket is halfway draped over him, his arm hanging over the side of the bed.
"Night-night, Percy"
"Y/n!"
"Hey, Percy"
"You couldn't have at least let me get covered?"
"I'd quiet down, Percy"
"You-" He groans, "You know what I meant"
"You wanted to sleep, no?"
"I meant you probably could've waited for me to actually get in my bed before spelling me to sleep with your fantasy fairy powers," He clarifies.
You shrug, leaning against the fence outside your cabin. "You got what you wanted, Jackson"
His eyebrows quickly furrow, "I never told you my last name"
"It's almost like you're a camp hero, dude" You playfully roll your eyes. "How'd you sleep?"
Percy opened his mouth to speak but was quickly stopped, realizing that you had the advantage here and he'd already lost.
"Good" He admits.
"Just good?"
"Great, actually"
"Will you be recommending my services to other people? On a scale of one to ten, how likely is that?" You ask, mocking some trivia at the end of an online therapy session.
"Oh, definitely an eleven. I'll get you more money and clients, don't worry."
"Yeah, sure, buddy"
"Buddy?"
"I'm testing the waters to see how much I can annoy you"
Percy sighs with a laugh choking him, "I like you Y/n"
"Yeah, you're cool, Jackson"
"Okay, that's just kinda creepy."
"Okay, that's too far but not buddy?"
#lowkeyrobin#gender neutral reader#gn reader#they/them reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#percy jackson x reader#pjo x reader#walker scobell x reader#walker scobell#gn! reader#pjo x gn reader
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Chapter 1: Your perfect life
Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.: 2.6k
Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.
Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!
Before to leave, this is a prologue of the main character and her situation, hope you like it...
Masterlist
follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics
Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics
The alarm clock rings and you open your eyes, smiling, "Good morning," you mumble, stretching an arm toward your shoulders, but the cold sheets behind you make you realize that Patrick has been up for a while already. You turn belly-up to the ceiling and think about your next photoshoot and smile. You love your job. You are a photographer and yours is not just a job, it has been a passion since you were a little girl.
You get out of bed and stretch with a whimper, barefoot you walk to the bathroom whose light automatically turns on, you get into your beautiful shower with glass doors and blue and light blue tiles, you shower and then you get out, you wrap yourself in a soft blue towel matching the bathroom walls and then you dry your hair. You put some makeup and then smile at yourself in the mirror with a satisfied air. You choose light-colored jeans, a light-colored T-shirt and your beautiful sneakers as your outfit. You walk out of your bedroom, make your way down the small hallway and down the stairs happy to be living this new day.
"Babe," you call out to your Patrick, but Patrick does not answer, he's usually in his office and works in smart working, but today he is not there, you go to the kitchen and there you find your beloved pancakes and next to it a post-it with a red rose ′In the office, see you later, love you′ you smile "I love you so much too." you whisper sniffing the red rose and smiling with your eyes closed.
You are happy. Your life is perfect, you lack nothing. You have a magnificent multi-accessorised house equipped with a central home automation system, you have a garden with a swimming pool, even a small spa corner. You have a wonderful man like Patrick, he is a lawyer who looks after the interests of small local construction companies and mostly works from home apart from when he has to attend some meetings with contractors; you love him very much, you met him when you were only sixteen and it was love at first sight, you then got engaged when you turned eighteen, you took different paths, but you always supported and loved each other, you never accused each other of anything either of being too absent or too present with each other. Last but not least, you have a job you love, you are a photographer, a good photographer judging by the many positive comments you have on your site and the dozens of requests you have every day, you also had a major contract for a fashion house two years ago and since then the requests have increased, of course you haven't had major contracts like you did then, but things are going well.
You have breakfast, get your house keys, then put on your sunglasses and go out. You could take the car, but today you really want to take a walk and enjoy the sun kissing the streets of New York, you'll take some public transportation and walk around a bit, it's good for you.
You smile, you're happy-- you repeat it to yourself until you convince yourself about it for today, too.
Your smile flickers and disappears when you get on the second bus; no, you are not happy. Patrick is sweet, he is perfect, you respect him and he respects you, but can you consider it love? By now your intimate moments are reduced to once, maximum twice a month and he always comes, you on the other hand pretend, you don't want to hurt his feelings. You masturbate all the time in the hope of mitigating this oppressive feeling of yours, to fill that emptiness you feel more and more deafening. Your home is beautiful, it is a wonderful shell that cradles and pampers you for your every need, but is that enough?
But your life is perfect, it's perfect like this, you don't need to look around or look for anything else to be happy, you tell yourself.
You get to your stop and get off, next to your photo store a cafe has opened a few months ago that makes fantastic donuts, and that morning you don't give up to sweeten your thoughts and soothe your nerves. You walk in and inside there is just the bartender Jake, a young man in his mid-twenties or thirties at most, and in the far corner a gruff-looking man who was hunched over reading maybe something or maybe he's answering an email, you have no idea. The man in the corner looks up, as you suddenly lower your gaze caught out, "Um…" you turn to Jake "good morning, a latte and a Blueberry Donut," you resume keeping your eyes downcast and barely breathing, you don't even know why you're acting this way, you've met dozens of people and exchanged hundreds of glances and now you're acting like a dumb little girl newbie.
"Here, consumption here as usual?" the young man asks you politely.
You shake your head, "No, thank you, I'm busy in the store," you reply, at that moment the man you had seen earlier in the corner flanks you, he is huge, massive, has thick dark curls, an irregular beard and a dark mustache, he is leaning with his forearms on the counter and at that moment he is the one looking at you, he smiles at you as if trying to make contact, you immediately look away staring down clearing your throat in embarrass.
Jake hands you the bag and makes you pay, then you leave without giving the charming stranger a glance. You almost run into your store as if to seek refuge within those four walls. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you feel as if you've gone crazy, but what's wrong with you? You've always been a proper young woman, and now you're acting like a crazy who runs away...
Someone knocks on your door, you turn around "W - who is it?" you ask.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," a voice tells you, "you forgot your cell phone on the counter at the bar."
Are you that far gone? That's great!
You open the door and you are confronted by the handsome mystery man, "Thank you." you reply, reaching out your hand as he hands you the cell phone in the palm of your hand "How did you know I was here?" you ask him doubtfully.
"I saw you fleeing here," he replies with a half-smile, "Everything okay? You seemed to be in a big hurry." he adds.
"Um…that is…I had to make a phone call," he nods "Luckily you found it, my mind is elsewhere since this morning!" you exclaim, smiling at the man with a low stare "Thank you."
"You're welcome!" he retorts "So, you own this beautiful place!" he exclaims again taking a step forward into the club, as you take one step back, he looks at you puzzled "Are you afraid of me?" he asks you.
"No," you reply, shaking your head.
"From the way you talk and the way you move, I'd say yes," he replies again "Take it easy, honey," he adds again.
Honey? How dare he?
"You and I don't know each other at all, sir!" you exclaim trying to regain control of the situation "Please, leave," you add backing away and touching with the back of your thighs the desk.
"It's okay, I'm sorry I scared you," retorts the man with his head down walking away.
You lean totally against the desk breathing deeply and realizing that you made a fool of yourself with that stranger, who knows what he must have thought of you!
The first customers and requests of the day distract you from your moment of commiseration. Luckly, you can easily forget for the moment the incident that happened. You think back about it in the evening, once you get back home, while waiting for Patrick and think that if you meet that guy again, you will have to apologize as you overreacted.
When Patrick comes home, he greets you with a big smile approaching you and taking you in his arms, you let yourself be cradled in his grip closing your eyes and thinking again that maybe with that stranger you had an overreaction since you were overthinking your relationship with your boyfriend. Patrick kisses you softly, he tastes of bourbon and sweetness, he makes you lie gently on the couch kissing your lips first, then your neck and chest still covered, you hear him moaning your name softly, while you try to restrain your thoughts, your doubts about you and him, you still want to not give up so, after all you and Patrick have been together for more than ten years, maybe it's just a little stress…
He, meanwhile, has already undressed himself and undressed you as well, without you even realizing it, he touches you between your legs, but you jerk in discomfort and pain, you are not even wet enough, you look at each other, you look at him almost with reproach, he instead has eyes full of lust, "I got it," he announces lowering his head between your legs and making them bend. Patrick has always been a disaster with oral sex, yes he makes you wet, but he's never known how to touch you in the right places in a way that makes you come, and tonight is no exception.
You are almost glad when he fills you, but not for the obvious reasons as much as for the fact that this way he will stop and embrace you and you can sleep.
It is horrible, you know that. He fills you repeatedly at an ever-increasing pace, you have yes little shivers of pleasure, but nothing that can be called really good or pleasurable, he comes a few moments later inside you. Thank God, you are on the pill to regularize your period!
You think back to when you as a young girl you would have loved to have a child by him, you remember that you wished he had blond hair like him and blue-eyed like him, but your own temper… today you think that if you had a child with Patrick, maybe you would have experienced it as a trap… that's a horrible thought too!
Patrick after intercourse, lays his head on your chest and asks "Did you like it?" and you textbook answer "Yeah, sure." then you feel him give you a kiss at your heart level and he relaxes completely, you can't sleep, you stare at the ceiling. You feel hot and a burning thought spreading inside you, is it true love?
The next day you wake up with a blanket on you and with a cup of coffee on the coffee table, you stretch out putting your feet on the floor and find Patrick's ever-present post-it note, "I'm at Black's company this morning, I'll be back tonight, love you xoxo" and the ever-present red rose next to it, you pick up the rose and smell it, but unlike yesterday you can't say I love you too, you place the red rose on the table with a long sad sigh and pick up the cup of coffee which you start sipping thoughtfully.
Your cell phone rings, it's Daisy "Hey doll!" you greet her smiling and putting her on speakerphone.
"Hi gorgeous, how are you doing? Are you already at work?" she asks you, you hear some buzz in the background so she's already around.
"No, I'm going later today. I have a request for a photoshoot for a wedding at noon," you tell her.
"Did they invite you to the party too?" she asks you.
You get up and take your phone with you continuing to talk as you head to the kitchen, "Well, I guess so, I'm their photographer, I'll have to do a complete shooting." you reply to her washing your coffee cup.
"And how are things going with Patrick?" she asks you again.
"Fine." you answer not too convinced "What's with all these questions? Did we wake up in detective mode this morning?"
Daisy laughs, "But no, silly, I'm just asking. Look, but why don't we plan a double date on Saturday? Me, you, Patrick and Jordan?"
"Fine with me, I want to hear from Patrick though."
"Oh!" you hear her snort "These men are so boring!" she exclaims making you smile.
"I know, but we love them for that too, don't we?"
"Yes…" now she's the one using a not-so-convinced tone of voice "So we'll talk about Saturday later?"
"Oh no, how silly!" you exclaim "Saturday there's the wedding, they're getting married in the morning, but the reception is in the early afternoon and then you know how these things go." you add "Sorry, my head's a bit elsewhere."
"Things always go well with Patrick, aren't they?"
"That's the second time you've asked me about Patrick, but do you know anything? So you make me worry!" you say sitting down at a stool in the kitchen.
"No, I just don't like your tone of voice very much. I mean, when we were kids and you were talking about him your voice would go up three octaves! Now it doesn't sound that way at all!"
"Well, Daisy, we were 17 when I was telling you about him and we weren't together yet, I think it's normal that I felt so much enthusiasm then for someone I were falling in love with! Things then change…"
"You mean for the worse?"
You don't answer right away as you don't know what to answer, Daisy has always been like that, a very observant girl who even by a tone of voice can tell when something is wrong and this morning is no exception.
"My friend, go to that wedding and find yourself a hunk, listen to me! If you have this tone of voice after only ten years…" continues Daisy "may I ask you a very personal question?" she adds again.
"Sure!"
"How are things in bed?" she asks.
"Let's talk closely about that, over the phone you know," you answer evasively.
"All right, then I'll meet you at the gardens in twenty minutes."
After exactly 20 minutes you and Daisy are sitting at the local coffee shop sipping good coffee, Daisy tells you about her latest purchases and fashions as if you then don't know or understand much about them, then Daisy asks you again, "So how are things in bed with Patrick?"
"Let's just say … things aren't going very well, he tries, but I don't like it."
"What? Sex or sex with Patrick?" she asks again.
"Does it matter?"
"Well, I'd say it does!"
You snort, "I dunno…I'm a little uncomfortable talking about it. He tries," you repeat, "but I can never come." you admit, as Daisy almost looks at you with bulging out eyes "Please don't look at me like that I already feel weird enough!" you add feeling really guilty about it.
"No, no, I'm sorry…it's just that I thought things were getting better, you already told me about it a year ago and I thought that in the meantime the situation had been changed in better! I didn't think things would continue to go so bad," she justifies her insistence.
You sigh sadly, "The truth is that every day I tell myself that my life is perfect, that I don't lack anything, that I am healthy, I have a good job, I have a man by my side … however, it is not enough for me, I mean, I would like more, I would like to try something again! I'm fine with Patrick, but by now we've established a flat beautiful routine, he makes me breakfast in the morning leaving me a post-it note with a rose and goes to work, I get up, wash, get dressed, have breakfast, go to work, come back, go to the pool, wait for him and…" you sigh heavily "twice a month we do it, but…" you shake your head "each time I don't feel anything but chills, but I don't feel what I felt the first few times with him."
"Oh my God." she says, shaking her head "Do you at least … I mean, do you touch yourself or not even that?" your friend asks you.
"I have a sex toy hidden in the back of my drawer, I'm ashamed of it, but…" you start to say, but Daisy's laughter and her shaking her head interrupt you "Why are you laughing?"
"At least the sex toy kept you from killing Patrick!" she exclaims.
A giggle escapes you, "Silly,"
Daisy squeezes your hand, "I can't tell you what you should do, but think about it. Seriously think about it, my friend." you curl your lips into a little grimace, "Well, I hope at least something happens at this wedding! I mean, maybe you either find a toy boy or maybe someone really nice to have fun with or maybe still something to shake up this your perfect boring routine." she says spelling the last five words.
"Dummy, I'm going to work, not to hook up," you remind her.
"Well, never say never." she tells you with a mischievous look that makes you smile and shake your head, your friend is just crazy.
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel tlou#joel miller hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us hbo#joel miller self insert#the last of us#joel fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#smut#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel x you#joel miller fic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic
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Solstice Gifts
Baby's first Feysand! | Ao3
[Feyre loves buying Solstice gifts for her family, but this year she might have been outdone.]
Eternal thank yous and forehead kisses to @tunaababee @cauldronblssd and @witch-and-her-witcher for just being the most wonderful humans and beta reading and encouraging me to post this.
Solstice in Velaris was the most lovely time of year, and no matter how much time Feyre spent here, she doubted she’d ever grow tired of it.
The snowy streets were covered in faelights, all twisted into beautiful shapes and hanging from the signs and light posts. There were long strings of them criss-crossing over The Rainbow and casting all the snow and shops in an ethereal glow. Complex smells of cinnamon, clove, freshly baked breads, rosemary, and mulled ciders cascaded from the storefronts, their windows decked in boughs of holly and fir and their doors hung with mistletoe.
Feyre was hurrying back to the River House, late as usual, with the last of her gifts.
She’d been mostly organized this year, but Nesta’s gift had ended up taking longer than expected, and of course today was the first time she’d been able to sneak off to grab the little Illyrian leathers with space for wings that would fit an almost-four year old.
She’d gone a little overboard on gifts this year, but it was hard to not spoil those she loved now that she had the means. Old habits die hard, and she too-vividly remembered the years that she and her sisters had stoically ignored the Solstice happening at all, not even a candle lit in the windows to be spared. So now, when things had changed so vastly in the last seven years, she would fully use every bit of means at her disposal to shower everyone with gifts they would love.
Nyx was six now, somehow, the years flying by in a rush that she tried and failed to stop like grabbing whitewater in her hands. Rhysand reassured her constantly, a laugh on his lips, that though time was flying, they still had centuries together, and there was no need to beg for more. Another thing she had trouble letting go of in her immortality–the idea that things were good now, and there was no time limit on it. Things could be happy and productive and peaceful like this for centuries more. But Feyre still had trouble allowing hope for good things to bloom in her heart, despite feeling beyond blessed in all ways.
She shuffled the bags in her arms–she’d had to stop for some last-minute pastries, too. What good was a solstice birthday if she couldn’t eat whatever she wanted? The smells on the way to the leather-smith had been too good to resist, and she was crazed for the pistachio croissants with the bergamot filling that the bakery beside Rita’s had this time of year.
She quietly snuck the front door open, hoping to slip in quietly and unnoticed by her houseguests. Mor, draped in her normal gorgeous finery, strode through the foyer, lifting a brow that surely must be genetic, and before tipping her head back to laugh at Feyre.
“You’re just as bad as Rhys, you know? I saw him coming back not twenty minutes ago.”
Rhys, that weasel.
Feyre wondered what he’d been off plundering after amusedly lecturing her this morning about sneaking out last minute for more presents. She ran the bags upstairs, ditched her coat, and wrapped the leathers quickly in the celebratory packaging she’d picked up last month in their guest bedroom before scurrying back down the stairs. She’d arrived just in time, everyone present in the sitting room as Nuala and Cerridwen announced the dinner was ready. Luckily, she’d had the foresight to prepare before going to grab the gifts, her long midnight-blue dress swaying luxuriously around her feet, the gossamer sleeves like a soft embrace along her arms. She’d definitely gotten used to wearing pretty clothes in the time she’d spent in Velaris, though most days, she still dressed for comfort. She’d left her hair down and lightly curled, compulsively tucking a strand behind her ear as she entered the dining room. Elain had helped prepare the Solstice meal and cake, as she insisted she do every year, and Feyre had to admit it all looked mouthwatering, as always.
Rhys pulled her seat out for her as she walked up, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head as he pushed her in.
“Last minute shopping go well?” He murmured against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine and goosebumps down her arms. He knew it, too, and she turned to scrunch her nose at him as he laughed.
“I hear you’re one to talk, hypocrite.” He held his hand to his chest feigning offense, then sent her an absolutely world-shattering smile as he moved to take his place.
A crash in the hall sent Feyre’s eyes to the doors, followed by Nesta’s bellowing.
“Hey! Wings closed indoors! You know the rules.” Giggles abound as Nyx and Aife came into the room, leaning into each other and cackling as they took their seats. They were only two years apart and thick as thieves. Though Nesta and Feyre would never admit it aloud, seeing their children close as they’d never had the opportunity to be as children had healed something between the two of them that had once felt depthless.
Nyx pushed midnight-black hair from his eyes as he looked to Feyre.
“Mom, can we go play with our presents after we open them tonight? I promise I’ll go straight to bed after.”
“I don’t see why not. Nesta, are you all staying the night tonight?” Nesta looked to Cassian and nodded.
“I think so. Aife and Nyx are going to be here all day tomorrow anyway during the snowball fight. We might as well.” She gave a pointed look to Cassian, who grinned wolfishly. Feyre could hear Aife whispering to Nyx.
“Who’s going to win this year?”
“Uncle Az. It’s always Uncle Az. He says our dads are old now.” They both giggled and Feyre cracked a smile, shooting the conversation down the bond to Rhys, whose eyebrows lifted as he shot her an amused smile as if to say we’ll see.
They tucked into the great feast, a large roast the centerpiece, surrounded by offerings of ham and turkey and too many sides to reasonably name. Feyre loaded her plate with the most buttery mashed potatoes she’d ever tasted, one of Elain’s specialities that Feyre always requested for special occasions, as well as a basil and tomato tart, baked to crisp perfection by Nuala.
She remembered a time when she’d hated her birthday, and while she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention, she surely would celebrate now if only for the delicious foods she got to have. She couldn’t beat the company either, her blood and chosen family all seated around the table, laughing and loving and enjoying themselves in her home. A decade ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d tried to describe this possibility, and it wasn’t lost on her how much luck and fate had stepped in to make things as they were.
++
Stuffed to the brim and with the gift exchange behind them, Feyre slumped onto the couch. The kids had been spoiled beyond reason, the piles of gifts higher than the chairs surrounding them.
Nyx and Aife had begged Az, Cass, and Lucien to bring them outside to practice with the new bow and arrow sets, courtesy of Elain and Lucien’s recent trip to the Day Court. As the official “Uncle Troupe”, as they’d so ridiculously named themselves, they felt it would have been in poor taste to decline. Feyre pulled her feet up onto the couch and laid her head back. It had been a busy few months, though things were finally, blessedly beginning to smooth out. They’d been able to delegate a bit more recently, and it certainly helped their workload.
Elain had gone back to the kitchens to help clean up and exchange gifts with the twins before they took off for the evening, leaving Feyre to relax for a bit while Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor sat at the table with sweets and coffees chatting. Amren and Varian had skipped the party this year in favor of a trip to Summer, as they now alternated holidays between courts. While she’d never taunt Amren to her face about it, Feyre secretly loved how domesticated she’d become in the time she’d known her, settling down while still claiming that ancient power hummed through her veins.
She felt Rhys sit down by her feet, his presence always noted by her magic immediately twining with his. At any given time, she could feel where he was, the power soaring back and forth between them like a current. The depth of love between them was fathomless and deep, and she’d never quite get over the fact that she had him all to herself, hers and hers alone, for the rest of her life.
He picked her feet up in his hands, shuffling them over to his lap and giving them a squeeze.
“Tired, darling?” His voice was a low rumble as he leaned against the back of the couch, settling in.
“Exhausted. I love the holidays, but I would also love a solid two days of sleep.” He laughed, his smile lighting up the room as she lifted her head to peek at him. “Did you enjoy your Solstice gifts?”
She’d bought him a device she’d found at one of the shops in Day Court on a summer visit to Elain and Lucien months ago. Duty had them back and forth between courts now, and Feyre couldn’t deny the love she had for any excuse to get to the shimmering beaches of Day. She’d found it nestled in the back of a tinkerer’s store–a handheld device that rolled over clothes, enchanted to remain sticky, and pulled any lint or fuzz from them.
“It’s only my favorite thing I’ve ever owned,” Rhys quipped immediately. She laughed, closing her eyes again and poking him in the side with her toe. He gripped it in his hands and threatened to tickle her. “How about you, love? Get everything you wanted?” Feyre paused, but didn’t open her eyes. She should say yes. She should feel like she had everything she wanted, but there was just one thing missing, and unfortunately it was something she couldn’t have.
“Hey lovebirds, we’re heading out!” Mor called across the room, her arm around Emerie’s.
Feyre sat up to say goodbye. “So early?”
Mor chuckled and Emerie elbowed her in the ribs. “Solstice plans of our own,” Mor said, waggling her brows at Rhys and giggling as he rubbed his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Alright, then.” He slapped his palms on his thighs, laughing and ending the conversation as Emerie blushed about ten shades of red, still not quite used to the way this family spoke so openly about things. Feyre stood to hug them both.
“We’re so glad you came. Feel free to drop in any time tomorrow. We’ll be here all day.”
Gwyn and Nesta had gone to join their mates and the children out on the illuminated training ring in the yard, leaving Feyre to slip back down onto the couch, this time scooting closer to Rhys and leaning her body against his. He was always so warm and solid, her touchstone in times both trying and lovely. He always smelled like oranges and the sea–the smell of Velaris, of home, tied intrinsically with his. She nuzzled closer, his arm finding its way around her waist as he settled too.
“Everything okay, darling?”
She hummed noncommittally. She hated that even with all this joy, all these gifts, all this family, she still couldn't shake the thought that something was missing, incomplete.
“Can you believe this is Nyx’s sixth Solstice?” She felt Rhys soften beneath her, realization creeping down the bond from his end, followed by a burst of soothing love and affection.
“He's incredible, isn't he? What are we going to do when he learns how to use that bow accurately?” She laughed.
“Truly, it's the inaccurate use I'm more worried about.” His breath ghosted her ear as he chuckled, sending those light shivers scurrying back along her spine.
Things got quiet, then. She knew it would take very little for Rhys to understand what she was thinking, if he didn't already intrinsically know. Even without the bond, even without the daemati powers, there was really a moment he wasn't able to read her like a wide open book.
“He's so big now…” she let her voice drift off, trying to hide the hurt in it and failing miserably. As always Rhys filled in the gaps.
“He’s wonderful. We made a really wonderful child, Feyre. He’s everything I never even dared to hope for for myself. I never thought such joy was possible for someone like me. You know that he’s the greatest gift you ever could have given me, right?” She felt the tears burning behind her eyes, and she took in a deep breath as she felt him press a kiss to her temple.
“I know.” Her voice was just a wobbly whisper, quiet in the room.
“And if he’s the only one we ever have, it’s more than enough for me. I need to know you know that, Feyre.” She nodded furiously, the big tears slipping down her cheeks now, burning hot tracks as they descended.
“I can’t even explain it. It just feels like someone else should be here.” He pulled her tightly against him, resting his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
“And maybe, someday, they will be. But if the three of us are all we ever have, it’s more than enough. It’s everything to me.” She couldn’t hold back the sobs then, turning to bury her face in his chest as she cried.
It had been two years since they’d decided things had evened out enough that another child was even an option for them. They’d been casual about it at first, enjoying themselves and giggling in the dark under covers as they talked about the possibilities of the future. She missed Nyx’s tufts of baby curls, that new infant smell that seemed to cling to him always then faded abruptly away after he hit one year. She missed the snuggles and the closeness, and her heart ached to watch how wonderful he was with his cousin without knowing if she’d ever be able to give him that gift as a big brother.
Realistically, she knew all the logic. It could take fae decades to have a child. It wasn’t always going to be as quick as it had been with Nyx. He’d come quickly, but the consequences, as everyone remembered, had been disastrous and near-fatal. She’d never even considered the possibility of it being a problem again when Nesta informed her she’d changed their anatomy, but she’d never considered that she might be the one having the problem. Part of her wondered if the absolute massacre of her body bringing Nyx into the world was responsible–her tissue mangled and her blood spilt and her spirit eking into the ether, only to be yanked back and mended together at the last possible second. Could it have damaged her irreparably, the anatomy be damned?
“Nothing is your fault, love. Not one bit of it.” He held her to his chest as her cries subsided. “And it’s okay to be upset about this. You don’t have to hold everything in all the time. There are no prizes for stoicism.” She snorted at him, and he huffed amusedly at her.
“Pot, meet kettle,” she shot back wetly. He smiled softly as she sat back to look at him, a little of the life returning to her as well.
“You’re a lovely mother, and our boy thinks you’ve hung the stars and moon above Velaris, even if he is getting old enough to wield a weapon. A little sibling won’t ever change that. Plus, I get the impression Aife isn’t going to be his only cousin.” She sighed, nodding, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s just hard not to feel like I’ve done something wrong. I know how badly you want another, how badly I do. It’s hard not to wonder.” He took his hands in hers.
“I meant it when I told you that you and Nyx, you are the gifts. Our family is absolutely lovely the way it is now. If we’re meant to grow it one day, we will, and if we aren’t, believe me when I tell you I am absolutely over the moon for the way things are now.” She couldn’t help but kiss him then, the stars reflecting in his violet eyes taking her breath away, as they always did. “Plus, I never mind practicing with you.” She smacked him across the chest as he grinned broadly and wickedly at her, hauling her into his lap in response as she yelped.
If anything, Rhys knew how to chase away her tears better than anyone else ever had or would.
Just then, the parlor doors opened and Elain stepped through.
“Oh, just the two I was looking for! I’ve got one last gift for you both, but I wanted to wait until the right moment.” She ducked back through the doors momentarily, reappearing with a small, neatly wrapped parcel as they stood. She flounced lightly up to them, setting the little bundle wrapped in delicate yellow paper in Rhys’s hands.
“Elain, you didn’t need to get us anything else. You already gave us such lovely gifts and you made dinner.” Elain blushed, still the demure lady after all this time.
“Consider it a double gift.” She whispered as she leaned in conspiratorially. Rhys pulled back the paper and pulled out the tiniest, knitted pink blanket.
One beat, two. The silence hung in the room as Elain smiled wide.
“I just saw last week, but I wanted to make you something to let you know in a way that was special.”
Feyre’s hands shot to her stomach, and Rhys began to cry, turning to her and holding her close while still looking at Elain.
“Now?” Feyre asked, incredulously.
“Probably only about a month along.” Elain smiled again. “I knew with the wings and everything last time, you’d want to get in to see Madja as early as possible.”
Feyre was sobbing into Rhys’s chest again, his tears dripping down into her hair. Feyre felt him reach out to Elain and pull her into the embrace.
“Thank you, Elain. Thank you so much.” She pulled back, laughing lightly again.
“I’ll leave you both to it then. I gotta get little lady’s cousin and uncle home safely.” She put a hand to her own stomach, winked, and went towards the back to grab Lucien before Feyre and Rhys could even register her news. He grabbed her face in his hands, pressing kisses to every inch of her face.
“I love you, more than anything.” Feyre laughed, the sound breathless and airy. She couldn’t take her hands off her stomach, the joy pulsing through her veins with every beat of her heart.
A daughter.
“I have one more gift for you, too, actually.” He reached into his back pocket to withdraw a small, navy velvet box, pressing it gently into her hands.
Her eyes shot to his. “You didn’t need to get me something else.”
“Open it.” His smile was wide open, his entire heart spelled across his face like stars across the night sky.
Feyre cracked open the box and couldn’t help the flood of tears that began anew. Nestled in the soft velvet was a silver necklace, a charm of a large crescent moon with two small stars dangling down off of it.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.” He smiled. “You’ve been getting those pistachio pastries all week that you liked so much last time. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared with one more last minute gift.” She took it out, turning to let him put it on her. He let his hands graze across her neck as he dropped them while she turned in his arms.
“Beautiful.” He murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.
“Thank you, Rhys. I love it. It’s been the best Solstice ever.” Her smile was broad and teary, but she felt the joy all the way down to the very fibers of her immortal heart.
“Thank you, Feyre. For all of it.”
And nothing in all of Velaris could hold a candle to the joy radiating back and forth down the bond between them in that moment as their lips met quietly again this Solstice.
#feysand#feysand fic#actoar#solstice gifts#rhys x feyre archeron#fever-induced writing#tooth rottingly sweet fluff
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Mistress @owner-of-pet-slut-chrissy often has me do writeups about our playtimes because they might embarrass me, but today She wants me to write up a punishment so that everyone can see how good and compliant Her pet is.. it started out yesterday morning with a chat we were having before i was going out for coffee with friends, She was horny and telling me how She would have me dressed while doing chores for Her.. double dildo panties with the lush also in my pussy, the chastity belt locked over the panties, wearing my tack bra under my tight vinyl teddy, my highest heels, wrist cuffs with bells on them and a gag.. the lush would be on sound mode and She was thinking about how i would do while vacuuming! She was getting more and more turned on, then told me perhaps that should be my outfit for going out to coffee.. i started to panic as She was laughing, saying She would be generous and not make me wear the wrist cuffs or gag.. my mind was racing when She said i could choose two other items to remove. i was trying to think but couldn’t, definitely the heels because of the weather but couldn’t decide what else, i was getting so flustered and couldn’t choose, She told me to hurry or it would just one item. i guess i started overthinking and ruined the moment.. She finally said that She just wanted to see what my choices would have been, that She had another outfit chosen for coffee
i knew Mistress was a little disappointed with me, it was on my mind all day yesterday. during the evening i ended up breaking a rule too .. not a major rule but still a rule. i confessed to Mistress and i know She was disappointed in me for a second time in one day.. i had offered to do some corner time for the first disappointment which She accepted, and when i woke up this morning i found out what my punishment was to be for breaking the rule.. today i was to wear the complete outfit with all the accessories we had talked about yesterday, everything! and i was to do at least 40 minutes of chores while dressed..
i wanted to do my best to make it up to Her.. it was so intense and it wasn’t long before i was whimpering, with every movement the bells on my collar and my wrist cuffs made noise and the lush responded, the painful feeling of the tack bra was constant, and both of the dildos were giving me a continuous fucking.. i don’t know how i did it but i did! i took a lot of breaks as i did some dusting and putting things away, a little bit of vacuuming then mostly working quietly on paperwork.. i managed to make it to 53 minutes but it was so worth it when Mistress told me She was proud of me and called me a good girl. thank You to Mistress for being my Owner, i will trust You and try not to overthink as much
a short update. Mistress knew that i was left frustrated and horny, and just rewarded me with a playtime.. as She teased me with the pulsing wand and the lush we talked about what it would be like to go out in public wearing that full outfit, perhaps even adding the wand harness under a short skirt.. we both had 4 wonderful orgasms
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Bruce’s #1 Fan
By Stan Goldstein
Seven years ago today, May 1, 2017, Bruce Springsteen's "Fan No. 1" Obie passed away. If you don't know who Obie was, she was Bruce's most loyal, dedicated fan. She had the same seat/spot for every show she attended: front-row center (per Bruce's wishes). She closely followed his various bands starting with Child in the late 1960s, eventually becoming his cook and personal assistant (Steve Van Zandt's too) and, most famously, a lifetime front-row-center invitee. In a world in which "superfans" are often infamous, Obie was merely legendary.
There was a memorial service for Obie a few days after she passed at a funeral home in Asbury Park and Bruce gave one of the eulogies. Here's what he said:
Well I'm the guy that Obie spent a big part chunk of her life dedicated to. Being the focus of that attention was pretty challenging very often. Obie was quietly demanding. I didn't know I was going to speak today so I'll just give you some memories I have of O.
First time was at West End Park. We were playing next to Howard's movie theater, and one beautiful summer afternoon, I remember this girl sitting there with the flag around here. So right from the beginning she just looked different from everybody else. Obie was a misfit, outsider, a rebel and didn't look like nobody else, didn't talk like anybody else, didn't think like anybody else. She was just a unique character. And everything that the word fan connotes in all of its myriad, strange, bizarre and wonderful ways. She was a Fan-atic, she was Fan-tastic. She was deeply, deeply dedicated.
Obie's taking more than a few of my secrets with her right now. We lived very, very close to one another for a long time. And I had chicken and grapes! And I had chicken and bananas, chicken and peaches. She covered the fruits and the chicken completely.
What can I say, she was always a heartful soul. She was dedicated to me that if a bullet came my way she would be there to catch it. There was a deep, deep and very personal connection and love. I feel honored to have the seed. And what can I say, I loved Obie a lot. I'm going to miss her very badly when I get out there on the stage, that front and center spot will be empty. We love you O.
To read more about Obie, here's something I wrote that was posted on the Backstreets news page shortly after her death: (Sorry, this is another long post)
REMEMBERING OBIE DZIEDZIC, "FAN NUMBER ONE"
It was about 1:30 a.m. on Sunday, September 23, 2012 at MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band's Saturday show had crept into Sunday morning due to delays from thunderstorms, giving the 55,000 fans a chance to celebrate Bruce's actual 63rd birthday with him. A giant birthday cake was brought out, everyone sang "Happy Birthday," and Bruce then cut the cake. He brought the first piece to Obie Dziedzic, who was in her normal spot, front and center.
"The first piece goes to Obie, our first fan, right there, " said Steven Van Zandt.
Bruce followed with, "Obie, we love you. Obie was following us when we were 16. We love you, O!"
It was a special moment, one of hundreds Obie shared with Bruce Springsteen for more than 45 years — actually starting when Bruce was 18, not 16, but it sure seemed that way. Bruce called her his "first fan" and "Fan No. 1."
Obie Dziedzic — pronounced "Je-zitz," to answer a question she was often asked — passed away early Monday morning after being ill for the past couple of months. She was a friend to not only Bruce and the E Street Band, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, but to musicians and music fans around the world.
Obie, known as "O" to her close friends, grew up in Long Branch, NJ and loved music. She attended tons of shows at Asbury Park's Convention Hall, seeing The Rolling Stones, The Doors, The Who, and so many more in the 1960s. But it was one afternoon in 1969 at Long Branch's West End Park, which is still there today at the corner of Brighton and Ocean avenues, that she first saw the young musician who would change her life forever.
"There he was, this Adonis," Obie once told me. It was a then-18-year-old Bruce Springsteen leading the band Child.
Obie saw rock and roll future even before Jon Landau. Right away, she was drawn to this talented, handsome musician and made sure to see him perform anywhere and everywhere. Later when Bruce was in Steel Mill, Obie would bring pizzas to the surfboard factory in Ocean Township, NJ, where they were living. Yet she was too shy to stick around until she got to know Carl "Tinker" West, Steel Mill's manager, who befriended her. Soon she was friends with Springsteen, Van Zandt, Vini Lopez, Danny Federici, and many other musicians. She attended every Steel Mill show she could, standing in line for hours to make sure she was at the front of the stage.
Obie was a fixture at the Upstage in Asbury Park. She later saw Dr. Zoom and the Sonic Boom, and she was there the night Clarence Clemons walked into the Student Prince in Asbury Park to play with Bruce for the first time in 1971. She would drive Bruce to those Student Prince gigs too, although she said on Saturday nights she did have to watch The Mary Tyler Moore Show first.
Driving around the Jersey Shore with Obie was always a treat, as she had so many stories to share. "See that there? It used to be a Carvel," she said, pointing to a building on Ocean Avenue in Long Branch. "That's the place where Bruce told me he had his first album coming out. Garry Tallent used to live in those apartments right across the street." When Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. was released in January of 1973, Obie found an autographed copy left for her on her doorstep.
When Bruce started to tour with the E Street Band in the early 1970s, playing some theaters, Bruce made sure she was still always up front, promising her, "Obie, whenever and wherever I play, you will always have the two front-row center seats." It was a promise Bruce always honored, for more than 40 years. When Bruce and the E Street Band used a general admission setup on the floor, his security director made sure Obie was in her normal front-row spot. She always wanted to be on the same side as Bruce and Steve.
She had one firm rule. She did not want Bruce to know she was at a show. She wanted to surprise him when he took the stage. At the April 20, 2016 show in Baltimore that I was fortunate to attend with her, we made a little bet on how long it would take Bruce to see her. It was one of Obie's first show since that 2012 birthday show. I said second song; she said not until a few songs in. We were both wrong. When Bruce took the stage, he made eye contact with her immediately. A huge smile lit up his face. It was a thrill to watch this bond between the two of them. You can hear Bruce give many shout-outs to Obie on the live recordings from over the years.
Bruce's former tour manager Bob Chirmside shared this post on Facebook:
For the five years I worked on the road with Bruce Springsteen as his road manager we held two front row tickets for Obie at every show. And I mean every show! Promoters knew better than to screw this up. Everywhere from Philly to San Diego those two seats were held by Bruce according to his wishes and the band's rider. It was always good to see Obie in those seats, and it put a smile on Bruce's face having a special someone to play to. Bruce couldn't have asked for a more loving fan. But Obie was much, much more than a fan. During the time I lived with Bruce, Obie altered and sewed his clothes, did errands, and made Bruce his meals. Obie took incredible care of him. Obie loved Bruce and got to see a side of him that few of us rarely do. On a side note. If you're wondering what happened to the front row tickets if Obie didn't attend. Well, 15 minutes before the show began, I quickly exited the venue and gave the tickets to someone that wasn't able to buy tickets. Most people couldn't believe it was for real. It felt good to put smiles on faces. Thank you Obie for the good memories!
"She was hired by Steven first. He needed an assistant at Miami Productions, and he hired her in 1975 when the Jukes got signed and recorded their first LP," said Billy Smith, a historian and Obie's longtime friend. "Steve needed someone at home in Asbury Park to run things while he was touring with Bruce. While she followed Bruce's tours as a friend/fan from the beginning, she didn't work for Bruce until the Darkness tour in 1978. On the road she did everything: coordinated guest tickets, sewed their clothes, cooked, etc. Anything that needed doing, she did it. A personal assistant to everyone."
If you listen to Southside Johnny's live version of "Having a Party," you'll hear the line, "Obie's doing the twist."
Not only did Obie help out Bruce, Steven, and Southside, she was there for John Eddie, John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band and others when they were first starting out. She was a fixture on the Jersey Shore bar scene in the 1970s and '80s and always, always friendly to fans. You could go right up to Obie and talk about music, Bruce, Southside. She was also close friends with Peter Wolf.
When the discussion comes up as to who has seen the most Bruce shows outside of Bruce himself, the answer is pretty easy: Obie. She was there for all 10 nights of the legendary Bottom Line shows in August of 1975. She even drove Bruce to some of those shows. "We hit traffic on Route 36 in Eatontown headed out toward the Parkway and I was a mess," Obie told me. "But Bruce was as calm as could be."
Obie, who lived for the past 16 years in Neptune, New Jersey, never gave an interview; her loyalty was 100 percent to Bruce. She was never, ever going to say anything which might upset him. She had, however, been working on a book, which sadly will never be written now. I was fortunate to have her read to me some of the stories that she was going to include. They were a delight to hear: How she and Bruce would go to the drive-in movie theater In Eatontown, New Jersey, and put a sofa in the back of his white pickup truck and sit back and enjoy the night. Another was when she was helping Bruce move into a house on Navesink River Road in Middletown in the early 1980s — she swears she saw and talked to a ghost!
Bruce mentioned Obie in his recent autobiography, Born to Run. He told the story how she was with him and Steve and Maureen Van Zandt when they weren't allowed in Disneyland or Knott's Berry Farm in the early 1980s because Bruce and Steve were wearing bandanas.
He also gave Obie credit for helping him select one of two versions he had of "Racing in the Street." Bruce told this story before playing it at the April 22, 2005 Devils & Dust show at the Paramount Theatre in Asbury Park:
I had two different endings. I'm going to dedicate this to you tonight, Obie. My oldest fan is here tonight and I love her very much. This is Obie Dziedzic — a round of applause, the woman's been around since forever.There were two people that actually helped me with writing the end of this song, and Obie was one of them. I had an ending where there's the two guys, but I had another ending where a woman enters the picture, and I played 'em both for Obie.Obie said, "I like the one with the girl." I said, "Okay, that's that." Then I played one for Steve, and Steve says, "Well, the one with the girl is what really happens. You got your pals and got the boys' club, and it lasts for a while, and you try to play down all the homoerotic stuff."I'm gonna do this tonight for Obie. I love you, and thanks for the help.
Bruce told a similar story in the 2010 documentary The Promise: The Making of Darkness on the Edge of Town, in which you can also spot Obie at the 58:49 mark.
There are so many good things to say and write about Obie — the tributes have been pouring in on social media — one of the best is from photographer Lynn Goldsmith. Obie told me this was the best description about her devotion to Bruce that she ever read about herself. To those who had the privilege to know her, it describes her perfectly:
"The girl with her head down is Obie," Goldsmith wrote, describing her 1978 photograph of Springsteen collapsing into an overjoyed crowd. "She was Bruce's biggest fan. She was there when they couldn't sell out a small club. She devoted herself free of charge to washing their clothes and doing whatever needed to be done. She did not get paid except with front row seats and the joy of knowing that she was making it easier for Bruce to be Bruce with her unconditional love. I wished I could have been like her. She inspired me because she was able to give with no strings attached. She gave freely because she believed in the power of love."
Obie was able to see several shows in the spring and summer of 2016. She was at both Brooklyn shows in April and attended all three MetLife Stadium shows in August. Her final show was on September 14, 2016 at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts. Looking back, it may be fitting this was her last concert, as she told me, "That was the best Bruce Springsteen show I have ever seen."
The final time Obie got to see Bruce on stage was at his conversation with Bob Santelli at Monmouth University in West Long Branch, New Jersey, on Jan. 10, 2017. After the talk, Obie saw that Bruce's coffee cup was still on the little table on the stage. She said to me, "Get that for me!" and I was able to have someone hand it to me. I gave it to Obie. She had one more souvenir. One of the organizers of the event later said to me, "We noticed one of the cups was missing!"
Soon after that, Obie started to not feel well, and she was in and out of the hospital for a couple of months. Bruce, Steve and Maureen, John Eddie and many others made sure to visit her. Once when I checked in at the desk to get a pass to see her at Jersey Shore University Hospital in Neptune, the guard asked me, "Are you famous? It seems everyone who has been going up to see this patient is famous."
He was wrong. It was Obie who was famous.
Right now she's sitting in the front row in heaven, watching Danny and Clarence play away.
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHUUYAAAAAAA
OK SO I HAVE A FIC FOR HIS B-DAY BUT I PROBABLY WONT BE ABLE TO GET IT FINISHED AND POSTED TO AO3 UNTIL LIKE TOMMOROW OR WEDNESDAY SO ILL GIVE EVERYONE A LIL SNIPPET FOR OUR BIRTHDAY BOY
Now, normally, Dazai was never into celebrating. But today, oh today was different. Today, it was Chibi's birthday. Dazai had decided to skip work for the perfect chance at getting under the slugs skin today. He could deal with Kunikidas complaints on missing work pretty much all of last week tomorrow. He went into a brightly colored and well lit shop, and as swiftly as he came in, he was gone with a white plastic bag now in tow. He looked particularly cheery walking on the sidewalk, and he enjoyed his peaceful little stroll all the way to Chuuyas house. The closer he got, the more excited he became. He couldn't wait to see the slugs face when he barged into the orange haired man's apartment, and especially the face said man would make at the wonderful gift he was going to get.
Dazai had gotten to the door and then entered the pin to get in. Silly Chibi, never changing the lock code after all these years. He busted through the door, though he didn't break it this time. He would be a little courteous today, considering the date and all. Though, when Dazai didn't hear an angry slug yelling, or even him running over to the door to see what the noise was, he became a little confused. Was Chuuya really not off today? He thought that Koyou had convinced him to take the day off. Maybe it didn't work? But if that was the case, then why were the extra locks on the door not turned on?
“Chibi~ Where are you~ it's rude to hide from your owner you know!”
…
No reaction? Did something happen? Dazai finally actually stepped into the apartment, and carefully closed the door behind him. Then, cautiously, he looked around the apartment for any signs of the little slug. When he glanced over the couch, he saw Chuuya, but something was off.
Sure, he was in his hilariously adorable pajamas, and even wore the pants Dazai gave to him forever ago as a prank gift. The old joke mug was on the table too, but neither of those were really unusual. After all, Dazai had done this on Chuuyas off days before, and this part was actually relatively normal. He had teased Chuuya a lot about using old gifts from Dazai a lot. Nearly every time he visited, in fact. But no matter what, Chuuya still continued to use them religiously. Even on days Dazai stayed over, he would see Chuuya drinking out of the World's Best Dog mug calmly in the morning, see how he changed into those stupid sheep pants every night. No, what was weird was that Chuuya seemed out of it.
He was staring at an old picture in a worn wooden frame, and it was like Chuuya had lost all awareness of the world around him.
Now, that wouldn't do. How was Dazai supposed to sufficiently annoy the Chibi when he was like this? So he walked up right behind Chuuya, making sure to be silent so Chuuya wouldn't notice him and hide the picture. When he saw it, everything clicked. What did Dazai do in response?
He flung his arms around Chuuya from behind of course!
“Chibiiiiii! You can't neglect your owner like this! What's the point of visiting if my dear little dog won't even pay attention to me?”
Dazai had said it in his most sing-song and pouty voice possible. Chuuya had finally snapped out of it. And swung his head back to look at Dazai.
“huh!? What the hell, Mackerel!? The fuck are you doing at my place!”
“Your hat must have finally eaten your brain if you hadn't realized what day it is! Why wouldn't I visit my dear dog on such a special day~”
“stop calling me your fucking dog! Of course I didn't forget what day it is! I just thought you had the sense to remember that I don't fucking celebrate it. Did the agency finally make you lose all your damn sense?”
“Chibis so mean! I even bothered to get you a present, and you still bully me!”
There, Chuuya had finally put the picture down on the table.
“I swear to fucking God if you got me a replacement for that dumbass slug shirt I'm throwing you out the damn window.”
“Rude! I would never reuse the same joke!”
“Yes the fuck you would!”
“Hmph! Well, either way, I got you something even better!”
This was my first time grabbing a writing snippet so sorry if it starts and ends weirdly TAT Hope you like it though and of course Happy Birthday to our little mafioso!
#bungou stray dogs#bsd#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#bsd fanfic#i also drew something but thats gonna go to a different account and ill post it later#i swear ill actually finish this tho#i speedran stormbringer for this#also side note but Adam is fucking hilarious i need him to make an appearance in the main story#bsd skk#skk#sokoku#bsd nakahara chuuya
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A Pearl Necklace
HAPPY ENDING VER of A Pearl Series
Ch1 Ch2
Where leon doesnt mess up and also leons pov because THATS SO FUN!!!
Continued from end of chapter 1 👍 this is a BONUS chapter. It makes more sense if you read chapter 2 first then this one. This can also be read as a continuation from chapter 2 as in the time line is the same except that it is ends with a good way and its his pov and like a few lines r diff
“That’s good enough. I fucking hate being woken to push her away from me..” A surge of anger swims in his chest as he shuffles to the edge of his bed, fuelled by a fear he doesn’t dare to pay mind to. It’s true, he hadnt wanted to deal with your tears or the feeling of you so close to him; nowadays
it created a feeling that was like a gnawing at his gut. His body eventually settles as his head sinks into the pillows, fluffed by your hands. Even when he’s tucked underneath the covers and beside the love of his life, he just feels so, so.. vulnerable. He rolls onto his side, one hand under his head as he tries to settle a racing pump somewhere in his chest, his eyes squeezing close. His throat chokes and his muscles clench and although he hasn’t made a sound, the reminder of the past few weeks screams in his ears like bells. Every single day is starting to feel more and more like autopilot, blanking his head out in hopes he can do his job without being reminded of horrors of years ago. He was worked up tonight, having fought another B.O.W and hiding a nasty gash beneath his shirt. You’d definitely ask about it later; the mere possibility bringing a flame of anger and forcing him take a sharp intake of breath. He turns over, seeing your back face him now and his lips pull at a small frown, wondering if you woke up for a moment. You shouldn’t be crying yourself to sleep, ever. But he leaves you this time, still revolting the thought of your touch and your skin if he dared to come closer.
When he wakes the next morning, he cant take it anymore. How is there another round of tears upon her face? He finally pushes away the nausea that creeps in his throat, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Hey, love, what happened? Who did this to you?” Forcing such honeyed words feels like a crime to himself, almost making him frustrated with himself for being untruthful. He also hates the way he’s grateful when you just wipe them away and force a smile, mumbling something about watching a sad movie. Not even for a moment does he dare challenge that, satisfied with a lie as he gets up for another gruelling day.
Over the next month, he feels a swell of pride for how much he has healed. For one, he’s managing his thoughts and emotions much better, no longer hanging on a loose thread whenever someone just speaks. He feels better, having finally gotten to the hang of closing his mind off whenever the thoughts arose. He was sleeping better, you barely even touched him in his sleep anymore— it was perfect. The one thing that slightly irked him is when you would leave the house. Why are you leaving? He hates that he’s curious and he knows he should just let you go; it’s another fuel for the temper that seems to take him easily these days. You’ve also been asking a lot of questions about him recently: how he finds the clothes you ironed for him, the food you cooked and, worst of all, his day. He’s already doing enough to push it away and you’re just bringing it right back to him again.
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He smells the familiar scent of blueberry pancakes as he steps into the kitchen that morning. You’ve been making them again recently but he wont dwell on the why and how. He doesn’t really like to think too much anymore. He picks up the newspaper as he sits at the small kitchen island, hair tousled and muscles aching from the long rest he received after a particularly tough mission. He had woken up on the other side of the bed today, kind of confused how he didn’t squash you in his sleep but as always, he doesn’t question anything. You slide a plate over to him, stacked high with those tasty pancakes and a dollop of whipped cream atop. He always had a bit of a sweet tooth and it’s been a long time since he’d been in the mood for sugar. Regardless, he’s not in the mood to smile or thank you, just eating his food as per normal.
“So..? Did I finally get it right?” He doesnt need to look up to see the small laugh and the way your lips curve into a teasing smile, one he had grown to despise. You always do this, every time you ask about his damn day.
He just- he cant take this anymore. You’re always prying, digging deep into his head and ripping bandages he left on because the wounds wont heal, they never will. He keeps them patched up for a reason, he doesn’t want to see it again. Nor does he want to talk about it.
“Can you stop interrogating me every day about whatever you do? It’s fine, okay? It’s never been any damn different; I don't see the big deal.” He scoffs, gritting his teeth as he holds back from practically shouting at you. His eyebrows furrow in exasperation, one hand rubbing his temple; he cant bear the headaches your words bring.
“I.. Leon- I was just trying to get some feedback.. They dont ever taste as good as the ones you would make.” Now you’re reduced to a stammering mess, trying to stir guilt within his gut, but he wont give in today.
“Well, can you stop? It’s really fucking annoying having to answer your stupid questions every day over menial things. Are you that insecure?” He doesn’t know why he said that but he knows it’s left his lips before he can stop it and one pang in the back of his head tells him that maybe he really is just being honest. You are insecure, thats why you’ve been doing so damn much and annoying him all the time. He takes another bite of the pancakes, his body screaming for relief even now with each rumble of his stomach.
“Leon- I understand work has been stressing you, but I'm just trying-“ There it is, that stupid expression again as you speak the one thing he never wanted you to say. “Work? That's what you think this is about? Maybe you are just idiotic or too narcissistic to realise maybe you are the problem.” He drops the fork in his hand, the metal hitting the porcelain plate as he stands. Of course you just had to mention work, you could never let him get a break could you? You just always had to ruin it for him.
“I am trying to actually be understanding, I'm sorry if I annoyed you but Leon- there is no need to put me down like that.” Again. Work. Don’t you know how to stop? He can feel that anger fuel again, rising and burning with each an every word. Until it snaps.
“You think you’re being understanding.” He laughs at your pitiful expression, thick with a mocking tone, as he says the words. “I can’t believe it. You actually think that. If you can get one thing through your mind, know that you don’t understand anything about me. You never have. Hah.. ever since that night where I almost fucking choked you.” He sneers at you, pushing the chair back as he stands, walking over to the sink with footsteps that echo with uncontrolled emotions.
“I’ve been trying to ask you—to help you. I want to be there for you..“
“Yeah, as if. You know, on that night, I really thought that you might just understand, unlike anyone else has. I was stupid enough to even think that. You just told me your same stupid reassurances; I should’ve kept my hands on your throat a little longer that day. I wish it scared you off and out of my life.” He snaps, leaving a thick tension in the air, like a wall between the pair of you. It’s cruel and unforgiving and an ache in his heart tears the muscle. Bloodthirst, it’s all he can remember from that virus thrumming in his veins. He can’t just quench that bloodthirst, not to you, so his mouth does the work, wearing you down bit by bit. The consuming memory of devouring the very life out of a human, it’s almost like it’s returning to him now.
“You’re not what I wanted.” Words are just spilling out his lips and he cant even control them; he cant even hear each calculated insult.
“I shouldn’t have expected things you could never reach.” He speaks, the plate dropping into the sink with a horrible clatter. All your words are blurring into one, meeting, intersecting all at that one statement ‘work has been stressing you’.
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He stands before the sink, having splashed his face with water at least seven times for the past forty minutes. Only now does he finally feel more like himself—or well the version of himself he prefers to exist as—and his head is free from that invasive fog. Slowly his chest falls, letting out a long breath as his finger pushes the tap off. He hasn’t dealt with that in a while and it only served to remind him that he never wanted to again. That feeling of an aching chest, ribs feeling like they’d crack from the pound of a terrified heart, desperate for relief. Although he always manages to calm every time, the edge of the cut always remains unsealed. Theres no real relief other than the fact it’s all over, no peace in his mind ever. It frustrates him all the more, he’s tried anything and everything and yet theres still that pinprick of a hole which has cracked his mind and heart.
After that, he barely stopped interacting with you altogether. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt right. Maybe it was because you really were pissing him off about everything or that he had started to fall out of love with you. Or maybe, though he never liked to let it linger, he was terrified of the memories only you could resurface. He watched your every frown, the light in your eyes slowly dim out as you start to shift and change. It’s been two months since he last considered you his wife, let alone someone he even cared for. He barely feels the guilt of leaving you like this anymore nor does he feel anything anymore. It just feels blank. Like everyday, every hour, every minute of these days. He can’t remember when he last washed his hair; he just knows he did it. He cant remember filling out the reports, but there they sit on the desk. He cant remember what life was like before the missions.
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Six months. It’s been six months since he almost killed you, since his hands were on your throat and your terrified expression flashed through his eyes with your shaking pupils and beating chest.
Six months since he hurt you. He thought you had moved on, he thought he moved on. He thought he was doing okay.
Only having just stepped through the doorway, his eyes already found your trembling form on the couch. Your eyes were red and wet, salty streaks down your cheeks as you sob. The worst of all is that when you heard him enter, your eyes widened in a way that was far worse than just regular shock. Like you’d be scolded or mocked, shouted at or reprimanded; you looked like you were scared you would be hurt. He couldn’t shake that sight this time, every time he looked at you even when you scramble to reassure him that it was just hormonal. He knew it was bullshit; he had always known and he wanted to ignore it but he just couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when you were scared of him.
He sits at the breakfast table again the next morning, the air quiet from the lack of humming when you make your food, not even music playing in the kitchen or a pep in your step as you dance around the kitchen. You dont spend 5 minutes fluffing the pillows before bed, nor do you use those stupid face masks with the silly patterns. Hell, you dont even put makeup on anymore. The fridge is stocked and yet theres not even a trace of you to mark it as yours. Everything seems to have changed more than he expected. He cant fathom that he missed all these little differences and the fact there were so many. You’re not the same anymore.
There you go again, leaving randomly during the day after scrambling some excuse about needing spring onions. You barely ever use spring onions and he’s positive he saw some in the freezer yesterday. Whilst he usually would’ve ignored it, he finds himself edging closer and closer until he finds himself following you down the road. He saw the fresh tearstains this morning and you gave him no explanation again, this time he will find out.
You walk and walk and walk, and yet you never go to the grocery store like you said. So why do you even leave the house? It’s not like you were avoiding him, you still hung around him plenty and it’s not like you just needed fresh air, otherwise you would’ve just said so. He keeps his distance as he follows you, your depressed expression obvious, until eventually you pass by a friend. It doesn’t look planned but eventually the pair of you sit at a bench and as bad as it seems, he just cant turn around now. What if you tell her the reason you’re always upset? He needs to know.
“Hey, you know i always see you outside these days. I mean damn, do you really love nature that much?” Your friend teases, although a small pitiful look swirls in their eyes. Leon had been wondering the same thing as her.
“I uh.. well..” You give a sheepish smile as you lean into the bench. “I figured Leon would want some alone time.”
“Again? You come like everyday.”
You just shrug, sinking into the bench and quickly shifting the topic with a shake of your head.
A lot of things are starting to become clearer to him now. Every single action of yours held genuine love and yet he couldnt even bear to think about it. He wouldn’t dare to, he couldnt give in no matter how tempting it seemed. This is the life he chose; the life that would kill him slowly but it had it’s perks. He heads home after that, thinks about what happened for a bit before deciding ultimately to leave you alone again. Even so, you still plague his mind every night, every minute and second. It still makes his chest burn all the more, his irritation on an all high. He should not care, he cannot care. So why does it feel like he’s going to eventually break?
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His body is covered in bruises when he returns home that night, a bandage around one of his hands and his eyes sunken. He had never felt worse in his life, feeling like he was tipping on the edge of fainting or just losing everything altogether. His heavy feet dragged him, feeling like weights were pulling him back as he reached the doorstep. After a few mishaps, he finally finds the keys and unlocks the door. His boots echo on the hardwood floor and though he’d usually collapse into bed, he needs some painkillers desperately tonight. The door for the kitchen is right there but he feels compelled to head to the living room and check if you’re awake. He hates that he’s actually glad he did.
This feels like the memories that resurface, only a new kind. You’re crying, again. You’re sobbing your eyes out and he’s had enough; he’d exhausted, bruised and battered and he’s not letting guilt consume him tonight. How dare you disturb the life he forced himself to follow? Anger swells at the sound and sight of you crying today, not because it hurt his hears but because it hurts his heart. The footsteps grow louder as he nears the couch and he hates the way you look up at him in a trembling fear, hands gripping the fabric of your pajama trousers. “L-leon, i didnt mean- it was a sad movie-“
“Stop giving me those fucking excuses.”
He’s pissed, his body feels broken, and he’s not letting you get by anymore. He’s letting that anger reign free. He nears the couch until he’s standing before you, no words spilling out your lips as you freeze up in fear. He could do anything to you but would he actually harm you? He knows he looks like he would, and he sees that realisation flash before your eyes. He leans down, closer and time seems to slow as his hand reaches out. His eyes focus on how you squeeze your eyes shut, the mere sight grasping his heart tight, brace for the impact and the sting of pain that should follow if he were anyone else.
But he’s not anyone else and he’s disgusted with himself that you would think so. His hand meets the small of your back as his arm wraps around you. He places your hands around his shoulders, knowing you seem far too frazzled to do so and takes you into his lap as he settles in your seat. In silence, he strains his bruised arm to grab the blanket you keep at the end of the couch. You always said it was for ‘cold nights’ but it always translated to cuddling sessions until you were caught by slumber and he carried you to bed. The warm fluff of the blanket is pulled over the pair of you, his hand keeping you firmly in place against his chest as he makes sure to settle you. He doesn’t dare say a word, the nausea in his throat creeping higher with each brush against your bare arms. But he’ll bear it for you, just this once. He knows your still unsure: he can see the way you sneak small uncertain glances as your hands twitch at his shoulders, begging to wrap around his form. So he doesn’t make you lift a finger, taking your hands in his and helps them to settle around his body before he returns to his embrace on you again. It’s utterly silent in the room yet the need to speak is desperate; the both of you know this isn’t normal and yet neither of you are complaining. With his chin resting gently on the top of your head, he rubs your back slowly until you relax into him and somehow grasp him even tighter. Even though his body feels like a block of ice, some part of him inside melts aswell; a small sign of that vulnerability he despised returns. Yet still he stays here until you begin to mumble small apologies which are only met by a small shake of his head and a motion to stay silent. You immediately fall quiet and he sees your eyes glimmer for the first time in months; he’s not sure if the crying caused it or true hope, but he prays you’re feeling just a smidge better. You end up resting your head against his chest comfortably, glistening tears staining your cheeks as you eventually fall asleep.
He takes you upstairs soon after, settling you on the armchair as he notices the dirty sheets from his lack of care. Despite his previous exhaustion, he couldn’t care less about his bruises as he takes out fresh sheets from the cupboard and changes them quickly. Once the bed smells brand new again, he scoops your drowsy body again, hushing you when you begin to wake, and tucks you beneath the covers. He cant lay beside you in such a state so he begins to head to the bathroom, considering a quick shower just to scrub off any grime. Much to his dismay, he’s quickly stopped, your weary eyes blinking as you sit up in bed and your fingers lightly tugs at his hand.
“I.. uh.. um..”
“Yes?” His voice comes out gruffer than he’d like, fingers twitching at the feeling of your skin against his.
“You- you’re going to come back, right? You’re not going to leave, will you?” The mere sound of your hopeless tone is enough to make him grit his teeth. The question sounds hopeful and yet it’s obvious you think you don’t trust him to say the truth.
“No, i’m not leaving, I’m just taking a a shower.” He states, voice just as cold as the one that would cut you through with insults. Still, his hands are gentle as they push your shoulders back into the bed.
“Go back to sleep..” He sighs, pulling the covers over you again. “I’ll be quick. I promise.” He watches as you reluctantly nod, eyes watching him with distrust before he turns around and disappears into the bathroom.
He stands infront of the mirror again, waiting for his mind to crack and fall as it usually does on these hallowed nights. He had done everything wrong tonight; he touched you, spoke to you, even promised you. He went near you when he shouldn’t have. But no onslaught of fears come today, or that sharp ache in his chest which reminds him on horrors in a foreign place. Instead, he just looks at his confused expression in the mirror, because for the first time in seven months he’s not acting mindlessly. He’s actually thinking, breathing and talking; he’s living. After everything he’s done to survive and live better, the one thing he needed was you. He understands now, after all this time, why his mind was so insistent on staying away from you, why he did everything. It was because he was scared.
Everytime he gets a nightmare, it ends with the fear on your face after that horrible night. The more he pushes it away, the more he tries to forget is the more he ended up harming you. He refused to touch you because of the fear he could do it again. Every single thing shut off in his brain because he was terrified of those traumatic experiences and he couldn’t ever admit it. He even refused to come near you because he was scared you’d try console him and he knew he would break within seconds. Vulnerability had never been his strong suit and the mere fear of it had ended up being the cancer that consumed every single part of him until he became a living shell. He never wanted to hurt you, or snap at you, or make you feel like nothing. He always figured it was better that way because it meant you wouldn’t have to deal with him and he wouldn’t have to open up. He was a coward and he had paid the price for it; the cost would’ve been your sanity if he hadn’t cracked tonight. He doesn’t want to think of what could’ve happened if he didnt, but he has to. Avoiding everything led to this and it will again. His hands plant against the shower wall as he starts to wash, and slowly begins to think about everything he did wrong even if it hurts more than those night terrors.
He watches your drowsy eyes widen upon seeing him when he re-enters the room, his heart aching at the tear stains that shimmer on your cheeks from earlier. “I told you to sleep..” He mumbles out, standing awkwardly in the doorway, wishing he could avert his gaze but that would be too cruel to you. “I..i… you..” Your lips fumble for words, eyes gazing up and down his unclothed body. Just in his boxers, he stands before you with his adams apple bobbing as he swallows sharply. “Yeah..”
From head to toe his once pristine skin was covered in scars and bruises of all kinds. He hadn’t let you seen him since his trip to Spain and the sight had been much more horrible back then. Scratches, bite marks, dark scars that show deep gashes and even fresh purple bruises from today’s mission. He knew he couldn’t bear to speak to you about anything just yet, but he mustered up his courage to at least show you. He was also aware this wouldnt make you magically forgive him and he wouldn’t accept it if you did. He fucked up, everything, but he’s not about to let it die when he can at least help you bounce back. He’d destroy himself if it meant seeing you as happy as you used to be.
“Leon.. i..”
“I know you’re going to feel bad, so don’t. I didn’t want you know, thats not your fault.”
He watches you nod meekly, quiet eyes still scanning all over his scarred form, before he begins to walk hesitantly over to the bed. Clenching his fists, he drives down the burn of pain that comes with each step and the guilt that blazes through his gut. Your hands reach out, tentatively before grabbing onto his own. “..Fine, i wont say that.. but can i say one thing at least?”He lets out a small sigh and nods in agreement, squeezing your hand as he sits in bed next to you. Your eyes flutter meekly as you swallow, his hands carefully lifting you to bring your head to rest on his lap with his back pressed against the headboard.
“I’m pissed at you. I- i really am and-“ Your eyes are persistent as they look right up at him, chest rising quickly as you spill everything out. “You made me feel like i was going insane and-“ He’s concerned at how your nails imprint into your palms before he gently moves your fingers to focus on something else—anything else, even himself. So he pulls you into him as you crumble, your fingers digging into his back as to express your desperation.
“I wanted to help you so bad- i didn’t want us to fall apart and we were, fuck- we couldn’t even be near each other. You looked so miserable every damn day Leon- I couldn’t even do anything about it-“ You let out a choked sob against his neck, his hand pulling you firm against him as he squeezes you protectively.
“It was never your fault, you’ve never done anything wrong in your life. I was too much of a fucking coward to face life and i ruined us.” He confesses, the palms of his hands cupping your flushed cheeks. “Dont you dare forgive me, not now. I dont want you forgiving me until you’re absolutely sure.”
You quieten down almost instantly by his words, reaching your hands up to rest behind his neck until eventually you nod and he knows he’s made the right choice. His lips turn up just slightly and then you sit up a little better, trying to look firm even though you had been so vulnerable a moment earlier. That’s why he loves you, you’re just so perfect. Not once have you ever cared about what others think of you, nor do you let yourself be trampled over so easily. Even if you’re lips are wobbly as you narrow your eyes at him right now, coming off more adorable rather than angry. Despite everything he’s ever fought and the praises he receives for his work, you’re the strongest person in this very world and the reason he’s still here. You once told him that if he was a mountain, you’d be like those little flowers that grow at the top even when the conditions are beyond habitable. He’s never believed anything more until now.
“Fine.. if you really want that then i wont forgive you until you tell me everything. I refuse to forgive you until you tell me every little thing in your head.” His lips quirk into a slight smile, a first in too many blank days to count. His thumb rubs the curve of your cheek, so rosy and pink. “I promise, the day you forgive me will come.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before shuffling until he’s laying back in bed with you atop of him. “But for now, i want those dark circles under your eyes gone immediately.”
“You should sleep on the couch for all the days i did.” You feign annoyance, small huff leaving your lips and without a second thought he rises out of bed. It’s like it’s hitting him all over again, like a teenage boy trying to hide his crush, he misses the warmth of your body desperately. Even so, he knows he deserves far worse than sleeping on the couch, so he’ll bear it for now.
“I’ll make you breakfast everyday day going forward too. Blueberry pancakes, just the way you like it.”
Right now, it sounds like the bare minimum, but you had no idea how much he’d love you from now on. He’d tell you more but he’d prefer to see the glimmer in your eyes when you’re surprised. Though you tug at his hand before he can go.
“I think we can leave your punishment for next week. You owe me 6 months worth of love.”
That makes him finally grin and he’s under the covers again, arms enveloping you before you press your lips against his.
#leon kennedy#resident evil#resident evil fanfiction#resident evil fluff#resident evil angst#leon x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#re4#re4 leon
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Today during the podium celebrations with the VR46 team I thought "damn it must be hard for Luca to see that from P17 and a different team" and then I thought "they should have sex about it".
So here's some Bezz/Luca
🏍️
Luca knew that the transition with Honda would be a challenge. He wasn’t stupid; Vale may hate him, but Marc Marquez is one of the best riders in the history of the sport. If he couldn’t tame the bike, Luca isn’t arrogant enough to assume he’d be able to get on it and succeed immediately.
He hadn’t expected it to be this bad, though.
P17, only because everyone below him had DNF’d. The most consistent thing about the bike seems to be riding it into last place.
Bezz is on the podium. A triumphant P3, behind Pecco and Marquez. Luca can hear the celebrating and cheering as he goes through his post-race motions. He’s not next door to Bezz anymore– no matter how much he wants to appear in his box and wrap him up in a prosecco-soaked hug, he can’t. He’s a Honda rider now; he has team debrief and responsibilities.
He keeps himself cool and professional as always, giving practical feedback and reaffirming his confidence in the team’s ability to turn things around. He’s exhausted by the time he’s finally done with his responsibilities, and he can tell by the noise level that the celebrations have made their way from Bezz and Pecco’s respective boxes to some other location.
He checks his phone and finds a drunken flurry of texts from Bezz, and suddenly the emotion of everything hits at once.
He knows Honda was the right move. He knows in his bones that it was right for him to move on, out of Vale’s shadow and into a team that he can make his own.
That doesn’t make it easy. VR46 was home; the team were an extension of his family. Hell, Uccio has known Vale longer than Luca has been alive. Everyone involved with the team was comfortable and warm and loved him.
Luca tells himself that he can love Honda but also miss his family. It’s like moving away from your childhood town to work in a big city, he thinks.
He misses Bezz like a limb. He wants desperately to celebrate with Bezz, to feel his face tucked into his neck the way he does when he’s so happy. He misses the sound of his laugh and the little gap between his teeth when he smiles. He wants to dig his hand into Bezz’s hair and rub his head like he’s a puppy.
Bezz facetimes him when he’s back at the hotel. Luca debates about answering, too busy allowing himself an evening to wallow before he wakes up and heads back to the track for testing in the morning.
When he does answer, he’s surprised to find that Bezz isn’t at a bar. He also doesn’t appear to be drunk, in the way Luca expected. He wonders if Vale’s presence looming over the team made them a little more cautious with the partying the night before a testing day.
Bezz is in his own hotel room.
“Luca,” he whines. “You didn’t tell me I did a good job.”
That startles a laugh out of Luca.
“I’m sorry. Good job,” Luca obliges.
Bezz huffs, and Luca smiles at the pout on his face.
“I don’t like that you don’t tell me after races now. Although I guess I haven’t been doing a good job this season until today,” he rambles.
Luca laughs again.
“You’ve been doing great, Bezz.” That he himself is the one who hasn’t been doing great is left unsaid. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you every race, now. I’ll have to remember to text you.”
Bezz shakes his head.
“No, I want you to tell me in person.”
“You left,” Luca says feebly. “Before I was done with Honda.”
Bezz seems even more annoyed by that, and Luca gets the feeling that everything he’s said so far is wrong.
“What is your hotel number?”
Luca laughs, but then he sees Bezz is serious,
“Bezz, it’s late. We have testing tomorrow.”
“I don’t care,” he argues. “I just want to see you. Please? I got a podium today and I want to see you.”
Longing squeezes Luca’s chest and he quietly gives Bezz his room number. Bezz hangs up and appears five minutes later at Luca’s door. Luca lets him in, and he barely has the door closed before Bezz has wrapped himself around Luca and tucked his face into his neck.
Luca relaxes into the hug, happy to have Bezz in his arms. He missed him so dearly. It hasn’t even been that long; only a few months of racing on different teams. It feels like they’ve been separated for a lifetime.
If Luca really thinks about it, this is the first time they’ve been alone together since they both raced on the same team. Since announcing he was riding for Honda and changing his training routine, he had seen Bezz mostly with the other academy riders.
Neither of them are in a hurry to let go.
Luca is the first to pull away, but only to force Bezz to kick his shoes off and climb onto the bed with him. Bezz seems happy with that plan, and he grabs the television remote before pushing and pulling Luca into a position that he’s happy with. Then he flops down on top of Luca.
Luca’s heart is racing at the feeling of Bezz’s body on top of his, even as Bezz finds some Spanish show with English subtitles that he knows neither of them have the brainpower to follow.
Bezz seems content to tuck his face into Luca’s neck, and Luca can’t help but smile.
“Bezz?” he asks.
Bezz sits up. Their faces are too close, but neither of them move apart.
“You did a good job today,” he breathes, unable to take his eyes away from Bezz’s.
Bezz grins, toothy and happy, then he leans up, pressing on Luca’s chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and presses his lips to Luca’s mouth.
Luca pushes back against Bezz, taking the weight off of his chest, and he rolls Bezz so he’s laying on his back. He leans over Bezz, bracketing him with his arms, and continues kissing him. He’s not entirely sure where this came from; why Bezz decided to do this now.
He can’t say he’s never gotten the impression that Bezz could be interested in him; they used to spend hours and hours together, and there were many times that felt like they came close to something.
Apparently all it took was one Bezz podium for them to finally overcome their hesitations.
Bezz tastes and smells amazing, and now that Luca has experienced it he’s not sure he will ever be able to let him go. He sucks a mark on Bezz’s neck, and bites at his collarbone.
He thinks of their matching scars.
“Luca,” Bezz groans.
Luca smiles against Bezz’s neck.
“Yeah?”
Bezz rolls his hips up, demanding attention, and Luca tuts.
“Impatient,” he teases.
“I got a trophy today,” Bezz whines. “I deserve an award.”
Luca laughs and kisses him.
“You deserve the world,” he says. It’s corny but he means it, and judging by Bezz’s grin he understands.
Luca decides it’s imperative that he immediately get his hands on Bezz. He sits up to tug at Bezz’s clothes, and there’s an awkward few moments of shuffling and laughing as they both manage to get out of their clothes. They’re both out of breath and laughing, and Bezz basically tackles Luca onto his back on the bed.
He straddles Luca, and Luca pulls him down to kiss him. Bezz wiggles happily on his lap and Luca laughs into the kiss, teeth knocking together.
Bezz presses his face against Luca’s cheek, and they both laugh.
Luca reaches down, wrapping a hand around Bezz’s cock. It startles a choked moan out of the smaller man, and Luca grins in satisfaction.
Luca knows they won’t have sex tonight; not with a lack of lube and with the responsibility of an entire day of testing tomorrow. Still, his brain is dominated by desire to make Bezz come.
The angle is off, but he spits in his hand and starts pumping Bezz’s cock while he uses his other hand to tug Bezz’s mouth back to his.
Bezz adjusts his position, and Luca is able to take his own cock in hand with Bezz’s. The feeling of rutting against Bezz, breathing into his mouth, smelling him around him, is nearly enough to make Luca come immediately.
He manages to hold off for a bit longer, but neither he nor Bezz last long. Soon they’re both spilling over Luca’s hand, gasping into each other’s mouths.
Bezz immediately starts laughing, and collapses to the side. Luca wipes his hand on his chest, catching his breath and joining Bezz in his giggles.
“Let’s shower and sleep,” he suggests.
Bezz whines but allows Luca to tug him into the bathroom. Luca delights in soaping Bezz up, running his hands across his body and lapping water from his collarbones. He loves the way Bezz laughs, and they spend too much time messing around in the shower.
When they finally get out and dry off, they tangle themselves together back in bed.
Bezz lays down and holds his arms out, and Luca lays down on top of him, face pressed into his neck.
“I’m proud of you,” he mumbles into Bezz’s neck.
“Thank you,” Bezz breathes, running a hand through his hair.
They drift into easy sleep together soon after.
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David Tennant as Crowley from Good Omens
for Tennant Tuesday (or whatever day this post finds you)
#david tennant#tennant tuesday#that eyebrow#good omens#crowley#with the baby antichrist#I love that we keep getting new photos from season one#as we eagerly anticipate season two#every morning I wonder if today will be the day#that a new trailer drops#I live in hope#stuff i posted
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