Im In A Constant State Of Confusion

Olivia~She/They~20

[twolegsandbleeds]

living with simon riley is more like living with a large, slightly scary dog than a man.

he’s quiet, low-maintenance - as long as he gets his hour or two of exercise a day. skip it and he gets restless.

right before dinner he appears in the kitchen doorway like clockwork, staring at you with a hopeful, wide eyed look that says “feed me, please.”

when he’s home from ops, he follows you from room to room without a word - your silent, ever present shadow. if you leave for work, he’s waiting by the front door when you get back, like he’s been lurking there for hours.

and every morning when he wakes up hard, pressed right against your ass? he humps against you like a horny mutt who’s forgotten all his manners.

[marieecup]

​You didn't expect to end up working as a secretary at a military base. But here you were. The work is not difficult at all. Making and answering calls, organizing paperwork. Printing out documents. That kind of stuff. As I said, not difficult. The hard part was dealing with the people, especially men, military men. It's not like you've been stalked or something like that.

​Until today. A group of rookies, or that's what you suppose because you haven't seen them before around the base. As a secretary you have to deal with people, that's obvious. But that doesn't mean you have to be oblivious to any kind of weird attitudes towards you.

​"Hi cutie," one of the guys said to you, with a flirty tone?

​"Hello." You have to keep things professional, not caring if you wanted to throw up because of this disgusting man.

​"I need a favor, it's urgent."

​"What can I help you with?" Stay calm.

​"I need your number." I tried, I swear, I tried, but the only thing visible on my face was repugnance.

​"Sorry, I'm not allowed to do that."

​"Why not? Do you have a boyfriend?" He asked with a sarcastic tone.

​"No, I have no—"

​"Yes, she does have a boyfriend." You were cut off by a male voice. When you turned your head, you saw Ghost. The Lieutenant.

​"Hello, sir." It seems like all the bravery was washed out of the soldier.

​"What do you think you are doing with my girl?" Ghost took a step forward and I could see how the guy just flinched.

​"No-nothing sir, I didn't know she was taken." And suddenly the man was shaking.

​"Now you know, so fuck off."

​The man literally ran away from the room, maybe to the bathroom.

​"Thank you, sir." I would not say that my relationship with Ghost is the best one nor the worst. We were just coworkers.

​"Call me Simon," he said, looking at you. His eyes felt like someone looking at your soul.

​"Thanks, Simon." Why do I feel shy? He's intimidating, but I had never felt this way before.

​"Anytime." He walks away like nothing happened. But you had to sit in your chair and take a deep breath because you feel like you were about to pass out.

​After that day, the rumors spread all around the base.

​"You know the secretary? She's dating Lieutenant Ghost."

​"Fuck no."

​"That's why she's a secretary."

​And you weren't disturbed by those comments, nor was Ghost. Actually, Ghost was the one confirming the statement anytime someone asked him.

​"Yeah, she's my missus."

​But you thought it was just another rumor. Why would Ghost say those kinds of things?

not my best work lol but i hope you like it

Part 2

[clinquantribbons]

in a perfect world, johnny would be the first to retire. he would be the first to find someone, fall head-over-heels in love, and throw all of his hard work and dedication away in favor of a quiet life by the ocean. it would be tough, at first, it would take years for him to truly shake the weight of the war from his bones, but he would do it. he would rather be a good husband, a father, than just another tragedy in an endless string of them. he would marry you as soon as his retirement papers cleared. he would give you a home full of laughter, and children, three at the very least, maybe a dog. he would be at every ballet recital and sports game, every parent-teacher conference and award ceremony. he would grow old with you, dance with you in the kitchen even at the ripe age of sixty-something, would complain about his creaking back right up until the bitter-sweet end. john mactavish would make a fine husband, given the chance.

kyle would be the next to jump ship. one day, he would see himself in the mirror, and he’d realize that he doesn’t recognize the man he has become. the years have taken their toll on him, he’s tired, he’s scared, he’s angry. his youth will have passed him by, and he’ll have forgotten to enjoy it. all the time he should’ve spent falling in love, and planning for the future, and making stupid decisions so he would have them to laugh about one day, was spent on the front lines, fighting somebody else’s war. he’ll decide that he wants no part in any of it, not anymore, and he’d turn his papers in the following morning. he meets you after, somewhere casual, maybe he’d spill his coffee all over you in his rush to get somewhere that, in retrospect, was entirely unimportant. he’ll buy you dinner to make up for it, and then again the next week, just in case his debt hasn’t been settled, and again, every friday for the next several years. he’ll marry you sometime in between, something small and intimate, with his brothers in arms as your witnesses, maybe he’ll finally give his mama the grandbaby she’s been begging for his whole life. kyle garrick would choose to be a better man, given the chance.

simon wouldn’t retire by choice. not in any world, not even a perfect one. but, eventually, it’s bound to catch up with him. even the world’s most capable soldier is vulnerable to his own damn humanity. he’d be forced to return to manchester, sooner or later, older, meaner, sore all over, all of the time. he’d buy a bike, a passion project, just something to keep his hands busy, lest he goes mad in his empty house, nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. it wouldn’t be enough, in the end. it can’t chase away the skeletons in his closet or tell him that it’s okay to be scared of the dark, even at his grown age, so he would do what any half-sane man would, and adopt a dog. a retired military mutt, just like him, who’s greying at the snout and growls at little kids when they pass by on their bicycles. he’d meet you at a dog park on a sunday afternoon, would remember your face but not your name. not until you chase him down in the street some weeks later, at least, and claim that his boy got your girl pregnant. he’d pay the vet bills, and he would help you find good homes for the puppies, and then, he’d stick around still, because he, like any stray, is desperate for a place to call home. you’d let him stay so long as got his boy neutered. he wouldn’t give you kids, wouldn’t burden you with his last name, but he’d damn sure love you. simon riley would learn to be happy, given the chance.

john wouldn’t retire until he’s already halfway to too late. the kids are nine and twelve already, old enough to resent him, and you’ve gotten used to having the bed to yourself, setting the table for three instead of four, brushing your friends’ comments off when they bring up how strong you are, doing it all on your own. your worrisome heart would sink every time the doorbell rang unexpectedly, or when he went too long without contact, fearing for the worst. it would not be some big, sudden revelation on his end. he’d notice in fragments. no, he doesn’t know his kids’ teachers’ names, and, no, he didn’t know that your son was diagnosed with asthma last summer. he can’t remember the last time the two of you celebrated an anniversary, or went out for dinner, or talked about anything that mattered. he wouldn’t make a big show of it, wouldn’t even tell you that he was considering it, but you’d wake up one morning, expecting him to be long gone, and he’d be stood at the stove, burning eggs, and he would never leave you again. he’d do what he could to make up for lost time. he’d schedule date nights for the two of you, without prompting, he’d take your boy fishing sunday mornings, share all that hard-earned wisdom over soggy sandwiches and plop his boonie hat on the kid’s head to keep him from burning in the summer sun, he’d sit on his daughter’s bedroom floor with a tiara on his head, sipping shitty tea from plastic cups, and he’d thank god. john price would right his wrongs, given the chance.

but this isn’t a perfect world.

john mactavish dies at twenty-seven, shot in the head by a man who should’ve died two years prior. you bury him before you get to marry him. your daughter’s born three months later — she’ll never meet her father, but she has his eyes, and his smile, and you know he would’ve loved her. he always wanted to be father.

kyle garrick spends the rest of his life fighting for a cause he doesn’t know if he believes in. your paths don’t cross in that little coffee shop, because he’s on the other side of the world, getting shot at, while you go about your life none the wiser. he dies at thirty-six on an operation no-one’s allowed to talk about, desperate and alone.

simon riley kills himself a month after his sergeant’s untimely demise — not like anyone can prove it. it’s impossible to claim that he walked into the line of fire intending to be shot down. what exactly was going through his mind, no one knows for certain. in your late twenties, you adopt an old military mutt, who’s greying at the muzzle and growls at your neighbor’s kids.

john price signs the divorce papers when you send them, because he knows it’s unfair of him to keep you tethered to him. he watches your children grow from afar, through the pictures you send and the quiet, solemn voicemails you leave. you never stop loving him, but you can’t wait around for him forever. you three are the only ones left to attend his funeral, when the time comes. you’re the only one with something kind to say.

[6eons]

Star-crossed → Simon Riley

Lieutenant Riley has always prided himself in the way he could read people. It was partially why he only had few words to spare, just observing people in the room, their nervous tics and what they did when they weren't aware. So what made you exempt from his observations?

tags: GN!reader. unrequited love adjacent? only cus simon's fuckin oblivious.

The night you see a shooting star, you wished that you were never smitten with your lieutenant.

The events leading up to it were a mindfuck of its own, it was embarrassing — bringing him a tea every morning (made with a splash of a milk alternative because you noticed his considerably bad mood when his stomach would ache), rushing to sit next to him in the heli, following him around base like a lost pup whenever you had the chance, fixing problems before he could see them. It was painfully comical, really.

“Oh, LT, I’ve fetched the documents you needed so you didn’t have to make the trip to Archives.”

“Sir, I proofread your report and made a few corrections before sending them off to Captain Price.”

You did all you could for a lick of validation from him that would never come. Were you his sergeant or his starry-eyed, lovesick assistant?

Everyone on base noticed how much you doted on him and much to your dismay, the affections were never returned. Oh, but sometimes you’d be on the receiving end of a less than satisfied grunt which were on good days.

You knew it was a lot to expect him to openly show his appreciation towards you. After all, you did what you did because you liked him. So why did you feel so pathetic?

The morning that followed, Captain Price had called the 141 in for a meeting. Simon was considerably late, seeing as he arrived to his office with no tea waiting for him like usual. No bother, he’d just make his way to the mess hall and brew himself one. Then he found out the kitchen staff had relocated almost everything, so he rummaged through every cabinet and drawer to find where the herbs were stashed and of course it just had to be the very last one he checked. Cursing under his breath, realizing the time, he went to grab the carton of milk to give it a little splash only for him to find chunky particles in the milk.

Perhaps your wish upon a star was for him to have the worst luck ever.

Simon stormed into the presentation room damn near 10 minutes late with a milk-less tea that tasted like shit, which he wouldn’t know that it had to do with the teaspoon of honey you’d add to his tea. A little sweetness to sweeten him up, you’d think. The mess hall was also on the other side of the building, how you managed to make his tea, run it to his office, and make it back to Price’s office for your tasks was beyond him. Your eagerness to make his day easier carried you through it. He couldn’t be mad at you for the lack of cuppa on his desk when he knew it wasn’t required of you.

Price started off his morning meeting with a lecture about punctuality, an eyebrow raised at his second in command. Simon was scowling under his surgical face mask, arms crossed as he sat in the corner of the room. He hated that he could smell your cup of tea that was definitely made just the way he liked it.

Price had tasked Simon with paperwork, which was a surprise to Simon but not to the captain.

“What’s got you so irritable about doin’ paperwork? Y’seem to fair fine every other time I’ve had you check on forms.” Only Simon doesn’t remember touching any paperwork other than post op paperwork. So this had nothing to do with him, right?

Simon finds himself feeling lost in what he should be looking for. He stares blankly, blinking a few times and Price notices this.

“Alright lieutenant, I’m gonna need you to go to Archives to retrieve the paperwork you finished last week and cross reference this morning’s paperwork so you can catch yourself up on whatever it is you seem to be missing.” Price doesn’t have time to be concerned about whatever’s got Simon stuck, though he just chalks it up to a bad day, he just needs the work done.

Does he even remember where Archives is? He remembers it was in the west wing in one of the southern corridors, just not the room number. Easily enough, the room he’s looking for has a sign in uppercase text to point him where he needs to be.

A soldier of his ranking gives him the utmost clearance, so he’s confused as to why the office people stare at him. Well, maybe it’s because he’s wandering aimlessly trying to find where his damn filing cabinet would be. He opens drawer after drawer and finds a pattern that everything is alphabetized by last name so when he gets designated filing cabinet, he can’t help but notice how unfamiliar it seems. It’s not at all how he remembers it and suddenly he can’t remember the last time he was here.

He pulls the drawer open to find your neat handwriting on yellow manilla folders. Each report, incident report, post op were filed so neatly — everything had been separated by year, into quarters, into months. It made it quick and easy for you to find whatever you needed and you knew if Simon needed to do his own reports for whatever reason that you couldn’t (like you wishing upon a star to dismiss your feelings for him or whatever) it would make it easier on him. His fingers brushed against the tops of each folder, pulling out a random report and true as day, your handwriting was found on documents that were his responsibility.

He gathers the documents he needed and was starting to make his way back to his office to work on his paperwork.

“Finally gave your sergeant a vacation?” the office manager calls out from behind Simon. He turns on his heel to see an older woman, greying hairs and glasses that were connected to a chain that fell around her neck. Simon grunts in acknowledgment, not knowing how to respond before trudging on.

In his office, he finds Soap waiting for him with a tray and a fresh cup of tea. Black. How he took it before you. “Mornin’ LT, brought ye lunch since I dinnae see ye in the mess hall.” the MacTavish boy grins. Simon slaps the documents on the table, glancing at his wrist watch.

Christ Almighty, was it lunch time already?

“Shit, what a fuckin’ long day,” Simon’s palm runs across his face as he takes his seat, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

“Aye, I ‘aven’t seen you so stress since… well… maybe yesterday.” Soap pokes at the masked man. “Or with paperwork still to do at noon.” Soap also checks his watch and runs his hands over the archived documents, eyes finding your handwriting.

“Apparently, one of my other sergeants has been taking care of it for me,” Simon name drops you specifically, though Johnny didn’t need to be told that. Not when the paperwork with your pretty scribbles was right in front of him.

“Hm, this doesn’t have to do with your tardiness this mornin’, does it? I don’t think they made you a tea. Did you tell them to piss off or somethin’?”

“Why would I tell them to piss off?”

“Because it was bloody obvious that they fancied you, yeah? I reckon if you were interested back, you’d have said something by now.”

Right…so maybe it wasn’t bloody obvious. Simon’s dead fish eyes were on full display, blinking cluelessly at his best friend. Almost as if he was waiting for Soap to burst out laughing and say he was kidding.

“Mate, please tell me yer joking.”

“Johnny, does it look like I’m joking?”

“Well, I can tell ya yer funny-looking, but I’m not sure about joking.”

Simon rolled his eyes, no longer having the motivation to do whatever it was Price needed him to do. Though, the motivation was never there. Which was why you always did it for him. A knock at the door causes Simon to groan, face palming once more. He could not catch a break and whoever was at the door was not going to make it easy.

Gaz pokes his head in, waving to the boys. “Good afternoon sir, I’ve got a few incident reports to follow up with you on. Price mentioned I might need to sit with you since you had a lot on your plate from the workload he gave you earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘ave a seat.” Simon grumbles. He isn’t even thinking about food, so he pushes his tray to the side to make room for Gaz and his paperwork.

“Simon’s losing it without his pet,” Johnny feels the need to update his peer. “He didn’t even know they fancied ‘im.” Gaz’s face pales in an alarming way, eyes wide and Johnny thinks Gaz has fizzled out the way he’s stopped blinking.

“What d’ya mean he didn’t know?” Gaz turns to Simon who’s seemingly more interested in the ceiling as he overthinks every single interaction he’s ever had with you. “Y’mean to tell me, you weren’t purposely ignorin’ their advances at you?”

“Well, m’not exactly the ideal boyfriend. Didn’t think they saw me in that way, I thought they were jus’ bein nice.”

“Following you around in their free time? You think that’s just being nice, mate?”

“Aye, lay off, Simon’s jus’ as dumb as he looks apparently.” Johnny earns a glare from his lieutenant. “That’s b’sides the point. Where have they fucked off to anyway?”

“Might’ve had something to do with that,” Gaz’s eyes don’t meet his lieutenant or Soap’s eyes.

“What’d you do?” Simon sits up, straightening his back. His thoughts are suddenly filled with some altercation where Gaz grips your shoulders and yells at you to get over your little crush, out of character, nothing that Kyle would actually do. But he fears it.

“They were proper griping about this unreturned crush they had on you, mate. So, last night on our walk home from the pub, we saw a shooting star and I may have told them to wish that they didn’t like you anymore.” Gaz sinks in his chair as Simon’s eyes grew more intense, not a word coming from his mouth.

“Y’did what?” Soap almost looks like he wants to laugh, he thinks it some sick joke Gaz has improv’d. “A wish on a star?”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” this sends Soap into a thought of realization and it shuts him up. Gaz didn’t think the wish would have truly worked, hell, he’s only half sure that’s the reason you’ve distanced yourself from Simon.

Simon seems to be conflicted. As unaware as he is, he is aware to the fact that he only noticed your little crush on him when it was gone. And it only affected him when he wasn’t on the receiving end of how it positively benefited him. Would it really be fair of him to chase you?

Maybe it wasn’t written in the stars, you two… But it didn’t mean he couldn’t try. After all, you only wished that you were never smitten with him. Not that you could be (future tense) smitten with him.

a/n: hi cute thangs, ive come to report that my writer's block was indeed due to a scenario i was stuck on, i am living proof that u can break free as this is my post-prison sentence. thank u for coming to my ted talk

[ghxstrobins]

Please?

Summary - Jason plans out a whole proposal only to forget everything when he gets down on one knee.

Jason has always been a planner. Even when he was young he took comfort in making a plan. It makes him feel more confident in himself and in his abilities if he can make a plan and at least a dozen contingencies for said plan.

So when it came to him proposing to you he planned it out for months in advance.

You had begun dropping hints after your third anniversary, staring too long at rings in the windows of a jewelry store, making a secret wedding Pinterest board that he found open on accident on your phone, bringing up the future often.

Jason would be an idiot to not see your hints and come hell or high water he was going to make it happen.

So he started planning out the best date and time to propose to you. He probably looked a little crazy to his siblings as he set up a cork board in one of his many safe houses with ideas and dates.

Dick was the only one that thought his planning was sweet, everyone else thought he was stressing out about your answer. And maybe in a different time he would be but after three years of you staying and reassuring him that you wanted him he was sure that you would say yes.

He had the ring custom made with your anniversary etched on the inside of the band and a garnet in the center alongside two small diamonds. Dick and Roy had helped him pick it out, they argued most of the time but in they end helped, three months before he planned to propose.

There were multiple phone calls from his brother and best friend to hype him up in the two days before he planned to propose. He had outwardly scoffed at them calling him to tell him that you would obviously say yes but inwardly he appreciated the support.

When you walk out of your shared bedroom he almost gets on one knee there. You look radiant and Jason almost forgets his whole plan. He restrains himself because him proposing before dinner wasn’t planned.

First, Jason takes you to the bookshop where you met and has become a semi-frequent date spot.

It’s a small hole in the wall shop that really only people know in the upper east side know about. He knows the owner, an older woman named Meredith whose family had this shop for generations, and she was extremely excited to know that you two were getting engaged. She keeps it a secret for him but does give him a discount on the books you end up buying.

He really enjoys watching you read through the backs of books with a slight pinch between your brows. You eventually end up getting two since you couldn’t decide between them.

After you finish up at the book store he takes you a couple blocks down to an Italian restaurant that he knows is a front for the mafia but makes the best cannolis he has ever had so he lets it slide. You talk about your work, friends and anything else that comes to mind and Jason is happy to watch you talk.

When the check is dropped off by a gruff looking guy who gives Jason a knowing smile you reach for it and Jason lightly smacks your hand away from it.

“Nope.” He states simply.

“Jay-” You go to protest with a frown on your face.

“Nope!” His voice increases in volume as he takes the bill away from your hands.

You give him a huff and an eye roll before giving in. Jason feels particularly accomplished as he walks up to pay the bill.

Once the bill is settled Jason leads you back to your building and up to the roof.

He had some help decorating the roof since he was with you for most of the day. Steph and Cass had taken point on that because Steph had told him that his taste was tragic, Cass had agreed before pulling out Bruce’s credit card that she swiped off of him somehow.

“Jason.” You gasp softly at the lit up rooftop decorated with pillows and blankets for stargazing. “This is beautiful.”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I just came up with the idea, Steph and Cass set everything up.”

You squeeze his hand softly, “You still thought of it and that’s what matters.”

Jason takes a deep breath, reaching for the ring box in his pocket. “I also have something else.”

You get a confused pinch between your brows that evens out into shock as Jason gets down on one knee.

He goes to say the long speech he had planned, the one where he told you how much you mean to him, how you love him the way he is, how you make him want to live again rather then just survive. Jason had pondered what to say for months.

But now as he look up into your shocked face and teary eyes his brain stutters to a stop.

“Please?” Jason breathes out, no other words in his mind.

“Yes.” You sob and throw yourself into his arms. “Yes! Oh my god Jay. Yes.”

Jason holds you with a smile on his face that’s so wide it hurts because you love him when he has a plan and even when he doesn’t.

Blue’s Notes - Late night update inspired by this post! It’s so Jason that I couldn’t not write it.

[planetary-corpse]

Price being a damn tease. Smut.

The blinds are still closed but sunlight peeks through them anyways.

Your bed is warm with shared body heat.

A heavy, hairy arm is wrapped around your middle.

How you love waking up so softly.

You don’t move, not wanting the moment to end.

A kiss to your shoulder lets you know your husband is awake behind you. The scratch of his beard has your cheeks warming.

His hand travels up, landing on your hip.

You smile.

Not a word is said as you scoot back into him, feeling his chest press against your bare back.

You sigh, feeling right where you need to be.

Your eyes flutter closed once again.

Price squeezes at your arm, his knuckles brushing your skin.

Softly his kisses continue. Another to your shoulder, one to the curve of your neck, the last under your ear.

Your heart beats a little quicker in your chest.

His fingers follow the curve of your waist down to your thigh, giving it a teasing squeeze. The cold metal of his wedding band sharp against warmth of his rough palm.

A familiar coil begins to tighten in your stomach as he drifts his hand over your breast. Lazily teasing the little peaks on your chest with slow passes back and forth.

You hum softly, a sound of pleasure.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, making you twitch at the gentle sensation.

His fingers grip into your thigh, just enough to press small dents into your skin.

Like instinct, your legs spread open.

You lick your lips, watching his veiny hand travel lower.

Carefully his fingers brush into the soft curls of your bush, one finger tip pressing into your folds.

Tapping his fingers to your sensitive bud, each gentle slap makes you jolt at the contact.

His calloused finger dips, gathering wetness only to come and spread it over your sensitive clit in a slow tortuous circle.

You inhale, sharp and quick.

Another kiss to your shoulder grounds you.

You lean back into Price, your eyes fluttering closed as he begins to trace unhurried deliberate circles between your legs.

Your hips move and wiggle trying to follow the friction.

The pressure of an orgasm builds deep inside you at his practiced touch, but dies all too fast each time, you get close. Right before you fall of that cliff, Price pulls you back in with a bigger pass of his fingers, teasing you entrance with a single swipe.

He slows his pace down more, circle by circle until his hand comes to a complete stop.

Allowing you to rut against his hand at the pace you want to.

You take the opportunity to press down into his hand, shamelessly grinding with a gentle slow rock.

Breathy moans and whimpers escape your lips, your mouth forming an O shape as you feel that flicker in your stomach turn into a solid wave of pleasure.

Your first orgasm hitting you so early in the morning your legs feel like they get electrocuted. A tingling sensation so intense you’re unable to curl your toes.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hand cups you entirely, his middle finger teasing your slit with a dip between your folds.

A knuckle dipping into your cunt.

Barely giving you what you want.

What you need.

You gasp, throbbing for something more. Your heels push against the mattress trying to persuade his thick fingers deeper inside you.

When suddenly, he pulls out once again.

Leaving you empty.

You whine in complaint.

Price shifts behind you, his eyes darting to the clock on his bedside table.

A shiver runs through you as his hand lands back on your thigh, still wet from your slick.

He leans back in, the bed creaking under his weight as his lips meet the back of your head.

“Gotta go to work love.”

He murmurs, and just like that the beautiful pleasure making your thighs tremble disappears as Price throws off the covers and stands up.

To your horror, tears immediately begin to gather in your eyes.

But not out of sadness.

Frustration.

A laugh leaves you that sounds more manic than not.

“You’re kidding.”

John is already off the bed, pulling his pants to his hips, a proud smirk on his lips.

“M’not darling. Duty calls.”

He smiles at you flashing pretty baby blues. Bastard knew what he was doing. When he sees the tears trickling down your face he doesn’t panic, doesn’t baby you.

No.

He laughs.

“Damn baby, I make you cum and you’re still gonna cry?”

Despite his teasing his words are full of affection as he cups your face, wiping your tears with one big thumb swiping across your cheek.

“I’ll be back.”

He promises low, his eyes never leaving yours.

You huff, crossing your arms in defiance though a smile pulls at your pouting lips.

You know this isn’t a normal reaction, to cry, but you’re not upset, well— maybe a little, only at the fact that he stopped.

“That’s not fair! You teased me!”

You whine, but it’s half hearted.

He chuckles low and deep, his belly jiggling with the movement.

“You’ll be fine dear.”

With another chuckle he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“When I come back, I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

And with that he leaves the room.

Leaving you, a wound up, frustrated, horny wife all alone in the warm bed.

Destined to squirm until he comes home.

AN: good morning guys 😽

[soliloquysoph]

I’ve brought you a gift!

What do you think about bomb sniffing German Sheppard! reader who has their canines forcibly removed and was debarked because of one failed mission and has been thrown to the 141 because now they are seen as useless

I love the way you think😼

no real warnings just kinda sad at first?

-

The most humiliating thing you could do to a hybrid was take away their defining features. It wasn’t even your fault, your entire team fell for a diversion and you missed one bomb in a crucial spot. Anyone could have missed it and they did, there were other sniffers in the field with you but since you were already on thin ice for biting a commanding officer after he yanked on your tail, you took the fall.

You were strapped down to a terribly uncomfortable leather chair and your mouth pried open as the dentist just barely numbed you up and removed your canines. The only real way of defending yourself if needed. Then they clipped your vocal cords so there went your bark. You could still talk, but you were much quieter and a little hoarse so you just preferred to keep your mouth shut. It wouldn’t be so bad if you looked fully human, but they decided to let you keep your ears and tail. “So you learn your lesson, mutt.”

Then they threw you to another unit. Task force 141. It would have been somewhere less elite but they needed a sniffer and you were damaged goods to your old team now so they didn’t much care. The day you arrived, your ears were pinned down flat against your skull almost hidden in your hair and your tail tucked, you looked miserable. It was a whole other humiliation ritual when you tried introducing yourself and the Scottish one loudly complained that he couldn’t hear you. You only sort of knew Price at the time so you looked at him on the brink of tears and he took over, introducing you on your behalf.

The weeks went by and you slowly got to know everyone else. The Scottish one was Soap, and he ended up apologizing for his first impression. The “pretty boy” was Gaz, who gave you a hat that matched his with ear holes cut out as a sort of welcome gift. Then the masked one was Ghost, quiet like you and oddly comforting in that sense. You slowly but surely began warming up to them, walking about five steps behind them at first until you felt comfortable enough to squeeze in with them. They treated you like they would anyone else, pushed you just as hard during training, talked to you like a person and not a scientific abomination.

Sometimes you’d sneak into their rooms if you missed one of them and roll around in their beds a bit so you could get their scent on you. You were only caught because a tuft of fur blew out from under Gaz’s bed when he opened the door one day. After that, they would each periodically text you to let you know their room would be empty all day so help yourself.

Your first mission with them was probably the worst you’d felt in a few months. The fear of fucking up again and getting a worse punishment crept back in and was evident on your face. Price side eyed you and scratched the spot right behind your ear, silently reassuring you. Thankfully the mission went without a hitch and you got tons of ear scratches on the ride back along with Soap going full dog mode and saying, “Such a good girl lass, look atcha. Oughta give ye a treat, aye?” While keeping you in a headlock to mess with your hair.

You loved your new team and they loved you, defining features or not. Though Ghost did decide to surprise you with a special retainer made with prosthetic canines so you could feel a bit more normal again. That made you ugly cry in his arms for about ten minutes.

But they made you realize you were never the problem, you just needed humanity.

[bluecarolina]

saw the mw4 trailer and it got me thinking about being the partner John Price left behind…

content: angst, rogue Price, military inaccuracies oops

“I told you, Simon,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time today, your voice weary, “I don’t know where John is.”

Simon watches you from across the table. The interrogation table. You can hardly believe you’re here, being treated like some war criminal all because your husband abandoned you for revenge. They keep telling you you’re not in trouble and that you’ll only be here for a few hours, but you’re losing hope. Especially when Simon looks at you like that.

“I don’t believe you,” he states flatly, his fingers drumming against the table. He’s desperate. “Price must have told you something. Anything. We just need a lead, love.” A lead, like it’s that simple.

You shake your head, looking up at the ceiling. “He’d never put me in danger like that,” you whisper, feeling the emotion build up inside you. “You know he wouldn’t. I know he’s fucked up, but you and I both know he’s doing this for the right reasons.” You level your gaze with Simon, your eyes raw and honest. “Let me go home. Please. This hasn’t been easy for me, or the family.”

You see a tiny flicker in his eyes, sympathy maybe. Perhaps guilt, even. He leans back with a sigh, slowly nodding before getting to his feet. “I’ll drive you back,” he says, resting his hand on your lower back as he guides you out of the room.

You say goodbye on your doorstep, with a hug and a promise to phone him if you hear anything from your husband. Then you’re alone in the house you that, up until a few days ago, you shared with John.

It feels too quiet, too empty without him. The smell of him - the combination of bourbon, cigars and gun smoke - is already fading away. You do everything you would do on a normal day, but the absence of John feels like a physical in your chest. Nothing about this is normal.

By the time evening rolls around, you double check that the front door is locked before closing all the curtains in the house. You make sure that the whole house is secure and safe, even though you can see the unmarked car parked across the street. Watching you and your house for any sign of John.

With a sigh, you retreat to your bedroom. The bed feels too big without John sharing it, his clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. You perch on the edge of the bed, watching as the clock on the sideboard ticks towards 9pm. Your fingers play with the necklace you’re wearing as you wait, a gift from John on your first wedding anniversary.

Then, as soon as the hour ticks over, the phone rings. Right on time.

Not the landline. Not your mobile.

You drag the suitcase from under the bed, digging under the clothes to pull out the black brick of a phone. Untraceable and unidentifiable. Your hand is steady as you press it to your ear, a slight smile tugging at your lips as the familiar voice of your husband fills your ear.

“Hello, darling,” John murmurs into the phone, his voice crackling thanks to wherever he currently is. “Miss me?”

a/n: thinking about expanding this into a full fic?? maybe??

[prettybird-ie]

dating the 141 means break-ins hardly phase you.

i imagine the live camera feed goes off one night while youre lying in bed. new sheets still hugging you warm after the dryer. the boys are off doing their personal night routines, heavy guard dogs lay at your feet.

with the chime of your phone, a notification alerts you of outside movement. you consider it to be a waving branch or passing car, yet check it nonetheless. something about inner intuition.

youre glad you did.

watching silently as someones shadow skirts along the darker parts of around your house. passing the kitchen windows with a ducked head, then round the back.

"fuck," you bite your lip. sighing quietly as you toss your phone. "johnathan!" four heads from the bathroom peek around the doorframe slow, eyes open with the use of a full name. johnny fights a grin, ready to watch his captain get chewed out by their lady.

"..ye' love?"

"theres some weird guy wandering 'round the house outside," you inform dryly. plucking your phone back up and leaving it there. you reach for your wine glass on the bedside table, sipping as their hearts fall to their ass.

sure, anxiety stirs low in your gut. nipping at your reason and concious. but you also are keen of what your boys have lived through, the dirtest negotiations and most horrific actions.

alway do they come back home into your arms.

you could blame it on pure lack of sleep, but its nicer to blame it on the assumption youre probably the safest person in town. perhaps city if you dare.

so you continue with scrolling through ao3.

paying a half mind as military tense rounds over their bodies. simon whistles for the dogs and grabs his pistol. grunting and rolling his bare shoulders in atonished anger at somones sheer audacity. i mean for fuck sakes the mans tired. 

johnnys sneaking grin falls, replaced by a flat face as hes quick to grab a flashlight and gun. moving out the door on simons heels. big dogs herding around them.

"stay 'ere yeah love? dont open the fuckin' door," johns voice is a low growl. grabbing a hunters knife ( anniversary gift from you, his names carved in the wood ) and moving to the window. room lights flipped off when johnny left. scanning the open grass with an annoyed brow twitch. "kyle, wi' me."

kyle nods, glancing back three times to make sure youre content. careful to lock the bedroom door and leave a weapon with you, which he drills in not to touch less you hear the burglar. with a final glance, hes gone with the rest of them.

your ears perk for movement outside. glass shatters and a door kicks open. youre pretty sure you hear the guy shriek — most definitely simons doing, weird fucker was waiting in the dark — a brisk struggle before the house falls silent, words they dont want you hearing are exchanged then hes thrown out onto the grass.

hes quick to jump up and scurry off, wet pants uncomfortable and now stinking.

you sigh with annoyance, replacing windows was the biggest bitch. but whatever, sukuna is realizing his love for Y/N.

[luvlyk-13]

secret

spencer reid x bau!reader

summary: you and spencer are secretly married and you both forgot to take your ring off

The bullpen was unusually calm for a Monday morning. Which, in the BAU, usually meant disaster was approximately fifteen minutes away.

Emily sat at her desk sipping coffee while JJ flipped through paperwork beside her, the soft murmur of phones and keyboards filling the room. Derek leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers while pretending not to listen to Garcia ranting through his headset about someone breaking her favorite glitter gel pen.

And then the elevator doors opened. You walked out first.

Immediately, Emily narrowed her eyes, “You look… suspiciously happy.”

You tried, and failed, to suppress your grin. “I’m always happy.”

“Absolutely not,” Derek said instantly. “You work here.”

A laugh escaped you as you crossed toward your desk, rolling your carry-on behind you. Spencer stepped out of the elevator right after you, sweater vest slightly wrinkled from travel, curls messy in that soft way that made him look even more endearing than usual.

And he looked just as happy. Which was worse.

JJ blinked between the two of you slowly. “Okay, what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Spencer answered too quickly.

Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. Something definitely happened.”

You and Spencer exchanged one brief glance. Barely there.

But Hotch noticed it immediately from his office doorway. Of course he did. Because Aaron Hotchner had known for six months that the two of you were secretly dating and for three weeks that the two of you had secretly gotten married.

He’d been the only witness at the courthouse besides Rossi. Mostly because Spencer had nearly passed out from nerves beforehand and needed someone calm nearby.

Hotch simply sipped his coffee now, watching the disaster unfold with the expression of a man witnessing an inevitable train wreck.

Derek pointed at the two of you dramatically. “Why are you both glowing?”

“We went on vacation,” you said carefully.

“Together?” Emily asked.

Spencer nearly choked.

“No,” you blurted at the exact same time he said, “Yes.”

Silence. JJ’s mouth fell open. Emily slowly turned toward Spencer. “You said yes.”

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Did I?”

“You literally just—”

“I meant yes we both went on vacations. Separately. Simultaneously.”

Derek burst out laughing. “Man, you are terrible at lying.”

Spencer adjusted his satchel nervously. “Statistically speaking, lying is a cognitively demanding process that activates—”

“Reid,” Derek interrupted, grinning. “Breathe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too hard because this was exactly why the two of you had kept your relationship quiet in the first place. Not because you were ashamed. Not because you didn’t love each other openly. But because the BAU was relentless.

And because Spencer liked having one thing in his life that belonged only to the two of you. The late-night takeout dinners after difficult cases. The sleepy mornings in your shared apartment. The whispered “I love you”s no one else got to hear.

And now, your marriage. Just thinking that word made warmth spread through your chest all over again.

You were so distracted by the thought that you completely forgot one very important thing. The ring on your finger. It wasn’t flashy. That wasn’t either of your styles.

Just a simple silver band Spencer had spent weeks choosing because he said the simplicity made it “mathematically timeless.”

You’d teased him for that sentence for three straight days.

Now, as you set your bag down at your desk and reached for a file, the fluorescent bullpen lights caught the ring. And Derek saw it immediately.

His grin faded slightly, “Hold up.”

You froze. Slowly, Derek stood from his chair and walked closer, “What’s that?”

Your stomach dropped. Emily looked over curiously. JJ followed her gaze. And then both women gasped in horrifying synchronization.

“Oh my god,” JJ whispered.

You instinctively covered your hand. Too late. Derek stared at the ring before looking at your face.

“Since when do you wear jewelry?”

“I always wear jewelry.”

“You own, like, two necklaces and both were from Garcia.”

“Okay well—”

“Wait,” Emily interrupted sharply, eyes narrowing. “Is that a wedding ring?”

The bullpen went dead silent. You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Across the room, Spencer looked like he was actively dying. Hotch lowered his coffee slightly, clearly preparing for impact.

Derek’s eyes widened slowly, “No.” He looked at you. Then at Spencer. Then back at you. And that was when he noticed the silver band on Spencer’s left hand gripping a case file.

Spencer followed Derek’s stare downward. His eyes widened behind his glasses.

“Oh my god,” Emily yelled.

JJ slapped a hand over her mouth. Derek looked genuinely betrayed. “Reid?”

Spencer turned bright red immediately. “I can explain.”

“You got married?” Derek shouted.

Garcia’s voice suddenly echoed from the speaker on Derek’s desk. “Who got married?”

“Reid and Y/N!”

There was a shriek loud enough that everyone had to pull their heads away from the sound, “Oh my glittering heavens!”

You buried your face in your hands. Spencer looked moments away from passing out. Emily was losing her mind.

“When were you planning on telling us?!” she demanded.

“We— we weren’t hiding it maliciously,” you said weakly.

“You disappeared for two weeks!”

“That was our honeymoon,” Spencer admitted quietly.

The entire bullpen exploded. JJ was screaming. Emily was pacing. Garcia was crying dramatically through the phone. Derek looked personally victimized.

“A honeymoon?!” he repeated. “You went on a whole honeymoon and didn’t tell us?”

Spencer adjusted his glasses nervously. “Technically it was eleven days, not the traditional fourteen associated with most western honeymoon customs—”

“Boy, I do not care about the statistics of your secret marriage!”

You started laughing despite yourself. And Spencer looked over at you immediately. That soft look crossed his face instantly. The one he only ever wore for you. Complete affection. Complete adoration.

Derek saw it and stopped talking. Because suddenly everything made sense. The quiet glances. The way Spencer always knew when you needed coffee before you even asked. How you were the only person who could calm him during difficult cases. The subtle touches. The inside jokes. The way Spencer looked at you like you hung the stars yourself.

Derek shook his head slowly, “You two are ridiculous.”

Spencer blinked. “In a negative sense?”

“In a disgustingly in-love sense.”

Your cheeks warmed.

Emily dropped into the chair beside you dramatically. “I can’t believe I missed an entire secret relationship.”

“We were careful,” you admitted.

Hotch finally stepped out of his office then, looking entirely unsurprised.

Derek pointed at him immediately, “You knew.”

Hotch took another sip of coffee, “Yes.” The entire team erupted again.

“You all knew?” Garcia cried through the speaker.

“Rossi knew as well,” Hotch added calmly.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We didn’t want things to change.”

JJ softened immediately at that, “And did they?”

You looked over at Spencer. His wedding ring caught the light as his fingers brushed against yours gently under the desk where no one else would’ve noticed except Derek absolutely noticed. And smirked.

“No,” you answered softly. “Not really.”

Spencer smiled then, small, warm. Completely in love.

“Well,” Emily sighed dramatically, “I guess this means we have to throw you a wedding party now.”

Spencer looked alarmed instantly. “A party?”

“Yes,” JJ said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the phone again. “I’m already planning colors, Boy Wonder.”

Spencer looked at you helplessly. You just laughed and squeezed his hand. Your husband’s hand. And despite the chaos erupting around the bullpen, despite Derek interrogating him already and Emily demanding photos and Garcia threatening to plan six separate receptions, Spencer smiled back.

Because for the first time, the secret was finally out. And somehow, everything still felt exactly the same.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon Riley with his weird ass acts of love and bizarre concept of boundaries

You’ll be waking up confused in the middle of the night, feeling a strange pulling at your feet, only to glance down and see your boyfriend has thrown the covers off and is attempting to clip your toenails for you

“What in the actual f-”

“I’m tired o’ your talons diggin’ into my legs every nigh’. This is for both o’ us, love.” He’ll grumble in that tone of his that leaves no room for argument, only the sound of nail clippers echoing in the room as your roll your eyes before shutting them again

Every so often when you’re on your period, you’ll be stepping out of the shower, bewildered to find that the night time pad and underwear you’d set aside with your pyjamas on the bathroom counter top, have been put together for you?

“Simon- you saved me all of two steps at most? Opening the wrapper and sticking it on?”

“And you’re welcome.” He’ll mutter casually with a quick kiss to your forehead before he’s off to brush his teeth

“I’m so confused. I might be losing it, Si.” You’ll mention one time, coming home after work with bags of greasy takeout food in hand, his brow only raising in question. “This is maybe the third time now I’ve noticed that the petrol was nearing a quarter tank, so I’d plan to fill up the next day. But next time I get in the car- the tank is fucking full! The first time I thought I had dreamt it, second time I thought I was hallucinating a little bit, but now-”

“Love, I’ve been filling up your car.”

“…what?”

“That’s me. Every time I’ve heard you say you need petrol- I’ve filled up the car.” Simon shrugs as though he’s simply telling you what the weather is for today, not that he’s been sneaking out in the middle of the night with your car keys to run a quick errand for you as you sleep

“I don’t know if I want to ask how or why first.”

“Well petrol’s fuckin’ expensive now, that’s why. You don’t need to be payin’ tha’.”

“You could have just … asked me?”

“… righ’. Noted.” He’ll nod in quick agreement before moving on to take the bags from you, no intention whatsoever of changing his habits

[vintagevenus1111]

Bride to be...

pairing: !joel miller x f!reader wc: 12k (i dont think ill ever be able to write a oneshot under 10k...)

summary: you were supposed to marry someone else today... until joel miller showed up...

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tags: modern AU (no outbreak), age gap(reader age not explicitly stated but is younger than joel), no smut (srryyy it just didnt fit), heavy angst, mutual pining, emotional infidelity, hurt/comfort, second chance romance, exes to lovers, right person wrong time, happy ending♡

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a/n: buckle up for some angst!

You always knew it was Joel.

Even now, standing on the edge of forever with someone else, that truth sat heavy in your chest like a second heartbeat you could never quite silence.  Joel Miller had carved himself into your soul in a way no one else ever had, or ever would. Right person, wrong time – the cruelest kind of love story.

The breakup had been mutual in the end, but you were the one who initiated it.

It happened on a rainy Tuesday night almost five years ago. You were both exhausted and drained —  from work, from life, from each other. You sat on your couch, knees pulled to your chest, and finally said the words that had been weighing on you for months: you weren’t ready. Work was swallowing you whole back then. You were climbing the corporate ladder fast—you had little time for anything else and you were terrified of slowing down or committing to anything serious before you even knew who you were on your own. You needed space to figure yourself out.

Joel had listed quietly, jaw tight and eyes tired. He didn’t fight you. He was struggling too – emotionally unavailable in ways he didn’t know how to fix, always keeping a piece of himself locked away. And the age gap had started to wear on him more than he let on; he could never fully shake the feeling that he was holding you back from the life you deserved, that someone your age should be with a man who didn’t already feel a decade older in every way. On top of that, his work schedule kept him busy too, it was extremely demanding and kept him gone for long stretches, leaving him distant even when he was physically there.

So you ended it together.

Both of you cried. Both of you held each other like the damn world was ending.  And when the storm outside finally quieted, you made a promise through shaky voices and broken cries that you’d stay friends. Because the love you had for each other was still there—it would always be—it just wasn’t the right time for it to live inside a relationship.

That promise lasted a little less than a year.

Late-night phone calls turned into “I miss you” texts, which turned into “What if we tried again?” texts. But the timing was never right. When you were finally ready to dive back in, Joel was seeing someone—someone his age probably. Someone who probably had a lot more to offer than you did. And when Joel was ready, you had just stared something casual with another guy. The window kept closing before either of you could step through it.

Even after that, you both tried really hard to stay in each others lives. You kept texting more than you probably should have – good morning messages, late-night phone calls, sharing songs or silly things that reminded you of each other. You met for coffee a few times, even had a couple of long dinners that felt dangerously close to dates.

And your new partners hated it.

They could feel the unfinished history between you, the lingering pull, the way both of you would drop everything to help the other. Your boyfriends could never understand why you were still so caught up on a man old enough to be your father. They couldn’t figure out what hold he had on you, and it made them insecure, resentful. Joel’s girlfriends especially despised the idea of him staying close with his much younger ex who clearly still had his heart.  The jealousy turned into arguments, ultimatums and guilt trips. Slowly, painfully, the contact faded. The texts and late-night phone calls became rarer, then stopped completely.

Almost five years of complete silence.

You told yourself it was for the best. You moved on. You met Alex.

You’d met him at a charity gala – one of those stiff, upscale events your company forced you to attend. He was there representing his finance firm, charming donors with effortless confidence. He spilled a drink on you by accident, then spent the next twenty minutes making you laugh so hard you forgot to be annoyed at the fact that your favorite dress was ruined.

From that night on, Alex was your person. He had a steady corporate job, a bright smile that reached his eyes, and a way of making your ordinary days feel extraordinary. He planned thoughtful dates, remembered your coffee order, and never made you guess how he felt. He didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t consume you until the love felt like both oxygen and drowning all at once. He didn’t look at you like he’d burn everything down just to keep you warm—like Joel did—and that was okay. He simply loved you – quietly, consistently, without drama or his own walls getting in the way.

Around a year ago, he got down on one knee with a ring that costs more than your car in front of a view that you only ever dreamed about, and asked you to marry him — and you said yes, because you loved him. It was real. It was comfortable.

But it had never once felt like Joel.

And yet— you still invited him to the wedding.

The idea had lingered in the back of your mind for moths, even as you picked out flowers and tasted wedding cake samples with Alex. You and Joel had made a silly, half-drunken promise some months after the breakup, during one of those long, late dinners you kept having while you were trying (and failing) to stay friends.

You were a little tipsy on cheap red wine, Joel was one too many whiskeys deep, sitting across from each other in a small corner booth at your favorite Italian place in the city. The conversation turned bittersweet and nostalgic, as it often did. You traced the rim of your glass with your fingertip, smiling despite the ache in your chest, and finally said, “Even if we never figure this out...” you said through a shaky laugh. “I’m still showing up to your wedding one day. I need to see who finally manages to lock you down.”

Joel had stared at you for a long moment, his eyes warm and fond in the low candlelight. Then he reached across the table, took your hand, and spoke in that soft, gravelly voice that always made your chest ache.

“Maybe one day we’ll actually get it right,” he said softly, a quiet note of hope in his tone. “But if we don’t... deal.” His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles. “I’ll be at yours too, darlin’. Wouldn’t miss seeing the man lucky enough to marry you. Just hope he knows how special you are.”

It was sweet. Almost too sweet for two people who had just broken each other’s hearts only a few months ago. But the promise stuck with you.

So even after the years of silence, you mailed him an invitation. They were way fancier than anything you would’ve picked out on your own. Thick cream cardstock with real gold foil lettering, yours and Alex’s names embossed at the top like it belonged in a magazine. The date, venue, and all the extra fancy details written out in beautiful script below, with a little RSVP card tucked inside that had two checkboxes: one for “Yes” and one for “No." And Joel’s name on the envelope in your prettiest handwriting.

Three weeks later, a thick envelope showed up in your mailbox and inside was the little RSVP card tucked in it. He had checked the box for “Yes” and added a small handwritten note on the card in that messy, familiar scrawl:

Wouldn’t miss it.

Your stomach did a full flip and you stood there in your kitchen like an idiot, running your thumb over the dried ink for way too long, like you could still feel him through the paper.

———

The engagement party was ridiculous.

Because Alex came from money—serious money – he insisted on making the night huge. “We should make the engagement party insane,” he’d said with that charming smile of his. “Just all our friends, no family – so everyone can actually let loose and celebrate without any of that formal stuff.”  You hadn’t really cared either way – if Alex wanted a big blowout with all his friends, you were fine with it. So he did it—and ended up inviting half the wedding list to the engagement party.

He went all out on his side – basically every friend he’d ever had. His old college buddies, his finance team, the guys he played golf with, plus a ton of his work colleagues and their partners.

Your own list was much smaller in comparison. Honestly, most of the people coming to the wedding were from Alex’s side anyway, so you invited just about all of your friends – your closest girlfriends, a handful of coworkers you actually liked, and a couple of family friends that weren’t technically family. You weren’t used to weddings or engagement parties this massive. It still felt a little overwhelming.

And then there was Joel.

At first, you weren’t even going to invite him. Alex still had no idea who Joel was, and you figured it probably wasn’t smart to introduce your ex at your own engagement party. But the thought of seeing him for the first time on your actual wedding day felt worse. You told yourself the engagement party would be less awkward – you’d be busy playing hostess, surrounded by people, exchanging casualties, so you probably wouldn’t even talk to him much anyway. So you slipped his name onto your list and mailed it before you could talk yourself out of it.

In the end, Alex’s huge circle of friends completely overshadowed your much, much smaller one, packing the rooftop of the city’s most expensive hotel full.

String lights draped from every beam, champagne towers shimmering under the lights, and a live jazz band playing soft, casual music that mixed with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. There were easily two hundred plus people here, all dressed to impress, and the whole thing felt like the actual wedding rather than an engagement party.

And you were in the middle of it all, playing the part of the happy fiancée perfectly. You’d just finished thanking what felt like the hundredth group of Alex’s colleagues for coming when one of them cracked a stupid joke about marriage. You forced out a polite little laugh, took a sip of your champagne to cover it, and casually let your eyes drift across the rooftop while you swallowed.

You spotted a few of your girlfriends laughing near the bar, and you waved at them with a small smile and a sarcastic eye roll. Alex was a little further away, deep in conversation with some of his buddies, gesturing animatedly.  A couple of your coworkers were posing for photos by the string lights. Everything looked perfect, manicured—exactly how Alex wanted it.

You were just about to join back into the conversation when you spotted him.

Joel.

He was standing just to the side of the entrance, hands adjusting the last button of his collard shirt, sleeves rolled up to those strong forearms you used to trace with your fingertips, and his favorite worn jeans that somehow still fit him perfectly. His once-dark-brown hair had faded into salt-and-pepper and was a touch longer than you remembered, paired with that familiar scruff along his jaw. He looked exactly like the man you’d fallen in love with—only better—and you didn’t even think that was possible. Exactly like the one you’d tried so hard to forget.

For a second, it felt like the entire rooftop disappeared. The cheesy music, the lights, the two hundred guests – everything, gone.  Your heart slammed against your chest so hard you actually pressed a hand there like it might calm it down. Heat rushed up your neck and your entire mouth went dry like you had stuffed it full of cotton.

He spotted you at the exact same moment. His big brown eyes locked onto yours across the crowd, and the corner of his mouth ticked up into that small, crooked smile you still dreamed about sometimes. You didn’t even think before you started moving. You murmured a quick “excuse me” to the group you’d been talking to and started toward him. Your heels clicked across the rooftop floors, silk dress swaying around your legs, and Joel moved to meet you like gravity was pulling you both together.

You stopped just a foot away from him. For a long second, neither of you said anything. You just stared at each other like you were the only people in the room. Then his arms opened, and you stepped right into them without hesitation.

You audibly exhaled the second you reached up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You meant to hug him politely—like a friend— you did, but instead, your arms wrapped around his neck like they still belonged there. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in – cedar, soap, a hint of bourbon, and that unmistakable Joel scent that still—embarrassingly, felt like home. He held you so tight, one hand slowly rubbing up and down your spine while the other stayed at the small of your back. The hug went on way longer than it should have for two people who were supposed to be old friends. But you didn’t care – not right now – not when you were finally getting to wrap your arms around the man you’d shamelessly missed so damn much.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured into your hair, that familiar drawl sending a shiver straight down your back.

“Joel...” you whisper, hugging him a little tighter.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were softer, searching your face like he was memorizing every tiny change. His hands lingered on your waist a little longer, drawing small strokes up and down with his thumb.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually show up,” you admitted, trying to smile.

His thumb brushed over your hip one last time before he pulled his hand away. “Told you I wouldn’t miss it.” That crooked smile deepened. “Couldn’t miss meetin’ the man who finally won your heart.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh and swatted at his arm. “Shut up.”

He laughed quietly, almost to himself, before he took a step back and let his eyes drag slowly down your body – taking in the way the silky fabric hugged your waist and hips, the way it shimmered under the string lights. When his gaze finally met yours again, his eyebrows had lifted a little, and those big brown eyes were a little softer than before.

“Wow...” he chuckles, shaking his head. His eyes dance across the length of you again before they came back up. “You look absolutely beautiful, darlin’.” He takes a small half-step closer, his voice dropping a little. “And you just had to wear my favorite color, didn’t you?”

Your cheeks flush hot. You smile shyly and glance down at the emerald silk, smoothing your hands over the fabric self-consciously.

You’d actually been torn between two dresses as you were getting ready earlier. One was an elegant champagne-colored gown Alex had absolutely loved. He’d told you it made you look refined and classy, like the perfect future wife who belonged on his arm at galas and fancy dinners – sophisticated and “appropriate.”

The other was this deep emerald green silk that hugged your curves and made your eyes pop and skin glow. You knew Joel had always loved you in green. It did something to him – brought out this hungry, almost possessive look in his eyes. Every single time you’d worn that color back when you were together, his hands couldn’t stay off you. He’d get this look in his eyes like he wanted to devour you right there.

Similar to the one he has now.

You told yourself you picked the green because it made you feel confident. Because it was your favorite too. Not because there was a chance Joel might show up at your party tonight. Definitely not because of Joel.

“It looks even better on you than I remember,” he adds, smiling to himself.

 You let out a soft, teasing laugh and shake your head. “Joel...” you say, his name laced with playful disbelief.

He chuckles quietly, eyes full of warmth. “I mean it. Seein’ you like this tonight... you look incredible.”

You feel your cheeks redden again and you bring a hand up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and meet his eyes. “Thank you, Joel.”

You lift your head, nodding at him.  “You look really good too. I like your hair longer like this... and the gray. It suits you.” You tilt your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I always told you to grow it out and let the gray show, remember? Took you long enough to finally listen to me.”

He lets out a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back as an almost bashful smile crosses his face. “Yeah... you always did know what looked best on me,” he says, laughing. “Still a little stubborn, I guess.”

You smile, a little flutter in your chest at the sight of him looking so unexpectedly shy. “I’m just glad you finally took my advice,” you tease gently. “It really does look good.”

Your fingers twitch at your side. You used to run your hands through his hair without thinking – it was something you did all the time, playing with the strands, tugging them gently when you kissed him, brushing it back like he’d just done. The urge hit you so strongly for a second that you had to physically stop yourself, curling your fingers into your palm. You aren’t allowed to do that anymore.

Joel smiled for another second, then it faded some. He looked at you for a long second, something heavier in his eyes.

“Guess a lot of things are takin’ me longer than they should these days.”

Your smile fades and your face drops slightly as a wave of sadness washes over you, the playful spark you had just seconds ago fading into something sadder, more vulnerable – because you know exactly what he means. But it’s too late now. Everything is too late.

“Joel...” you whisper, his name breaking a little as it leaves your lips. You open your mouth to say something else – anything – but before you can find the words,

“Hey!” One of your girlfriends calls your name from across the balcony, waving you over with a bright smile. “We need you for pictures! Hurry!”

You turn toward your friend for a second before turning back to Joel. Your eyes are soft and full of quiet regret as you meet his.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently. “I’ll come find you later, okay? Don’t go far.”

Joel gives you a small nod. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You manage a small, sad smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, then turn and walk back towards your friends. Your heart growing heavier with each step.

The next half hour passes in a blur of forced smiles and constant motion. Your girlfriends pull you into a big group photo, then another... after that, you stop counting. You laugh at their jokes and pose like you’re having the time of your life, but your mind keeps drifting, drifting back to Joel.

After the pictures, Alex finds you and keeps you close, introducing you to more of his colleagues and their partners. You shake hands, accept congratulations, and make small talk about the wedding while Alex’s arm stays wrapped around your waist.

You float around the party like you’re expected to – smiling, thanking people, sipping champagne that tastes like nothing. Every few minutes, your eyes scan the crowd, searching.

You spot Joel at the bar. He’s leaning against the counter with a glass of whiskey in his hand, talking to some guy you don’t recognize. He looks calm, but you notice the way his shoulders are a little tense. He laughs at something the man says, but you can tell it isn’t a real one.

Then, a little while after that, you catch him in a conversation with two of Alex’s golf buddies. He’s being polite, nodding along, but you can tell from the set of his jaw that he couldn’t care less about what they’re talking about. He glances up, and your eyes meet across the rooftop for a brief second that feels like forever and the look he gives you is sad, full of everything he didn’t get to say earlier.

You get pulled into yet another conversation with Alex’s friends, forced to laugh at a story about their last trip to Europe, all while your chest feels tight. Every time you try to slip away, someone else calls your name, or Alex wraps his arm around your waist and steers you toward a new group.

All the while, Joel stays on the edge of things. Present, but never fully part of the celebration. But you can’t blame him. How could you?

You finally slip away when the party hits a natural lull – most people are gathered near the bar for another round of drinks or crowding around Alex as he tells another one of his loud work stories. Your girlfriends are deep in conversation and laughing; everyone too occupied with themselves to notice you disappear.

You murmur something about needing the restroom and disappear into the crowd before anyone can follow you.

It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s tucked away in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the rooftop terrace, partially hidden behind a tall planter overcrowding with flowers. He’s leaning against the railing with a glass of barely-touched whiskey in his hand, looking out over the city like the rest of the noisy party doesn’t exist.

You walk up slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Wow,” you say teasingly, stopping a few feet away. “ Look at you... sulking in the corner like you’re too cool for the rest of us. Very mysterious, Mr. Miller.”

He turns his head, and the moment his eyes land on you, that familiar crooked smile returns. He lets out a small laugh and shakes his head.

“Yeah, well…” he drawls, teasing you right back, “someone’s gotta keep the wall company. Figured I’d give the rest of these fancy people some space.” He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. “Besides... I was waitin’ for you to escape.”

The tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest eases the second he says it. Just like that, the years melt away. The rhythm between you clicks back into place like no time has passed at all.

You step closer and lean against the railing beside him, close enough that your arm brushes his. “I’m glad you’re here,” you say quietly. “It means a lot.”

He turns his head to look at you fully, his half-smile deepening, eyes gentle in the low light.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “Good. ‘Cause I’m glad I'm here too.”

He takes another swig of his drink, then turns around and leans his back against the railing, facing the lively party behind you. He gestures loosely with his glass toward the string lights, the champagne towers, the crowd laughing and mingling.

“This is some engagement party,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Y’all really went all out, huh?”

You let out a small laugh and turn around too, leaning back against the railing beside him, close enough you can smell him again.

“This wasn’t my idea. Trust me,” you say, shaking your head. “Alex is...” You hesitate for a second, searching for the right words. “He likes big gestures. This is actually pretty tame compared to what he wanted to do.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You continue with a small, slightly embarrassed smile, lifting your hand to cover your face for a second. “He originally wanted to rent a yacht for the night... full party on the water,” you admit, peeking through your fingers. “I barely talked him down to this rooftop thing.”

You feel a little flush of embarrassment because this kind of extravagance still feels foreign to you. Alex is so materialistic – he loves big, flashy gestures and showing off what he can afford. You and Joel were never like that. The two of you used to make fun of people exactly like Alex, rolling your eyes at over-the-top displays of wealth while splitting cheap takeout on his couch. Now here you are, throwing the kind of party you both would’ve mocked years ago.

Joel lets out a low huff of a laugh, almost under his breath. He glances out at the glittering party for a moment before looking back at you, his expression somewhere between amused and knowing.

"A yacht, huh?" His voice is warm but dry. “That’s a hell of a step up from late nights in my old truck.”

You let out another soft, slightly embarrassed laugh and shake your head, leaning a little more against the railing beside him.

“Yeah... tell me about it,” you say, voice quiet. “It still feels weird sometimes. All of this.” You gesture vaguely toward the lights and crowd.

You look down for a second, a soft laugh slipping out as you shake your head at yourself. Then you lift your eyes back to his, a gentle, nostalgic smile on your face.

“God, remember that one time I was craving pancakes at like one in the morning?” you ask, fond with the memory. “I wouldn’t stop talking about that little diner I loved – the one with the ridiculous syrup selection. You had work the next morning, but you still grabbed your keys and drove two hours with me anyway.”

Your cheeks warm, smiling as the memory plays out in your head.

Joel laughs low and fond, shaking his head. “Oh, I remember,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I also remember you swearin’ you wouldn’t fall asleep on the way there... and then passin’ out ten minutes in.”

You let out a noisy laugh and nudge his arm with your elbow. “Okay, that’s not fair. I stayed awake for at least twenty minutes! And I only fell asleep because your truck was so comfortable and you always played that soft country music. It was basically a sedative.”

Joel laughs too, a real, warm sound that makes your chest feel lighter. “Yeah,” he says, still grinning, “and then you woke up and ordered more pancakes than you could even eat.”

You laugh again, dropping your head. “I was hungry! And I was so sure I could finish them all,” you say, shaking your head at your past self.

The two of you laugh together for a moment, the sound comfortable between you. Then your smile softens. You look down for a second before lifting your eyes back to him.

“And you still let me have the last bite of yours,” you say softly. “Even though you wanted it.”

He watches you for a long moment, his eyes soft and full of that quiet affection you remember so well. The crooked smile on his face turns gentle, almost tender.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing something. “I never could say no to you. Couldn’t help it. Seein’ that happy little look on your face was always better than anythin’ I wanted for myself.”

He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. “Still is.”

You feel your heart squeeze tight in your chest, a warm, aching pull that makes it hard to breathe for a second.

God, why does he still look at you like that? Like you’re still his, like he’s not at your fucking engagement party?

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let the smile on your face get too soft, too telling, but it’s useless. A quiet breath slips out while your fingers nervously twist at the silk of your dress.

This is so unfair. How can almost five years of silence vanish the second you’re standing next to him? How can he still make you feel this way – like the rest of the world and your damn fiancé and this whole fancy party don’t even exist?

Joel notices the change. Of course he does. His expression changes, softening into understanding as he watches your fingers fidget with your dress. He clears his throat gently and changes the subject, voice casual but kind.

“So... tell me about work,” he says, tilting his head a little. “You mentioned that promotion last time we talked. How’s that goin’? Gotta be some progress in five years,” he laughs kindly.

You smile and latch onto the safer topic like a lifeline. For the next half hour, the rest of the party basically ceases to exist. The conversation flows easily between you, natural and effortless, just like it used to.

You tell him about your promotion, the bigger team you're managing now, and how the new responsibilities have been both exciting and exhausting. You mention the new place you and Alex moved into downtown, how life has somehow gotten... steady. Comfortable. He listens like he always does – really listens – nodding along, asking questions, chuckling at your stories about your nightmare coworker who sends passive-aggressive emails at two in the morning.

He tells you about the latest contracting projects that have been keeping him busy, the old house he finally finished restoring with his own two hands, and how Tommy is still giving him endless shit but is doing okay. You laugh when he describes Tommy showing up unannounced and “helping” with the plumbing, nearly flooding the place.

But slowly, comfortably, the conversation drifts into more familiar territory.

You end up moving over to a seated area tucked against the side of the rooftop – a small couch partially hidden by more plants. You sit side by side, closer than you probably should. The talk turns sweeter. Riskier.

You laugh about the ridiculous fights you used to have that always ended in laughter not even ten minutes later. He teases you about the mornings he’d cook breakfast shirtless just to watch you get distracted. You smile at the memory of how he used to pull you into his chest from behind while you were brushing your teeth, kissing your shoulder and making silly faces at you in the mirror – which always made you laugh so hard you’d end up spitting toothpaste everywhere.

The conversation stays sweet and nostalgic as you both drift through old memories. You laugh about the time he surprised you by learning your favorite song on guitar just so he could play it for you on a random Monday night. He chuckles as he recalls how you used to steal his work T-shirts and wear them around the house, and how he’d pretend to be annoyed but secretly loved seeing you in them.

You reminisce about the night he carried you piggyback your whole way home because your feet hurt from your new shoes, and how he refused to put you down even when you laughed and told him you could walk. Another time you dragged him to a flower market and he let you buy way too many bouquets, then spent the rest of the day helping you arrange them all over his house just because it made you happy.

The stories keep flowing, soft and easy, full of those little everyday moments that made you fall in love with him. You’re both smiling more than you have all night, completely lost in each other as the rest of the party fades into background noise.

At some point, his hand finds your knee. You let it stay there. His thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on the inside of your knee – hidden under the edge of the table, innocent to anyone who might glance over, but enough to make heat bloom low in your belly. You don’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You were so wrapped up in Joel, you didn’t even see Alex approaching until he was right beside you, his over-the-top cologne hitting you before his presence did.

“There you are, babe,” Alex says, his voice bright but carrying a sharp edge underneath. His eyes dance between you and Joel, noticing how close you’re sitting.

You jolt like you’ve been caught doing something wrong, heart slamming in your chest. You quickly slide out from the table, smoothing your hands down your dress in a flustered rush.

“Sorry,” you say through an awkward laugh, the words tumbling out a little too fast. “Got a little caught up.”

Alex slides his arm around your waist and pulls you in close. His hand drifts lower, settling just above your ass in an almost too possessive way. You catch the way Joel’s jaw tightens, his shoulders going stiff as he stands. His eyes darken for just a second before he schools it back to neutral.

Alex scans Joel for a second then gives your ass a small, quick pat, then looks at you with a smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes.

“You gonna introduce me, babe?”

You startle again, heat rushing up your neck. “Oh—yeah, of course. Alex, this is Joel. He’s... and an old friend.”

Joel extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations on the engagement.”

Alex shakes it, his grip a little firmer than his usual. “Thanks,” He pulls his hand back and stuffs it back into the pocket of his pants before he turns his head toward you. “I didn’t  know you had any old friends I hadn’t met yet.”

You pause, unsure of what to say as heat crawls up the back of your neck. The silence drags for half a second too long before Joel saves the day.

“I lived out of state for a while. Just moved back. We lost touch for a bit.”

Not a complete lie.

Alex nods, but his eyes are still suspicious, flicking between the two of you like he’s trying to read something he can’t quite put his finger on. He forces a polite smile anyway. “Well, we should probably get back. Think they’re about to start toasts.” He turns to you. “Come on, babe.”

You give Joel one last look and he just nods, calm and unreadable.

Alex’s arm stays tight around your waist as he steers you away. You follow beside him for a few seconds but you can’t help it – you glance back over your shoulder. Joel is still watching you. You mouth a small “sorry” and a sad smile before Alex pulls you back into the crowd.

And the rest of the night passes in a dreamy, distant blur.

You smiled when you were supposed to, laughed at the right jokes, showed off your ring when asked, and clinked glasses during the long string of toasts. Alex kept you close, his arm tight around your waist like he was anchoring you to him—making sure you didn’t disappear again—as he introduced you to even more friends and colleagues, all of them gushing about how perfect the two of you looked together. You nodded along, said all the right things, and let him kiss your temple for the cameras... but your eyes kept drifting.

Every few minutes, you’d scan the rooftop, hoping for a glimpse of those broad shoulders or that salt and pepper hair. You looked for him by the bar, by the dessert table, along the balcony railing where you’d left him. But he was nowhere to be found. The longer the night dragged, the more your stomach twisted with disappointment.

He left. You realized somewhere between the third toast and the fourth round of photos. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

The thought made your chest ache – a sharp, twisting kind of hurt right behind your ribs that felt a little too much like heartbreak.

What if he doesn’t come to the wedding now? What if tonight was the last time you’d see him and you didn’t even get to say goodbye?

The worry sat like a stone in your stomach, making the lights seem a little harsher, the laughter around you a little too loud, and the whole beautiful night feel completely hollow.

By the time the party started winding down and the last guests were saying their goodbyes, you were exhausted – and not just from the champagne and small talk.

In the back of the town car on the way home, the silence was palpable.

But you barely noticed.

Your mind was still stuck on Joel – replaying every little detail like a film on loop. The way his hair was a little longer now, those silver strands catching the string lights and looking unfairly good. The scruff on his face was a little thicker than you remembered, and there were a couple more lines around his eyes when he smiled. But so many things were exactly the same, the same Texas drawl that flowed through you like butter, the way his eyes still softened when he looked at you—even after all these years—the familiar warmth of his hand on your knee, the way he listened like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You’d missed that. You’d missed him.

A small, secret smile tugged at your lips as you looked out the window.

“What’s going on with you?”

Alex’s voice cut through your thoughts. You blink and turn to face him. “Huh?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’ve been weird all night... Ever since I pulled you away from that guy... Joel, right?” His tone changes, not unkind but firm. “You two clearly have some kind of history.”

Your stomach drops and you feel your cheeks starting to flush again.

Alex lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “God, please tell me you didn’t like... sleep with your college professor or your old boss or something.”

You stare at him, eyes wide with confusion and a bit of hurt. Your mouth actually falls open a little.

He keeps going, gesturing with his hands like he always does. “Was he there to confess his love to you or something?” he asks. “I mean, he definitely looked like he was into you. Was he making you uncomfortable? How’d he even get invited? You should’ve come and found me. I—”

“Alex,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “No. Stop.”

He goes quiet.

You take a breath and try to slow your breathing and heartbeat. “He’s an old friend. That’s it. I didn’t sleep with my boss or my professor or whoever else you're imagining,” you say, a bit of irritation in your voice. “I can’t believe you’d even think I’d do something like that.”

His face drops a little, the frustration melting into something closer to regret.

You keep going, softer now. “I just—we just... hadn’t seen each other in a really long time. We got caught up talking about old memories and I just lost track of time. The nights been long, I got overwhelmed and distracted. And I’m tired,” you say, sighing. “That’s all.”

You hate lying to him. And the guilt twists tight in your chest every second. But how are you supposed to say, “Yeah, Alex, we do have history. He’s my ex – the I thought I was over, the one I told myself I only had friendly love left for... except now... now I don’t know anymore.”

Alex’s jaw clenches, his mouth pressing into a thin line as the frustration on his face slowly melts away, into something guiltier. His eyebrows pull together, and he looks away for a second, like he knows he went too far. He scoots closer on the seat, his hand sliding onto your thigh with a gentle squeeze, his thumb moving back and forth like he’s trying to pull you back to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m overwhelmed too. The wedding planning, the party, all the pressure... I didn’t mean to snap like that.” He pauses, like he’s searching for the words. “I was just making up excuses in my head.”

You stay quiet, watching him carefully.

He lets out a heavy breath and glances at you, then away again, looking almost embarrassed. “I was just... I don’t know, intimidated I guess.” His voice drops. “Dude’s fucking huge, built like a tank or something, and the way he was looking at you... shit, I don’t even know how to explain it.” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Anyway. I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have gone there. That was shitty of me.”

Your heart stutters a little.

You really thought you were making it up in your head – that soft, lingering way Joel looked at you tonight. The way his hand found your leg like he still got to touch you every day. You thought for sure after all this time – but if Alex noticed... it wasn’t just in your head. Joel really had been looking at you like nothings changed.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sound as casual as possible.

You let out a small laugh and try to sound only mildly interested. “What do you mean?” you ask, letting out another fake little laugh. “How was he... how was he looking at me?”

Alex glances at you, one eyebrow raised like he’s confused about why you care about the way “this guy” was looking at you.

“I don’t know...” he says, dragging out the words. “It was just... it wasn’t normal. Like he was hung up on you or something. Like he had no business looking at my fiancé like that.”

He shakes his head and lets out a short, uncomfortable laugh. “It pissed me off, honestly. Made me feel like I was walking in on something.”

Your cheeks burn hot. Your fingers tighten on the fabric of your dress, and you shift in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of how warm the car feels. Your pulse thuds loudly in your ears.

Alex watches you for a second, but it doesn’t last long. He’s completely oblivious, unaware of the way your knee is bouncing up and down in front of him. Because he just shakes his head and squeezes your thigh.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” He reaches over, grabs your legs and swings them across his lap, pulling you closer with a playful tug. His hand slides up your calf, thumb moving back and forth as he gives you a crooked, flirty little smirk.

“Come here,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I got all weird about it. I didn’t mean to ruin the night.” He leans in a little, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

You know this move.

This is what Alex does. Every single time there’s even a hint of tension or he says something he probably shouldn’t have, he skips the hard part – the talking, the digging deeper – and goes straight for this. A quick, meaningless apology, some sweet words, hands on your skin, and suddenly everything is “fixed”. And usually? You let him. You’re okay with the short, easy version. Quick makeup sex and everything is back to normal.

But tonight... tonight you wish he’d tried a little harder.

You wish he would ask more. Wish he would notice how your heart is still racing, how just saying Joel’s name made your face hot. Wish he would care enough to wonder why one “old friend” managed to pull your attention away at your own engagement party. Because maybe if he did, it’d make you feel a little more guilty for feeling the way you do.

But he doesn’t. His hand is already sliding up your dress, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh like the conversation’s already over.

So you give in.

You smile, soft and practiced, and lean in to kiss him back. Your fingers loop around the back of his neck, you touch him the way he likes, you make all the right little sounds. You try – you really try – to be here, to lose yourself in the way his mouth moves with yours and the way his hands feel on you.

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

On Joel.

Every time Alex moans against your neck, you hear Joel’s Texas drawl. Every time his hand squeezes your thigh, you feel Joel’s thumb tracing those lazy, slow circles instead. Every kiss, every touch, every breath... it all fades into the memory of that quiet corner on the rooftop and the man who never stopped looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

─────

After the engagement party, everything has been full steam ahead. A whirlwind of final fittings, vendor confirmations, seating chart adjustments, and endless meetings with your planner. Flower arrangements were approved, the final cake tastings were scheduled and rescheduled, the band confirmed their setlist, and you spent an entire grueling afternoon approving the calligraphy on the escort card. Everything moved at full speed, like a train that refused to slow down. Alex was in his element – handling logistics, charming everyone on the phone, and coming home each night with that proud, excited smile that made you feel guilty for not being just as thrilled.

You hadn’t heard a single word from Joel.

Not a text. Not a call. “Not even a polite “thanks for the invite, but I can’t make it anymore.” And you told yourself that was normal. You hadn’t spoken in five years before the party – why would that change just because he hugged you like he never wanted to let go and looked at you like you were still the center of his universe? Just because his thumb traced slow circles on your thigh like muscle memory... it didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. He wasn’t going to show up at your doorstep in the pouring rain and confess his love to you. That only happened in the movies.

Still, every time the mail came, your heart jumped. You half-expected a handwritten note from him saying he couldn’t come after all, maybe with some generic coffeemaker as a wedding gift and a “congratulations” that really felt like a goodbye. Or worse – that he simply wouldn’t show up at all. That he’d decided staying away was kinder, easier.

Either way, silence.

And tomorrow, you were getting married.

You’re lying in bed next to Alex now, the room dark except for the faint glow of the city’s lights through the curtains. He’s been asleep for hours now, breathing even and calm beside you. And you’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours, wide awake, heart heavy.

You love Alex. You do.

He makes you laugh on the hard days. He knows your favorite flower and makes sure to bring you a bouquet of them at least once a week. He’s stable and kind and ambitious in a way that feels comfortable. He’s built a life with you that looks perfect on paper – the beautiful apartment, the future plans, the way he acts like you’re the best decisions he’s ever made. Before Joel showed up at the engagement party, you’d barely thought about him since you last spoke. You had Alex. You were happy.

...Or at least, you thought you were.

Maybe Joel had always been there, tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Maybe he never really left.

But it’s too late now.

If Joel wanted to stop this, he would’ve done it already. He would’ve found you after the party – pulled you aside before you even left with Alex, taken your hand, and told you not to go through with it. That you were making the biggest mistake of your life. But he didn’t. He hasn’t.

So tomorrow you’re getting married.

Even if he did show up... you’d say no, right? You love Alex. You’re choosing the life you built. You have to.

You turn onto your side, staring at the back of Alex’s head, and try to ignore the way your chest feels like it’s cracking open.

─────

The wedding venue is stunning – exactly the kind of place that belongs in the centerfold of a bridal magazine. It’s a sprawling estate with manicured gardens, a grand ballroom filled with crystal chandeliers, and a beautiful outdoor ceremony space overlooking an almost too-perfect landscaped lawn. Everything’s polished, luxurious, and very meticulously planned. Most of it was Alex and the wedding planner’s vision – the towering floral arches, the custom monogrammed linens, a string quartet playing soft classical music as guests arrive.

You would’ve picked something smaller, more intimate, though – maybe a cozy garden with just your closest people, cheap fairy lights, and a simple wooden arch. But this... this is gorgeous. Its perfect on paper. Any bride would be lucky to have a wedding like this.

You shouldn’t be picking it apart like this. This is supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life. Except it’s more of pure chaos wrapped in tulle and fresh flowers.

The bridal suite is buzzing – your maid of honor, Lily, is directing traffic like a general, makeup artists and hairstylists are working on three people at once, and there’s a constant stream of people popping in and out with questions about bouquets, timelines, and whether the groomsmen’s boutonnières match the exact shade of the bridesmaids’ dresses.

The room itself is beautiful—of course—all soft natural light, elegant but blinding white furniture, and massive vases of white roses and eucalyptus that fill the air with a sweet, calming scent. It really does look like it belongs in a magazine. It should feel magical.

But mostly you feel... numb. And guilty for feeling that way.

You barely slept – maybe two hours total – staring at the ceiling while Alex slept peacefully beside you. You’ve been up since before dawn, pacing the kitchen in the dark, making pointless cups of tea you didn’t even drink, and checking your phone every few minutes like you were waiting for a message you knew would never come. Your body feels heavy and wired at the same time, your mind racing in circles, your stomach in knots from the lack of rest.

You told yourself over and over that this is normal. Just wedding jitters. Everyone gets cold feet. It has nothing to do with Joel. Nothing at all.

You haven’t seen Alex since earlier this morning. He came by the suite, kissed your forehead, and gave you the sweetest words – told you how lucky he is, how excited he is to marry you, how he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. Then went off to do what he does best: manage, direct, make sure every detail is perfect. Part of you is relieved you haven’t seen him since. You don’t know if you could look him in the eyes right now without your face giving everything away.

You can’t tell him you haven’t stopped thinking about Joel since the engagement party. That you’ve been shamefully, secretly waiting for him to show up and whisk you away. That you can’t walk down the aisle with him because you’ll be wondering if the man you love is somewhere in the crowd watching you marry someone else.

And you’ve been quietly looking for him all morning. Peeking out the window of the bridal suite whenever there weren’t a million hands in your hair just to get a look at the guests coming in. Your heart racing at the sight of any tall, brooding figure in the distance, secretly hoping you’d spot someone who looked like he might be here to stop the love of his life from walking down the aisle. You’ve made up excuse after excuse to go to the bathroom just so you could check the guest sign-in list for his name. Nothing. No Joel.

Now it’s one hour before the ceremony and the last of the guests shuffled in about thirty minutes ago. And still, no Joel. Lily is putting the finishing touches on your makeup, dabbing at your lipstick with a tissue, and your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing under the vanity since you sat down an hour ago.

You’re sure, you tell yourself firmly, if Joel hadn’t shown up at your engagement party, if he had just checked “no” on the RSVP and sent back a polite gift, you’d be absolutely thrilled right now. You’d be bouncing with excitement, not nerves. You’d have no doubt in your mind that you were making the right decision.

 But he had shown up. Looking exactly like the man you fell in love with and nothing like the one you tried so hard to forget – that same quiet intensity in his eyes, the same protective way he carried himself, the same rough, gentle voice that still made your stomach flip. He just had to walk into your engagement party and make you feel things you hadn’t felt in five years.

Your leg bounces faster.

Lily notices, her eyes dropping to your knee then to your reflection in the mirror and shoots you a concerned look.

“Hey... you okay?” she asks softly. “You’ve been really quiet this morning. And your leg is going a mile a minute.”

You force a small laugh, trying to play it off. “Just wedding jitters, I guess. Normal, right?”

Lily sets the brush down and turns your chair so you’re facing her properly. She gives you that best friend look – the one that says she knows you too well to buy the casual act.

“Normal jitters don’t usually make you look like you’re about to throw up,” she says gently, reaching up to gently adjust the veil and smooth a few strands of hair. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The words feel dangerous to say out loud, but Lily’s been your person for years. You trust her.

“I just...” You hesitate, shaking your head. “I can’t stop thinking about Joel,” you admit finally, voice barely above a whisper. “He showed up at the engagement party and it’s like everything came rushing back. I thought I was over him. I was over him. But now...” you sigh. “I just can’t stop wondering if I’m making the wrong choice here. If maybe Joel was always supposed to be the one.”

Lily takes your hands in hers and squeezes them, her expression soft but firm.

“Oh honey,” she says, sighing a little. “Seeing an ex after that long is always going to mess with your head. It’s normal. You two had a lot of history.”

You shake your head again, eyes dropping to your lap. “I know... but it feels like more than that.”

Lily nods and squeezes your hands again, her thumbs moving in gentle circles. “I get it. It’s stirring up old feelings. Those memories can hit hard, especially on a day like today. But that doesn’t mean Alex isn’t the right one now.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably as you open your mouth to speak. “I know, but what if—”

She cuts you off gently, but firmly, eyebrows furrowed. “You love him, right? Alex?”

You nod, almost too quickly. “Yeah. I do.”

She tilts her head, studying you for a second. “And he makes you happy?”

You nod again, your shoulders dropping a little as you let out a small breath, your fingers flexing just a little in hers. “Yes.”

She smiles softly, still holding your hands as she exhales a relieving breath. “Then that’s what matters. Don’t let one blast from the past mess with your head on your wedding day, okay? Joel is an ex for a reason. You’ve got a good man waiting for you out there.”

She’s right. You know she is. No matter what your heart is feeling. The timing back then was never on your side, and no matter how much seeing Joel stirred everything up, it doesn’t erase the life you’ve built with Alex. You love him. You chose him. This is the future you’re supposed to have now. You can’t let one night of nostalgia and old feelings derail everything. He is your ex for a reason. Alex is out there waiting for you and today is about starting your life with him.

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath as the knot in your chest loosens just a little. Your shoulders drop and you manage a small, genuine smile. “You’re right. Thanks, Lily. I needed to hear that.”

She smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve got this. You’re going to walk down that aisle and marry the man you chose. And it’s gonna be amazing. Okay?”

You nod again. “Yeah. I’ve got this.”

You both lean in for a hug, and Lily wraps her arms around you, her chin resting on your shoulder for a second as she holds you close. You squeeze her back just as hard, the familiar scent of her vanilla perfume and the softness of her dress bringing you back down to reality for a second.

She pulls back and turns you back to the vanity, making a few final touches — gently adjusting the veil so it falls perfectly against your hair, dabbing at your lips one last time and smoothing another hair back. She steps back and tilts her head as she looks at your reflection in the mirror with a proud, teary-eyed smile.

“You look stunning,” she says, smiling. “Really, you’re glowing.”

You stand, smooth your dress back down, and turn towards her. “Thank you. For everything.”

She reaches out and rubs the back of your arm gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect.”

She gives you one last warm look, her hand lingering on your arm for a second. “I’ll give you a few minutes before we head out. Take a breath. I won’t be far if you need me.”

She slips out the door and closes it quietly behind her, leaving you alone in silence except for the faint hum of activity outside — muffled voices, the distant sound of the string quartet warming up, the soft sounds of people moving around outside the door.

You stand there in front of the tall mirror, running your palms down the front of your dress. And you’re in awe. It’s gorgeous — strapless, fitted corset body covered in delicate white lace and pretty floral patterns that hug your waist so perfectly. And the skirt — it’s huge but not too huge— it’s full of soft layers and tulle with cascading ruffles that swish and move every time you turn.

You slowly spin from side to side, watching how the fabric and little beads catch and sparkle in the morning light. This really is your dream dress. It’s one of the few things you actually cared was perfect. You’d dreamed about this dress since you were little, dancing around in your mom’s heels and cheap red lipstick, playing princess, just praying one day you’d get to marry your prince charming.

And you are, you have to remind yourself.

You’ve got this.

The words loop over and over in your head like a quiet mantra. This is your day. You love Alex. He’s good and kind and he makes you feel safe. He remembers the little things. He’s building a life with you that feels real. You chose him. This is the right choice. It has to be.

You smooth your hands over the ruffled skirt again, the cool fabric soothing your nerves just a little. You tilt your head, studying your reflection – the soft waves in your hair, the veil cascading down your back, the way your makeup makes your eyes look brighter. You look like a bride. You look like the bride.

Joel is your past, you remind yourself firmly. He showed up, he stirred everything up, but he didn’t stop you. He didn’t fight for you. The Joel you knew five years ago would’ve. And that means something. Because no matter what you feel for Joel, it’s obviously not mutual. And that’s okay, you tell yourself. Because you have Alex, and he’s out there waiting for you, and today is about your future with him. Not old memories. Not what-ifs. Just this.

You let out one more slow breath, rolling your shoulder back and lifting your chin a little. The nerves are still there, buzzing under your skin, but you push them down as best you can. You turn away from the mirror, the train of your dress whispering across the floor as you take a few steps, practicing the way you’ll walk down the aisle.

Before you even realize it, you’re pacing

Your fingers twist anxiously at the engagement ring on your left hand, spinning the diamond around and around your finger. The stone reflecting the light with every nervous rotation, bright and heavy and impossible to ignore. You don’t know how long you’ve been moving back and forth in here – three minutes? Five? – but the realization hits you suddenly. You cant hide in here forever. People will start wondering. Lily will come looking. Alex might even come himself.

You need to go.

You step back in front of the mirror one last time and gather the voluminous skirt in both your hands, lifting it a few inches before letting it drop again. You do it once, twice, three times, watching the layers of tulle and lace settle beautifully around your legs. It looks perfect. Everything looks so fucking perfect.

A soft knock echoes through the room.

Your head lifts. Lily, you think immediately. Probably here to tell you it’s time to go.

“Coming!” you call out, trying to force all the nerves out of your throat.

You turn back to the mirror and lean in a little closer, quickly smoothing your fingertips over the top of your hair to settle any last flyaways, patting under your eyes with your ring finger to refresh the makeup under your eyes. You tilt your head, checking every angle.

“You’ve got this,” you mumble under your breath, the words barely audible. “You’ve got this.”

Another knock, firmer this time.

You roll your eyes with a huff, already turning the door as you speak. “Geez, Lily, I was just—”

You pull the door open mid-sentence, and the rest of the words die in your throat.

And suddenly, your lungs forget how to work. The skirt of your wedding dress suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and the lace corset feels like it’s suffocating you. Joel’s stood in the doorway like he stepped straight out of every half-remembered dream you’ve had for the last few years. Charcoal suit stretched across those broad shoulders, white shirt open at the collar like he couldn’t stand the formality of it all, salt-and-pepper hair slicked at the side but just messy enough to look like he’d been dragging his hands through it all day.

And his eyes – those big, brown eyes are wide and shattered as they rake over you. The veil. The dress. The diamond on your finger that isn’t is.

He looks like a man who just lost everything and still can’t stop staring.

And all either of you can do is stare at each other, no words, no movements, just wide eyes and parted lips.

You’re about to speak, force something—anything out—but he beats you to it.

“...Darlin’.”

You grip the door so hard your knuckles ache. “Joel... what are you—”

He steps inside without waiting for permission, closing the door behind him with a soft click, never taking his eyes off you. The scent of him — cedar, soap, and a faint trace of cologne — floods the space between you and feels like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice thick as ever. His gaze drags over every inch of you like he’s memorizing a goodbye. “Look at you…”

Your throat closes and tears prickle hot behind your eyes, threatening the perfect makeup Lily spent an hour perfecting. “You shouldn’t be here, Joel.”

“I know.” He takes one small step closer, then another, like he’s scared you might bolt. “Told myself that the whole damn drive here. Told myself it a hundred times since that party.” His hand lifts like he wants to touch you, then drops. “But I can’t let you do this. Not without you knowin’.”

You shake your head, letting your eyes flutter closed. “Knowing what, Joel?” Your voice cracks as your fingers twist at the engagement ring that suddenly feels like it’s cutting off circulation.

“That I still love you,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Never stopped. Not for one goddamn day.”

Tears start to blur your vision again and your face flushes with a rush of heat that spreads down your neck and all over your body. You look down, unable to look at him any longer, and give a small, helpless shake of your head. “Joel...” you whisper.

Joel takes another step forward as his jaw works, eyes shining and glossy. “I tried to move on. God knows I did. Dated women my own age, kept my head down, threw myself into work until I was too tired to think... but it didn’t matter. You were always there, in the back of my mind.” He swallows hard. “I was scared. Scared I was holdin’ you back, scared I was too broken, too old, too stuck in my ways. Thought I was doin’ right by lettin’ you go.”

A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t bother wiping it away.

“But watchin’ you at that party with him...” His voice drops, thick with pain. “Seein’ you in that green dress, laughin’ the way you used to laugh with me... it damn near killed me. And knowin’ today was comin’? I couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t let you walk down that aisle without hearin’ it from me.”

He’s close now. Close enough that you can see the faint tremble in his hands, the way his chest is rising and falling way too fast. You should tell him to leave. You should scream for Lily. You should do a lot of things.

Instead, you whisper, “Joel... I’m getting married.”

“I know.” His hand finally rises slowly, brushing a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch is so gentle it hurts. “And if you look me in the eye right now and tell me you love him more than you ever loved me — that this is what you want — I’ll walk out that door. Won’t even stay for the rest of the weddin’. I’ll let you go for good this time.”

His other hand comes up to cradle your face, thumbs stroking along your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“But if even a small part of you still feels what I feel...” He steps even closer, big brown eyes locked on yours. “Don’t do it, baby. Don’t marry him.”

A soft sob breaks out of you before you can stop it.

Joel cradles your face with so much tenderness, it sends more tears falling. “Hey... hey, darlin’, it’s okay.” He whispers, his voice so soft and soothing. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’m right here.” His thumbs wipe away the tears that won’t seem to stop pouring down your cheeks.

Your heart aches with a devastating mix of relief and crushing guilt all at once. This is exactly what you’d been secretly hoping for — deep down, you wanted Joel to show up here. To stop you, to say everything you’ve been too terrified to admit yourself. But Alex... sweet, loving Alex doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good guy who’s never hurt you. And yet your heart keeps screaming the truth you can’t ignore anymore. It’s Joel. It’s always been Joel.

He pulls back just enough to search your puffy, wet eyes with his own — wide and scared, like he’s terrified you’ll push him away. Your faces are so close now, lips only inches apart, your shaky breaths mingling with each other’s and your soft sniffles filling the quiet air.

He leans in first, pausing for a heartbeat right in front of your lips, giving you a chance to pull away—but you don’t. Can’t.

So he closes the distance, his soft lips touching yours for the first time in years making you gasp into his mouth, the familiar feeling hitting you like a wave.

It’s not gentle or careful; it’s five years of silence and longing and regret crashing together. He kisses you like a man drowning, one hand sliding into your pinned hair, the other gripping your waist like he’ll never let go again. You taste salt —your tears, maybe his — and the faint bite of alcohol. Your fingers fist into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, closer, like you can merge the mix of years apart into nothing.

He groans into your mouth when your lips part for him, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that makes you weak at the knees. The veil shifts, the heavy skirt tangling around your legs as he backs you against the vanity. Something clatters to the floor. Neither of you cares.

He pulls back a little, gasping, lips swollen and eyes wild.

“Tell me to leave,” he rasps into your mouth. “Say the words. Tell me you don’t want this.”

You can’t. You cant say it.

Instead, you pull him back in, kissing him slower this time, pouring everything you can into it — the lonely nights, the what-if’s, the way Alex’s love always felt like a beautiful room with no windows while Joel’s felt like the entire fucking sky.

A sharp knock makes the both of you freeze.

“Five minutes!” Lily calls through the door, bright and completely oblivious. “You ready?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Joel doesn’t pull away. His eyes stay on you, searching your face like he’s scared of what you’ll say next.

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“...Stay.”

Joel’s eyes flutter closed for a second, relief washing over his face like a dam breaking. When they open again, they’re blazing.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yeah. I... I can’t do it. I can’t marry him.”

The words feel like both salvation and sin the moment they leave your lips.

Joel lets out a shaky exhale and nods a few times. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’. We’ll figure it out. But right now, you gotta tell me what you need. You want me to walk out there with you? You want me to wait here? You want me to get you the hell outta here?” His eyes dance across your face. “Just tell me what you need, baby.”

Your mind is spinning and your heart is racing. The string quartet is playing louder outside. You can hear the low murmur of guests, the occasional burst of laughter. In five minutes — maybe less — Lily is going to walk through that door and expect a glowing bride.

A new wave of panic hits you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice trembling. “I don’t know what to do. Everyone’s out there. Alex is out there...”

Joel’s hands slide down to hold yours, thumbs stroking over your knuckles, bringing you back down to earth for a second. “You don’t gotta decide everythin’ right this second,” he says gently but urgently. “But you do gotta decide one thing right now: do you wanna walk down that aisle, or do you wanna leave?”

You stare at him — at the man you never really got over — and the answer feels like it’s been carved in your bones for years.

“I want to leave,” you whisper. “With you.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He nods once, jaw set. “Then we’re leavin’. Right now.”

He glances back at the door, then back at you. “You got shoes you can move in? That dress is gonna be a problem, but we’ll make it work.”

You shake your head, half-laughing, half-crying. “I can’t exactly run in this.”

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” he says, completely serious. The corner of his mouth twitches — that familiar crooked smile breaking through the tension. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

There’s another knock on the door — louder this time.

“Two minutes!” Lily calls. “I’m coming in!”

The doorknob rattles.

“Shit,” Joel curses, but the corner of his mouth twitches — that old, familiar half-smile breaking through. “Let’s get outta here.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the far side of the suite, where a set of tall glass doors open onto a small private terrace overlooking the gardens. You bunch up the ridiculous mountain of tulle and lace, half-running, half-tripping after him. The dress fights with you every step, catching on furniture and nearly sending you stumbling.

“This thing is a damn hazard,” Joel grumbles, but there’s a breathless laugh in his voice as he pushes the doors open.

The warm sunlight hits you both the second you step outside. Your heart is pounding — part terror, part absolute joy. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach; Alex waiting at the altar, all the guests, the life you’re blowing up, but being with Joel, choosing Joel, feels like the first real breath you’ve taken in years.

Joel glances back at you, wrestling with the skirt and shakes his head, grinning despite everything. “C’mere.”

He scoops you up without warning, like you weight nothing, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. And you let out a surprised laugh that turns into a half-sob as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re gonna break your back,” you laugh, even as you hold on tighter.

“Worth it,” he whispers. He carries you down the stone steps and cuts through the garden, staying behind the tall hedges. The veil keeps whipping across his face and your skirt keeps snagging on branches. Every time it does, Joel curses under his breath and adjusts his grip, muttering, “Goddamn wedding dress weighs more than me, I swear...”

You stifle a watery giggle against his shoulder.

The distant sound of the quarter and murmuring guests floats across the lawn, making your chest tighten with guilt again.

“Joel...” you whisper, voice cracking.

“I know.” His hold on you tightens. “I know it’s messy. But you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He ducks behind a tall stone near the edge of the property, finally setting you down gently on your feet but keeping one hand on your waist. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb wiping away fresh tears.

“You sure about this?” he asks, searching your puffy eyes, giving you one last out, even now. “We can still turn back. I’ll walk you back if that’s what you really want.”

Part of you knows you should. Alex is waiting. Everyone is waiting. You’re about to shatter a good man’s heart and blow up both of your lives... but the thought of walking away from Joel again feels impossible. You can’t go back. Not now.

You shake your head, fresh tears falling, fingers curling into his suit jacket. “I don’t wanna go back.”

His face softens with what looks like relief — the hard lines around his eyes soften and his brows pull apart and that crooked smile trembles a little, equal parts relief and disbelief. His whole face lights up.

He leans down and kisses you again — quick but full of joy instead of desperation. When he pulls back, his hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb stroking along your hairline as he holds you close.

“Good,” he murmurs. “’Cause I’m not lettin’ you go again.”

He glances behind you at the massive white dress billowing around you and lets out a short, breathless laugh. “That thing’s gonna get us caught,” he mutters, but there’s no real worry in his voice, just wild, reckless energy.

He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers tightly together, and the two of you take off — half-jogging, half-sneaking the rest of the way toward the road. Your skirt keeps catching on the grass and ballooning out dramatically with every step, but you don’t care. You're both giggling like idiots every time it happens, Joel muttering curses under his breath as he tugs you along faster.

By the time you reach his truck, you’re both a little flushed and winded. Joel opens the passenger door with a dramatic flourish.

“Your getaway car, darlin’.”

You climb in, laughing through tears as you try to stuff the endless layers of tulle inside. He shuts the door, rounds the truck, and slides behind the wheel. The engine rumbles to life — that familiar, comforting sound.

He looks over at you, one hand reaching for yours, thumb stroking over your knuckles. The smile on his face is soft, but his eyes are serious.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, giving you one final chance to change your mind.

You squeeze his hand, the messy storm of guilt, relief, and terrifying joy still turning inside your chest.

“No,” you whisper through a shaky laugh. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

The corner of Joel’s mouth lifts as he brings your hand to his lips and pulls away from the venue. The estate disappears behind you as the truck rolls down the winding road, windows down, your veil still fluttering in the wind like a messy white flag.

It’s messy. It’s gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.

But right now, sitting beside Joel with his hand laced with yours, the guilt feels distant — and all you can feel is freedom.

[tinytownn]

moonshine crimes –

rick grimes x f!reader

word count: 14.6k

summary: based on this request...

content: 18+ [SMUT WARNING!!!], technically cheating (lori's chill w it tho), pet names like doll and darlin', car sexxxx, lotsss of yearning/very slow burn, alcohol consumption (don't drink and drive yall), implied age gap, protective daryl !!

a/n: hopefully this makes up for no joel fic this week lolol,,,this got a little outta hand. thank you for @kitty-grimes for beta reading this and getting me obsessed w/ rick even more than i alr was lmaoooo

leave all requests here…

A cool breeze bit through the summer heat, nipping at your arms. The sun was relentless. Sweat dripped down your forehead, your neck, arms—anywhere the sun could reach its rays. 

Some of the group had gone out for supplies. Only a few of you were left to guard the camp now, promises of food, water, and medicine kept you hopeful while you drowned in the humidity. Sifting through the heat, you hoped Glenn remembered your request for sunscreen—your shoulders already began to peel and blister—a near hyperthermic sluggishness to your movements.

Even if he didn’t, as long as everyone came back safe, you would’ve been content with whatever they brought home.

Home. 

It was funny you thought of it like that.

With the people you stayed around, there never was just one place to call home. Shane, the group’s self-proclaimed leader, kept the team wandering, always on the move. It was the only way of survival now, but it never stopped feeling like you lost a piece of yourself at each stop. The days blurred together, exhaustion wore thin as supplies dwindled and the trek just kept getting longer.

When the end of the world had struck, your mind went blank. Nothing had ever prepared you for this moment, there was no rulebook to follow. If you couldn’t figure this out on your own, there was only one thing you knew you could do: Find a group.

Stuck in piled up traffic along the highway, you became friends with the nearby drivers, striking up conversation when things started to sound more serious than just a car wreck. Carol and Lori were the first two by your side, idly chatting about what could’ve caused this traffic. Then, when things got more serious—drivers started attacking each other, gunshots in the distance—you all agreed to stick together. 

Shane came along with Lori, practically inseparable with how protective he was of her and Carl. He was possessive, not only when it came to his family, but the group as well. Although no one outright said it, Shane was what you all needed to get through this. It always felt like he knew more than he gave off though—that he had secrets he’d never let go—but he was Lori’s husband and you didn’t want to overstep.

Or at least you thought he was.

A few weeks into forming a real group—one supported by vehicles, supplies, and a real chance at survival—Lori had mentioned her actual husband.

“He was a real good father– husband too.” She turned her head to look around then, “Always looked out for me and Carl. I’m sure he would know what to do right now…”

The confession had taken you by surprise. It was one of the few times you had truly been alone with Lori—no Carl, Shane, or Carol listening in. It was a brief encounter, one entirely by chance, but it stuck with you for a while.

You had gone out in the middle of the night for a breath of fresh air. It was a full moon that night and you hoped the clouds parted just enough to let you catch a glimpse. When you peeked through the opening of your tent though, you saw a figure, hunched over and quivering over the smothered campfire.

Pulling a knife from the back pocket of your jeans, you planted quiet, careful steps towards the logs. Blade held at your side, nervously anticipating your next move, you quickly realized that this wasn’t a walker, nor was it a raider—it was Lori, crying in the dark.

That night you got closer to Lori than you had ever been with anyone since the outbreak. She wept to you about her late husband, how he was in a coma when the world turned to shit. How Shane—her saviour—went back for him, but was too late.

You couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through—the pain she had to mask for the sake of her son. She had clearly leaned heavily on Shane, even before everything, he was her rock. The two were so close that you thought they had been together for far longer than this. They just seemed so in love.

From then on, you watched the dynamic closely. How Carl slowly attached himself to Shane and how Lori lovingly watched from afar. Even in the mess of everything, they still managed to pick back up the pieces of their shattered family. It was something you admired, how she could look past her grief to make a better life for her son—for herself.

That hot, summer day was no different. 

Most of the group idled around, waiting for the results of the supply run as if it were any other day. Carl and Shane were out by the lake, catching fish. Lori and Carol bathed in the shade, hunched over the wash bin. Dale was taking watch up on the RV, looking for the rest of the group who was supposed to be back long before now.

“Merle said he was gon’ be back here before sunset ‘n by the looks of it, the sun is fuckin’ settin’.”

Daryl was growing restless now, driving the rest of the group mad while his brother was out on a run. He was pacing back and forth in front of you, his hand clawing at his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“You know what can happen on these runs,” you said, leaned back against the RV, your arms crossed. “They probably just had to take another way home. Glenn’s good with directions, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure of anything, but if it got the younger Dixon to stop pestering you, then a little white lie couldn't hurt.

“Y’ain’t sure of shit!” He yelled, throwing a punch at the old, rusted metal of the motorhome.

“Don’t dent my RV!” Dale shouted from above. “I better not see a scratch on her when I get down there!”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl took a few steps back to get a good look at the man posted on the roof. Laid back in his lawn chair, Dale had a gun sprawled in his lap, binoculars pointed right down at you two.

“This old thing? S’got more scratches than I can count.”

“How many is that—ten?” you quipped, a sly smile creeping on your face.

Daryl sneered, his footsteps clouding up dust until he was right in your face. “I ain’t messin’ ‘round right now, little princess.” He spat, so close you could smell his breath. “You’re sittin’ around while my brother s’out there takin’ care of the useless group y’all sent out with him.”

“Useless?” Standing up now, you shoved Daryl’s chest, sending him stumbling back a couple feet. “You should be grateful we even took your-”

“Quit arguing, you two!” Dale hissed. “I see a truck coming up the hill.”

Grumbling, Daryl pulled his bow from around his shoulders, getting himself into a good position. 

“You better hope this s’my brother.”

Shoving him further behind the RV, you pulled out your gun. “Or what, Daryl?”

The soft gnashing of gravel grew closer, a faint scent of gasoline filling your senses. Through the clearing, you could see a box van coming up the mountain. It looked harmless so far, no raiders peeking out the windows with guns, waiting to rob your camp. Pulling to a stop just shy of the RV, you could see through the windshield—it was Glenn in the driver's seat.

A crowd started to form as the other members of the groups noticed the arrival. Everyone was cautious when the stranger tumbled out of the truck, people were almost worse than walkers nowadays.

Shane was quick to make his way to the front, especially when he noticed the familiar face next to Glenn. He looked astonished, pale almost, at the sight of the officer.

“Rick?”

Whipping your head back, Lori clutched onto her son, quivering in fear like she was seeing a ghost. To her, she really was. You had only heard that name once from Lori’s lips—that night you comforted her outside of the camp—it was the name of her supposedly deceased husband. But here he was, alive and breathing, spinning Carl around in his arms.

===

Rick had become an integral part of the group, almost succeeding Shane in his leadership position. Things were taking a turn for the better, having two strong minds working together instead of Shane’s impulsive drive leading the group to disaster.

Although Carl was grateful to have his father back, things between him and Shane didn’t falter. Things with Lori, however, took a drastic turn. Like night and day, her feelings for Shane seemed to fade. 

Following her husband into the tent that first night, she never looked back, but you could tell the pain it caused her—the agony it caused Shane.

Unknowingly, you became trapped in the triangle too.

Never would you have done it on purpose, but the longer Rick weaved his way into the group, the more your feelings grew for him. It started off slight, his looks catching you off guard the moment you saw him. He was attractive, a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind about any man since the world went to shit. 

But the moment you realized he wasn’t yours for the taking—and never would be—you rid that thought from your mind.

Then you saw Lori with Shane again.

They seemed to be arguing at first, Lori’s hands up in the air until they curled into his hair, tugging at the roots. Then, Shane pulled her in by the waist, slamming his lips onto hers. For a moment, she went stiff, debating the consequences of her actions until she went limp, falling into his touch.

You stopped looking after that. Anything more and it would have felt like an obligation to tell Rick though you had barely known him. He just looked so happy to find his family again—god knows how long he was searching, the things he had done to get here.

From that moment on, you began to unknowingly attach yourself to the man. Whether it was pity, some sort of guilt, or a hidden attraction—you’d never know—but something had you and the officer tied to the hip. You tagged behind him on supply runs and perimeter checks, helped out with chores—basically became his second shadow.

He obviously took notice, so did the others in the group, but just like with Shane and Lori, they kept their lips sealed. Everyone knew better than to press, had more important things to focus on than a messy love triangle. It’d all blow over eventually.

You found yourself with Rick and Daryl, doing a perimeter check of the farm. The entire group was still very wary of the new location, but with a working agreement between Hershel and Rick, tensions seemed to be lessening.

“Ya keep walkin’ so close t’tha fence ‘n yer gon’ get zapped.” Daryl said teasingly, his boots dragging in the dirt.

“Maybe I’ll take you down with me,” you quipped.

Things between you and Daryl wouldn’t seem to have changed just listening in, but the way you spoke to each other now was softer—more joking rather than harsh jabs. It took a while, and a lot of convincing from Carol, but you finally came around to him.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head as he marked another weak spot onto his map.

“If Carl ever had a sister,” Rick turned his head to look at you, “I imagine this s’exactly what it’d be like, you two argue like children.”

“Yet you still bring us with you.” Scrunching your nose, you took the map from Rick’s hands. “Maybe if you gave us something interesting to do we wouldn’t have time to argue.”

“Alright then,” Rick took a moment before speaking, like he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. “Come with me on a run tomorrow. Goin’ to check out the next town over. S’that interestin’ enough for ya?”

You expected Daryl to chime in, complain about how he wasn’t invited or how he ‘didn’t even wanna come anyway.’ That never came though and the three of you just sat in a passing silence. The two men shared some sort of knowing glance, awaiting your response.

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you looked back at Daryl. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Are you not coming, Daryl?”

He opened his mouth to say something, eyes nervously flicking to Rick before he stuttered out, “N-nah, I’m busy t’morrow.”

“Busy, got it.” You laughed, unconvinced. “Sounds fun.”

The rest of the search fell in a deep silence that you couldn’t seem to wade out of. Drowning in the tension, you waited for it to flood over and find a moment to breathe before you thought too hard about it.

Both men were painfully silent, sharing secret glances like they were having a whole conversation with just their eyes. It made you feel small, suddenly self-conscious around these people you had spent every day around.

When you got back to camp, you were quick to part from them, ready to shed the uncomfortability that grew on your skin. Before you could get back to your tent though, a familiar voice called out your name.

“Tomorrow morning, remember?” Rick called out from across camp. 

A few heads turned at the interaction, including an inquisitive Lori whose eyes flicked between the two of you, and the moment felt unnecessarily vulnerable—like this was something you were caught doing.

Nodding your head, you flashed a thumbs up before dipping into your tent for the rest of the night.

You didn’t know why things felt so tense all of the sudden. You and Rick had never been alone like this before. Daryl or Glenn typically tagged along, keeping you company as you babbled along, allowing Rick to complete the task at hand. It was always through the playful banter of your groupmates that you spoke to Rick—just teasing jokes and mindless chatter about the weather.

Everyone in the camp—except you—noticed the way you looked at Rick. How each time he turned a corner, a smile appeared on your face and your back would straighten just to get that much closer to him. It was all subtle, just your body trying to get your brain to catch up on how badly you had fallen for the man. That idea was strictly forbidden though—not even something that crossed your mind in the slightest. He was Lori's husband.

Though, you had noticed them sleeping in separate tents lately. During the day, they played up the role of a happy couple, but at night they were nowhere near each other, and occasionally, you’d hear Lori slip off with Shane deep into the night.

You liked to think that Rick could see through them. That he was smarter than his heart would let him and realize what was going on between his wife and best friend. If he did know, he did a damn good job at pretending not to care.

Unbeknownst to you, Rick did know—and he didn’t care. 

Blindly enamoured with his wife, Rick did anything in his power to find his family when he first woke up in that hospital. Stumbling upon this group was unknowingly the worst thing to ever happen to him as the weeks unfolded. A prickling feeling that something was just out of reach followed him everywhere. Some deep sense of dread followed him for days until he finally saw it.

Shane and Lori—his best friend and his wife—holding hands beneath a tree, having some sort of serious conversation. He wanted to wait and watch, find some more incriminating evidence than just hand holding, but he felt sick to his stomach at just the thought. Resentment was quick to grow towards the both of them, a rekindling of feelings inadvertently growing towards someone else.

In his time at the camp, Rick found himself gravitating towards you. Unlike the others, you didn’t seem to get caught up in all the fighting, choosing to keep close to Daryl and Carol. You were always a fresh breeze after a long day of putting up a front with Lori, saving face for Carl’s sake, and secretly wishing he was with you the entire time.

A large part of him felt guilty for his feelings. He tried his best to push them away and ignore them until he just couldn’t anymore. That was when he started assigning you to the same tasks as him, but always with another person to accompany you. It just didn’t feel right to him, the way he wanted to look at you, the things he wanted to say—to confess.

It was all too much for him that he’d bring Daryl along almost as a chaperone. He wasn’t too scared to talk to you—like Rick was—and could coax an easy laugh from your lips. The sound was heavenly to him, bathing in your voice as he walked around doing different chores, the time flew by with you chatting behind him.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of your relationship with Daryl. The two of you had gotten close so quickly after being sworn enemies that he wished he could make conversation just as easy.

 Of course he talked to you—always so interested in what he had to say—but that was the problem. You’d look up at him with those eyes, arms across your chest and your head tilted with a soft pout. He just couldn’t keep himself together when you looked at him like that.

And he knew it was wrong. He was married—still had the ring around his finger to prove it. So why did he invite you on a run tomorrow?

When Daryl pulled him aside after he had called out for you at camp, he still couldn’t answer that question.

“The hell y’doin’?” He said roughly, dragging Rick away from the crowd—away from the timorous eyes of Lori. “Thought we weren’t doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Rick said dumbly.

His eyes flicked back over to his wife for a moment and a feeling of guilt panged his chest.

“You know exactly what—you’re married.” Daryl was seething, words barely audible with how he gritted his teeth. 

He was never one to press someone's morals, but this was Rick, the one person he knew to be noble and loyal. Without Rick to stand behind, he would have no one—the group would have no one—it’d only be a matter of time for things to crumble if he didn’t keep his head straight on his shoulders.

“We’re goin’ out for a run.” Rick crossed his arms, ready to walk away from the conversation. “S’not like we’re gettin’ eloped.”

“Bet you’d love that.”

“Well the plan’s already been made, so there’s no goin’ back.” Fumbling out a poor excuse, Rick stalked back towards the camp, catching a brief glimpse of Lori’s face before heading into his tent.

It was hard to gauge what she thought, nothing in her gaze besides a silent, defeated observation. Some part of Rick told himself that she deserved it after lying to him for so long, but another part of him—the part he liked to think was the real him—was disgusted he could brush off his wife’s emotions so easily. 

Rick tossed and turned through the night. When the sun finally rose, he wasted no time unzipping his tent. Though his lids were still heavy, his body exhausted, a rapid, thrumming heartbeat thrashed in his chest.

He really did need to go on this run, but was it too late to just go by himself? Maybe you’d wake up, grateful he had gone and left you the day to relax. 

The longer he stalled, the more he was starting to think Daryl was right.

He was married. So what was he doing going out alone with the only woman who made his heart race and his cheeks flush—a woman who wasn’t his wife.

Biting the skin on his fingers, Rick tore his knuckles raw, the skin puffy and bleeding. He was so caught up in his own mind, that he didn’t notice you had already woken up.

“You ready?” Beaming up at him with a warm mug in your hands, your breath frosted a little in the chill morning air.

It was barely light outside, no sight of the sun peeked above the horizon just yet. The rest of the group were tucked away in their tents, chasing warmth in their sleeping bags. That left just you and Rick alone in the middle of camp.

Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his throat closing in on itself.

Just one offhanded comment about going for a run and you were up bright and early with a smile on your face just for him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—how happy you seemed to be here with him. There were none of those fake eye rolls or witty jokes you threw at Daryl. This was a side of you he rarely saw, a slightly less bubbly, but softer side. He felt special getting to see you like this, wanted to reserve this view for himself and no one else.

A quiet yawn left your lips and curled into a lazy grin. Tiredly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, looking to Rick for the next direction.

His lips parted, tongue jutting out to wet them—anything to get another moment of you like this. “Yeah, truck’s all warmed up. You got everythin’?”

“Mhmm,” Motioning to the bag slung over your shoulder, you nodded sleepily. “Gun, knife, water, and some food. I even brought a surprise in case the ride gets too boring.”

Rick couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face. “A surprise, huh? Might have to drive extra slow then.”

Starting towards the truck, the engine rumbled gently, the lights flicked off to not wake the rest of the camp. It was nice just being able to talk with Rick for once. Your time together always felt sort of disconnected, or maybe it was just the boundary you had put up for yourself to not get too attached.

Rick's arm reached around you, pulling open the passenger door. His fingertips ever so slightly grazed your back, guiding you in the cab, stalling for a moment too long before shutting the door.

While he rounded the truck, the pieces of the puzzle—the one you had been trying to fit together ever since he invited you out here—started to fall into place. 

You couldn’t sit still. Now that he had touched your skin, it felt like you were on fire. Since you met, you had always thought your feelings towards Rick were purely physical. That the presence of a man this attractive was uncommon nowadays and the way your mind wandered was just a product of that.

The guilt seeped in, making you want to hop out of the truck and crawl back in your tent like none of this had ever happened. The way he spoke to you—his words finally meant for just you, his eyes focused on yours—made your body electric, practically buzzing in your seat. 

This was no small crush like you had thought. Over these past few months, you were falling in love with Rick Grimes—the husband of one of your closest friends.

You had thought it was just a coincidence that you and Lori had grown apart when Rick arrived. Figured she was preoccupied with the shock and patching things up with Shane. But maybe, just maybe, she saw what you couldn't see. 

Maybe Lori saw the way you looked at Rick like he hung the moon. The way you followed him around like a dog, obedient to his every word. What really had Lori’s eyes following you two that day though, was the way Rick looked. She knew that look anywhere because it was the same look he used to give to her.

That sappy, lovesick look that used to be solely reserved for her was now directed towards another woman—and Lori couldn't help but feel relieved? She was at a crossroads, having to take her place beside her husband, knowing her heart truly resided with Shane. It was a choice she didn’t want to admit was difficult to make, but seeing that maybe her husband felt the same gave her some hope.

Rick hadn’t lied when he said the ride would be slow. It started out with him telling you to get some rest and to ‘save up some of that energy for the interesting part.’ Little did you know, he just wanted to get a good look at you, up close, without anyone else watching, and not be too nervous to look you in the eye.

When you had finally dozed off, he brushed the loose hair from your face, watching the way your lips pouted out and the soft snores that left them. He drove extra slow as promised, but not for anything other than to make sure you didn’t wake up. Avoiding any potholes or branches in the road, he opted for the smoothest route possible.

He never would’ve admitted it to his face, but Daryl was right. The longer he was alone with you, the more his mind spiraled. Guilt was eating him alive even though he hadn’t done anything. The simple fact that he felt something was enough to crush him. The weight of his feelings were enough to drag him into a pit for the rest of the drive until you woke up.

Groaning, you squinted your eyes to adjust to the sun now peeking in through the glass. The truck seat was more comfortable than any place you had slept in months and the rhythmic rumbling of the tires was enough to lull you to sleep. A yawn escaped your lips, absentmindedly flipping in your spot until your gaze fell on Rick in the driver’s seat.

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” he rasped, eyes focused on the road.

“Shit,” you cursed, sitting up in your seat. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long. We almost there?”

“Told ya to get some rest, y’know I don’t mind.” Rick said, flashing you a smile. “Town should be right up ahead—right on schedule.”

Abandoned cars littered the roads and Rick tried his best to maneuver around them, but when he got to a certain cluster, there was no way out. You didn’t say anything, wanting to let him concentrate. A frustrated grumble left his lips, head peeking over his shoulder as he started to reverse.

“M’leavin’ the car here, there’s no way ‘round.” Slamming his palm onto the wheel, he set the truck into park. “I can see buildings right through the clearing. It should be close enough to bring stuff back.”

Nodding, you followed Rick’s lead. The sun was up now, just barely peeking through the clouds to pick up the morning dew that tickled your ankles. You both walked a few feet from each other, eyes focused on the couple of buildings ahead.

The walk was quieter than you had expected. You wanted to throw in some joke, one of those witty remarks that always came so easy when Daryl was around. Things felt so fragile now that you were alone, like all the things simmering just below the surface were starting to rise and the both of you could feel it bubbling over.

“I’ve been uh.” You stared at the ground, kicking a stone ahead of you and repeating the process all over again a couple feet ahead. “I’ve been talking to the Greenes a little more since we got here. They’re really nice people, especially Maggie—looks like her and Gleen have been hitting it off too.”

That last part made the both of you chuckle, the entire group letting Glenn awkwardly shuffle his way over to Maggie each day, trying to make a good impression. It was a noble attempt and Maggie seemed just as into him to relay the nervousness right back his way.

Rick laughed, running a hand over his jaw. “I remember bein’ like that—makes me miss bein’ young.” He said, his feelings more recent than he was admitting to.

In all honesty, Rick did miss being that young, nostalgic over the freedom he once had. Maybe if he was a little younger he wouldn’t feel the guilt that tore him apart each time he looked at you. If he was younger then maybe he would feel like he had a sliver of a chance with you. 

“You’re not that old,” you giggled.

“Thanks,” he laughed dryly. “Sounded real convincin’.” 

Rick looked over to you, not expecting you to be looking right back. He sucked in a sharp breath. Time felt frozen, like he was stuck here, body paralyzed by the force of you. 

“I mean it,” you said, a little more serious this time. “I know the world has gone to shit, but we have the whole world to make something of ourselves, to do whatever we want.”

He smiled to himself.

‘We’

The way you spoke like you were a unit, two pieces of the same puzzle. He knew you probably didn’t mean it that way, but his heart couldn’t help but hope that somewhere deep down you maybe felt the same.

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to fill the gap. “The world clearly favors you, Rick.” Your tone started off more lighthearted, but shifted into something more serious, weighing down the air just slightly. “After everything you still made it back to your family, your best friend, still alive. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but you’re handling it a hell of a lot better than the rest of us.”

“You’ve got to,” he words were rushed, intense, with a fierce gaze that locked your eyes. “The only way Carl stays strong is if I’m strong for him.”

You noticed how he only mentioned Carl. Trying not to think too deep into it, you glanced over to the town right ahead of you now. There were a few walkers that roamed the streets and with how rummaged through the entire town looked, the risks seemed to outweigh any possible benefits.

“Just don’t wear yourself out.” Turning back to Rick, you gave him one last small smile before pulling a weapon from your bag. “Let people help you every once in a while.”

“I brought you here with me, didn’t I?” 

That statement felt more charged than he probably meant it. A heat flushed your cheeks and you refocused back on the threat ahead of you.

“Let’s get in there then.”

The crowd ended up being more than you could handle. What just seemed like a few walkers aimlessly roaming in the streets ended up being a whole horde. Even just the sound of your knives and heavy panting drew a flood of undead from out the alleyways. They seemed to be coming from every direction, crawling out of abandoned cars, old buildings and shops. There was no escape, having to result in your guns, you hoped that some nearby group would hear and come to help. As unlikely as that was, it seemed even more unlikely that you both were making it out of here alive.

Pulling the trigger, the empty chamber rang out in the air. Panic filled your body and you reached into your empty pocket as a last resort.

“Rick!” you yelled out into the crowd.

No answer.

Ducking past a few reaching limbs, you weaved through the crowd trying to find Rick. Heartbeat thrumming in your ears, the monotonous groaning was drowned out and your vision blurred at the edges.

Everything was blurry the longer the adrenaline coursed through your veins. It was a strong, heavy, and unwelcoming feeling that made you disoriented and wobbly. You hadn’t realized you lost Rick, let alone where. Now that you were separated, you had no way into the truck, no way home, and no way out of here alive.

There were no more gunshots ringing out and the mass of walkers drowned out any sounds Rick could make to call out for you. It felt hopeless and for a moment you just wanted to accept that you would die here. Your feet couldn’t carry you for much longer and even if you could outrun the crowd, where were you to go after that?

Then, an arm curled around your waist, pulling you away from the store you were about to hide in and carried you back towards the crowd. You didn’t think, just acted as you tried to claw the fingers from around your hips. Thrashing, you fought the body dragging you closer to the danger, thinking you were surely done for.

“Quit it.” A voice, low and rough, hissed out. “It’s jus’ me. I’m gettin’ us the hell outta here.”

Your brain slowly started to catch up, allowing your feet to drop to the ground and run alongside Rick rather than have him drag you along. He blew through the crowd, using a combination of his knife and the barrel of his gun to strike down the crowd. Trying to help out where you could, you took down a few walkers, fishing through the back pocket of Rick’s denim when you saw the truck in the distance.

“Here!” Running up beside him, you made a quick exchange of the keys and his gun, slipping the weapon into your bag.

It felt like your lungs were on fire and your heart would just pop out of your chest if you didn’t stop, but it was too close to give up. Reaching the vehicle, you tossed open the door, throwing yourself inside before locking the door shut.

The two of you sat in a heavy silence, letting the fastest of the walkers bang on the glass while the rest staggered behind. Your chests heaved, slumped in your respective seats, trying to comprehend how this all went so terribly.

Then, as the crowd started to thicken, Rick put the truck in reverse, ignoring all the thumps beneath the tires. Leaving the road, he merged onto the empty highway, biting the skin on his fingers.

Never had a run turn so quickly on him and of course it happened to be the one time you were with him—the time he was supposed to keep you safe. The crowd has just appeared out of nowhere without any shot being fired, there was almost nothing you two could've done differently.

“M’sorry,” Rick whispered finally. “I should’ve never brought you out here. It was dangerous ‘n I shouldn't be puttin’ your life at risk like that.”

His voice was low and even, almost monotonous. He was clearly scolding himself. After everything with Carl, Rick had been a lot more harsh on himself—questioning whether he could lead this group like everyone thought he could—only to drag you straight into danger.

And for what—a moment alone with you?

Shaking your head, you propped your legs up on the dash. “Are you kidding me? I asked for something interesting and you delivered. I haven’t felt this alive in months.”

“Yeah?” Rick quirked a brow in your direction. “M’glad you had fun. I feel like I’m ‘boutta drop dead from a heart attack.”

You laughed. A real, belly laugh. One that Rick had always heard, but never been on the receiving end of—at least not as often as he’d liked to.

“Well,” a sly smirk curled your lips, arms digging in the bottom of your bag, “if that didn’t take too much out of you…” Pulling out a sealed mason jar from the pack, you held it next to your head. “Here’s that surprise I was talking about.”

Rick flicked his attention from the road for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Which would be…?”

“Some moonshine I stole from that bastard Merle after you left his sorry ass up on that roof.”

He cringed at the memory. 

As much as Daryl had claimed to have forgotten about it, the thought of leaving that man—as terrible as he was—up on that roof, haunted Rick almost every night. Though you clearly didn’t seem to mind, almost relieved the older Dixon was gone.

“And what’re we doin’ with that?” Laughing, he couldn’t believe the idea you were proposing—nevertheless with him. 

“Drinking it, duh.”

He had never seen you anything more than tipsily chatting with Daryl over the fire. Now here you were, proposing he get drunk with you. Not only did the idea seem dangerous, out here just a few miles away from a marauding horde of walkers, but he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around you. He was a grown man, could surely control his body, but his mind was different—the things he might blurt out.

“C’mon,” you whined when he only bit his lip, staring out onto the road. “We have nothing but ourselves and this truck to look after. No one is expecting us until later tonight, might as well use up the day to its full potential.”

This was a bad idea. 

The temptation Rick felt told him how much he probably shouldn't have been doing this. If it were anyone else he’d immediately object, probably even confiscate the bottle, but this was you. Looking at him so eagerly, he couldn’t find it within himself to say no. He loved that yearning look in your eyes, the one that told him you really did want to be spending your time with him.

Wordlessly, he pulled the truck onto the side of the road.

“A few sips—but that’s all. I mean it.”

Already unscrewing the lid, you flicked it back at him, letting the metal hit his shoulder. Lifting the glass to your lips, your face soured, the smell immediately filling your senses. It was strong, pungent, and although it had been years since your last hangover, the feeling hit you like a truck.

“God,” you cringed, pulling your head back, “this smells awful. First sip is all yours.”

Shaking his head, Rick ushered the jar back towards you. “Ladies first. This was your idea after all.”

He seemed more relaxed than earlier. His shoulders were more slack, his body leaning into the cushions with the belt unstrapped from his shoulders now. There was a soft mechanic rustling as he pushed the seat further back, stretching his legs, watching you fuss over the drink.

Taking the first sip was brutal. It shocked your senses, bringing you upright in the seat, jolting you awake. It tasted awful, just what you expected from a handcrafted Dixon creation, but you couldn’t deny its effects. It surely did its job, immediately working its magic with the second sip. You could feel that slight tingle deep beneath your skin that was slowly giving you the confidence alcohol always seemed to.

“Here, five sips.” Shoving the glass into his hands, you dramatically scrunched your face, words garbled by the liquid. “Beat that.”

Raising a brow, Rick cautiously lifted the jar to his nose. “M’surprised you didn’t puke on the first sip—this smells like Daryl’s feet.”

Giggling, you curled your legs into the seat, leaning over the center console. “You know what Daryl’s feet smell like?”

Nodding, Rick gulped down a generous sip before handing back the glass. “Can’t miss it. He avoids showerin’ like the damn plague.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t come with us.”

Then, taking another sip from the jar, you could feel your mind numbing. The questions you had always wanted to ask, the things you always wanted to say, didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Why didn’t you invite him?” you asked suddenly.

The question caught Rick off guard, snatching the glass from your hands to stall his answer.

“Needed someone to watch the camp,” he breathed out, the remnants of the moonshine glistening his lips.

“You don’t trust Shane?”

Questions were coming in quick now, not giving him a moment to breathe. The glass kept getting passed between the two of you, mainly ushered by Rick each time he felt too overwhelmed by one of your questions or intense stares—anything to buy him just a moment.

He drew his lips tight, the skin paling slightly. “Shane’s always been…” Taking another sip he took a moment to control himself, or maybe find the courage to say what he truly felt. “Impulsive. Don’t know if I can trust him in an emergency.” Then his last words were hot on his tongue, spitting out fire with every syllable. “Not with my son there.”

Nodding, you curled into yourself, knowing you tugged a thread too loose, letting his emotions unravel. Rick had always been so levelheaded that this was foreign. Sure, he had a lot on his shoulders—the stress was always evident—you had never seen him this unguarded though. He was letting it all out now. Finally bringing you into the space he always bridged so far with his silence. Letting Daryl typically fill the gap, Rick was able to feel close to you for so long without having to actually let you in. Now that the alcohol was talking, his true feelings began to spill over the edge and there was no turning back now.

You kept your mouth shut. Your feelings about Shane had always been the same, and it was hard to gauge if your hatred stemmed from the same place. You knew the things Shane was doing outside of his role as the group’s leader. There was so much you wanted to tell Rick, but it didn’t feel like the time—it never did—just seemed like something that would unnecessarily crush him.

“I agree with you,” Was all you said, letting the cab simmer in whatever this was.

“You see it too, right?”

Your heart stopped, stuttering a few times to catch back up—Could he know?

His words were vague, but deep down you knew what he meant. Feigning ignorance, you pressed your lips thin, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“See what?”

Scoffing, he shook his head, fists rocking against the wheel. “Y’don’t think I notice the way everyone looks at me? Y’think I don’t know my best friend is fuckin’ my wife?”

The words came out so even, so calm, that it frightened you more than any outburst could've. It was like he had rehearsed this. Like the anger bubbled within him for so long he had replayed this conversation in his mind more times than he could count. Instead of confronting them though, he was with you—vulnerable, voice raw and shaking.

“I-’

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve convinced myself not to believe it for long enough.” About half the glass was gone now, still switching between the two of you. “I can’t ignore it like it’s not happenin’ right in front of my face.”

Jaw slack, you didn’t know how to react. You and Daryl had spent countless hours on the topic, weighing the options between you, ultimately deciding it was better for Rick—and the group—to keep this a secret. Knowing he was aware the entire time made you wonder how he could keep it together for so long.

“I’m sorry we never said anything- that I never said anything…” Drawing a blank, your mind clouded—fuzzy from the alcohol but also from how broken Rick looked in front of you.

His head was heavy, eyes focused on his lap so intently that you were waiting to see smoke from the hole he had burned through the seat. Never had he been this vulnerable with you. Things with Rick were always surface level, light hearted conversation that left you in a lovesick daze. Now, this was just as real as your feelings for him, and once again you just wanted to tuck it all away and let this hot feeling of awkward shame leave your shoulders.

“That ain’t your job, darlin’.”

The nickname slipped off his tongue smoothly and although he had never used such a term of endearment towards you, it almost felt natural leaving his lips. Still, you felt the heat of it on your cheeks, starting to spread lower as the alcohol took its hold.

Nodding, you bit the skin on your lips, debating how to diffuse this tension. 

You both looked out onto the empty road, letting the silence clear your minds. For the first time tonight, you wished it wasn’t just the two of you here. That Daryl or somebody was here to relieve the tension, chime in and save the day whenever your feelings for Rick had your head too clouded.

“Yeah, but I still mean it, I really am sorry,” you said anyway, deciding speaking what was on your mind was better than nothing at all. “It’s not right. You woke up in the hospital, came all the way back here, just for her to act like she’s the one making the difficult decisions? I don’t get how you’re not furious, how you can just pretend everything is fine-”

The alcohol had you rambling now, a slight slur in your words the faster you spoke, your hands flailing around.

“It’s because I’m not pretendin’, sweetheart.” 

He cut you off politely, a deep, gravelly chuckle leaving his lips. There was a subtle blush on his cheeks, the alcohol affecting him too. Surely not as much as you, but it did guide the truth out easier, letting him get closer to you than he ever thought he could.

“What?” you gawked, dumbfounded.

Shaking his head, he smiled softly. It wasn’t a genuine smile, just one of those placeholders that said something like ‘ya caught me’ or a sarcastic ‘surprise!’ 

“S’not worth stressin’ over.” Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to distract you from just how misty eyed he was getting. “Can’t change what’s happened ‘n I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

“Cheers to that,” you nodded, handing him back the jar, “but you can’t just ignore it forever, Rick. You don’t know what that would do to you.”

Though you desperately wanted to lift the mood, you couldn’t help but express your concerns for the man. You knew first-hand the toll it took looking on from the sidelines. When Rick first got here, you experienced it everyday, watching him go off with Lori while your feelings got stronger and stronger. Even now, with the alcohol coursing through your veins, you don’t think you could ever form the words to tell him. This felt like the perfect opportunity with him so disconnected from his wife—but would that make you just as deceitful at her?

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.” He leaned back in his seat now, seemingly more relaxed. Turning his head to you, he had a lazy smirk splayed on his lips, body caving into the exhaustion you both felt. “Been through a lot of heartbreak in this life. This surely ain’t the worst of ‘em.”

“Really?” Turning to him, fully intrigued, you leaned further over the console. “Thought you would’ve been the one breaking hearts,” you joked playfully.

Scoffing, Rick reminisced for a moment. “Then y’got the wrong image of me, darlin’. Wasn’t no athlete or anythin’ back then. Jus’ barely enough sense to get me outta highschool.”

“Sounds like you’ve changed a lot since then.”

“Glad to know ya think of me that way, doll.”

You both just stared at one another, the remnants of the past half hour swirling around both of your minds. It was strange for Rick to be this vulnerable, but with you it didn’t feel so bad. You wished you could’ve said more, found the words through the haziness of your mind and say something to truly heal the broken man in front of you. You just didn’t expect him to be so open with you. How much he didn’t care. It all caught you so off guard that anything you might’ve rehearsed in your head flew out the window.

His words were sharp talking about the situation, but any time he led back to you he always softened his words. Those nicknames kept tumbling off his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, like now that he got the first one out unquestioned, it was something he was addicted to.

“I really do,” you urged, trying not to let your feelings drive your words too much. “I think what you’ve done for the group is amazing. We never would’ve found somewhere like the farm without you.”

His tongue jetted out to wet his lips before he ran a steady hand over his jaw. "You're awfully sweet, darlin’, but you shouldn’t be thankin’ me after today.”

Scrunching your eyebrows, you lightly shoved his shoulder. “God, you’re such a drunk sap, Rick. You’re really still thinking about that? Shit happens, it could’ve been anybody-”

“But it was you.”

The words tumbled out faster than he could stop them, his eyes widened, heart frozen in place. He had just dug himself a hole, and by the look you gave him, there was no getting out.

Your lips were dry, stomach churning with bad moonshine and an unnerved tension. His words weren’t making sense, all this mindless babbling he’d done tonight, it just wasn’t Rick. That didn’t mean you hadn’t liked it though. His words were the closest thing you’d had to quelling that thought in your mind that maybe your feelings were reciprocated.

Breathlessly, you tried to repress your nervousness. “And I’m fine, Rick– barely even have a scratch on me.” You huffed out a sigh. He had been beating himself up over this all day when he should’ve just been grateful to be alive, and unharmed at that. “Just be in the moment for once. Enjoy being alive.”

The curls tossed atop his head, the back of his arm coming up to wipe the alcohol that dribbled from his lips.

“Can’t do that no more, sweetheart,” he sighed, taking a moment to lean back, really take a look within himself. Whatever he’d seen must’ve been too much because he reached for the lid, tightening the old rusty cap back on tight. “Got a whole group of people relyin’ on me to keep ‘em safe, can’t be wastin’ time livin’ in the moment. Even this…” he gestured to the jar, your empty bags, “I shouldn’t be doin’ this…”

His palms splayed wide, stretching his long fingers, nervously tapping them along the steering wheel. You watched them curl around the leather, the roughness of his hands audibly scratching against the threads. It sent a wave of heat through you, your legs crossed and the cab closed in tighter.

“It’s just one drink.” That was a little bit of an understatement. “It’ll be our secret– even Daryl won’t know.” That was the truth—no matter how difficult it was going to be keeping your mouth shut around the shaggy haired man.

It wasn’t the drinks Rick cared about, or the failed supply run. He was only worried about saying the wrong thing—ruining all of this. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment except you, but that confession was also the one thing that could ruin it all.

He fumbled with the ring on his left hand, the one he found himself wearing less and less now. He didn’t know why he chose to put it on that morning. Maybe he had expected this all along—the temptation he would feel—knew he would need some reminder of why he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, staring into his lap.

He had ruined it.

Rick had finally been able to talk to you alone, make you laugh, and he had gone and squashed the moment while drowning in his own self-reproach.

Then, it was slight, but fingertips crept up his bicep, wrapping around his shoulder. He looked to you to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. You gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. With nothing else to offer him but your presence, you fought through the shakiness of your hands and the haze of your vision.

You were definitely drunk now. It wasn't enough to set off any alarms by the time you got back to camp, but right now, kneading the warm, solid muscle of his arms was enough to tell him your mind was a little cloudy. 

Throughout the conversation, you had migrated closer and closer to Rick until you could almost feel his breath on your skin. He was hot to the touch, the tip of his nose and cheeks a bright shade of pink, and his messy mop of curls stuck to his forehead. Closing the gap, you could even feel it radiating off onto your skin.

Rick swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling your breath that crept up the side of his neck. You were swaying, leaning on your elbows across the center console—no longer interested in what you had been talking about, the weight of it seemingly gone from your mind. 

“I think…” Fingertips trailed his skin and you watched him shudder under your touch. “You should smile more…”

Your tone caught him off guard, more sultry and suggestive than you had been all night—than you had ever been. 

He shifted, not uncomfortably, but stiffly, weighing his options of how to move further. You were obviously drunk and your out-of-character behavior was definitely a product of that. As much as he wanted to convince himself you felt the same, that these were pent up feelings finally coming out within the heat of the moment, he knew it was wrong. 

“Sweetheart,” he shuddered, shutting his eyes as if he’d wake up from a dream. “I think we should get back to camp.”

Frowning, you jutted out your bottom lip, wet and slicked from the last of the moonshine. Your pupils were dilated, no longer flickering away from his gaze but holding it, strong and steady, tempting him closer.

“M’serious, Rick,” your words were more slurred, hands trailing lower. “Don’t like seeing you like this…thought I could cheer you up today.” Crackling in your throat, your voice got less and less confident and tears started to well in your eyes. “And I just made everything worse…”

His jaw went slack, your confession taking him by surprise. This whole time, you had been skating through this conversation just the same as him, treading on thin ice, too scared to make one wrong move. Now as the alcohol boldened your moves and softened your mind, it didn’t take long for the ice to break, dragging you beneath the surface.

“Oh darlin’,” he cooed, pulling you further into his chest, letting you grip onto his shoulders. “Such a sweet little thing…y’don’t have anythin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Your limbs were crumpled in the seat behind you, awkwardly twisted so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the hot, sticky tears that clung to his skin, the vulnerability that sunk in with each dig of your nails. 

“What’s got ya so worked up, doll?”

He was trying to be gentle and soft to not let you see how much his heart broke at the sight of you trembling in his lap. His hands roamed your back, tracing little shapes onto the skin from over your shirt, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

“I-It’s not fair,” you hiccuped.

Your drunken state had flown through all the stages so quickly: A bashful tipsyness that led into more thoughtful conversation, letting you both speak your truth until that unavoidable sappiness bled through the cracks and had you like putty in his hands.

“You work so hard.” Your voice was muffled in his neck, fingers desperately grabbing at the curls on the back of his neck. “Why do you let everyone run over you like that?”

This caught him even more off guard, the way you cared so earnestly. The way you sobbed into his neck like this had kept you up for nights, taking his problems just as personally as you own, had him reeling.

“Shhh…breathe, darlin’, breathe.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, shushing your sobs while you hiccupped into his skin. “Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. S’long as the group’s safe—as long as you’re safe—I don’t mind takin’ a few hits.”

You lifted your head, shaking it frantically, cupping Rick’s face into your hands. Squishing his cheeks in a little, he looked at you, face scrunched and lips pouted. 

“I just wanna see you happy again– like when you first got here.” Your back stiffened, trying to bite back the anger from your voice. “The way she talked about you…I-I don’t know how she could do that.”

Your words held a certain discretion to them, like even after all this you were too nervous to breach this topic. This was meant to be a good time. You had brought the moonshine in hopes of getting closer with Rick, letting the alcohol dull your senses until you were no longer too nervous to talk to him. 

Whenever you and Daryl drank, it was never like this. The two of you would have lighthearted conversation, maybe wander down to the lake and playfully splash water at one another. You didn’t realize with so much hanging on this moment, all the time you had spent stressing over making it perfect, that you’d crumble the second the liquid touched your lips. Alcohol clung to your insecurities, peeling back the layers until that was all you could see.

The apples of his cheeks pinched between your palms. He couldn’t help the laugh that rippled from his lips with the sight of you, so fixated on making everything right. Truly, things couldn’t have been more perfect for him within this moment. This was the closest you’d ever been and though you grabbed him with a force that made his face sore, he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

Hearts pounding in sync, neither of you understood the weight of this moment, both sharing the hot, cavernous shame that buried itself within—wedging its way between you.

The grief Rick felt over his crumbling marriage was complicated. At first it tore him from the seams, pulling each thread until he was left a scrap of fabric on the floor. Then you came along and Rick started to notice the effect your presence had on him. What started with mindless babbling on supply runs or perimeter checks, slowly, unknowingly, let you weave the pieces of him back together.

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout all that,” he cooed, tucking a sliver of hair behind your ear.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell you that he was that happy again—when you were around. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t care about his wife anymore not only because she had cheated, but because he had feelings for someone else—for you.

Instead, he only let himself say what the silver band on his ring finger allowed.

“Don’t go stressin’ over this old man’s problems, yeah?” Copying your movements, he carefully wiped the edges of your eyes, holding your face in his hands just gently enough he could excuse the action.

Leaning into this touch, you let your lashes flutter against his palm. Nodding against his skin, you breathed in his scent—the remnants of the alcohol on his lips and that deep, musky pull from the crook of his neck. 

Your small hands still held his arms, fingers creeping along his skin—feeling, tracing, memorizing—you felt him shudder beneath your touch. Readjusting his hips, Rick felt the denim on his legs getting more confined and he reached for his belt. Shifting the buckle, he tried to relieve the tension, but you just kept creeping closer.

He felt disgusting. Here you were, confiding in him, pouring your heart out to show you cared, and all he could think about was the blood rushing between his legs. His grip on you had tightened, palms greedily splayed on your waist, resisting every twitch to pull you onto his lap.

You didn’t say anything else, the moment felt busy enough with all the tension coming to a standstill. Though there were no words, the slow, lazy movements fused between each other were enough to speak for itself. Pure want filtered through every action and Rick found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

He saw you glance once, twice, at his lips. Jutting out his tongue, he slipped them beneath his teeth, maybe to dissipate the tension, or maybe to stop himself from giving in.

“Rick…?”

God, you were irresistible right now.

With spit-slicked lips and tear-puffed cheeks, you looked the closest to fucked out Rick had been able to see you outside of his imagination. 

He cleared his throat, grumbling out a soft string of curses. “Yeah, doll?”

Your eyes held a certain seriousness he hadn’t seen from you all night. He gave you his full attention, his heart beating fast with uncertainty. 

“M’sorry I got too drunk,” you slurred out sleepily, a gentle yawn leaving your lips.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. He squeezed your cheeks between his palms and they almost disappeared with how his hands swallowed your face. 

You were so different now compared to just a few minutes ago. Like a cat, you curled up in his lap, claiming your territory. It was a cramped spot, huddled up between his chest and the steering wheel, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

His breathing shallowed the closer you pressed and he tried to fill his mind with thoughts that would stop the bulge from growing in his jeans. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. If you saw how he truly felt about you, the way his body just couldn't resist, maybe he’d never get to see you again.

He smoothed his hands over the outside of your thighs, putting your legs on either side of him. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, darlin’.” You smiled into his neck. “Been havin’ a real nice time with ya…s’been a while since I spoke my mind. Nice to know someone cares.”

That last part was quietly whispered into your ear. Wriggling your toes excitedly, he felt the vibration of you humming contentedly against his neck.

Pulling back your head from the crook, he saw your cheeks dusted a rosy pink. They matched his and the heat of the cab that painted droplets on his forehead. Both of you were breathing heavier now, stickily clung to one another with desire hot on your tongue.

“I’ve always cared, Rick,” you pouted, almost offended. “You just never let anyone in.”

He hummed in response, lips pressed thin.

Rick knew you were right. Even Daryl, his right-hand-man, was oblivious to most of the things that raced through the man’s mind. There was so much he had lost—so much he felt he could never obtain—that the grief of it all was too much to speak out loud. 

“Want you to talk to me,” you whined, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “S’not fair how they treat you.”

Your head dipped low, stealing a gasp from Rick’s lips when you started to gently nibble at his collarbone. He sat there, frozen, his fingertips pressing further into your skin the more you licked. Your nose nuzzled the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in deep. A trail of kisses were planted from his pulse point to that soft, sensitive notch behind his ear. Your breath ghosted the shell of cartilage, feeling him twitch with every graze of your lips on his skin.

“T-thank you, darlin’.” He was fighting for his life now—one look away from bursting a blood vessel. “Awfully sweet of ya.”

Watching the Adam’s apple bob in his throat enticingly had your tongue flicking out, licking a stripe down the middle of his throat, feeling the groan he fought back. 

With the way he was holding on, you’d definitely have bruises where his hands sat on your hips. He was gripping onto you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drifting away. You weren’t sitting on his lap anymore, but he had it so you were just slightly hovering above him, trying to lessen the temptation he felt. His hips would still twitch upwards with each sloppy kiss you left on his neck though, chasing friction like it was his only will to live.

You didn’t respond to him anymore, just happily sucked along the skin of his neck, feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin. His large hand closed down on the back of your head, sliding up your scalp until he had a firm hold of your hair.

“You’re killin’ me, doll.” His voice was low, guttural, with a breathiness at the end that sounded like he was pleading with you. 

Still, you didn’t look up, didn't even respond, just kept exploring the underside of his jaw, tugging helplessly at his curls. Getting a more hardened grip, he dragged your head to face him. 

“Look at me.” He demanded.

His words weren’t harsh, just firm.

Eyes blown wide and jaw slack, Rick couldn’t help but stare at your kiss swollen lips. He could feel every splotch on his skin where your touch still lingered—how much he had to pretend he didn’t want more.

“We can’t be doin’ this.” Repeating Daryl’s words from earlier, Rick tried to scold himself out of wanting.

“Do what?” you asked, playing dumb.

It was clear you knew what you were doing. It was what you had always wanted to do, but never had the shield of apathy to hide behind. Your embarrassment fizzled away with your sobriety, leaving you an empty husk of pure want—and Rick the target of your desires.

Lacing your fingers with his, you didn’t give Rick a moment to stop you. Didn’t give him the chance to tell you this was a bad idea.

His left hand covered your entire vision, his palm spread wide in front of your face. Cracks and scars littered the skin, hair curling between his knuckles and brushing roughly against the softness of your skin. Hand barely wrapped around his thick wrist, you toyed with the wedding ring on his finger, a cloud of guilt and anger clouding your senses.

You wanted to rip the damn thing off. It felt like some sick joke he was married—if you could even call that facade a marriage. It didn’t feel like she deserved him, but at the same time you wanted to understand the grief she was going through, and somehow process how she could do this to him. She was your friend, and you wanted to believe there was something redeemable under all the mistrust she created.

Rick stared at the band with you, both your eyes lingering on the metal, an unspoken conversation shared within the silence.

Cautiously, your eyes flickered to his, trying to read the mix of emotion in those icy blues. Then, slowly, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, starting from thumb to pinky. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes not leaving yours as you worked your way across his digits. Lips pressed to his pinky, you trailed back, painfully slow, dragging the tip of your tongue over his ring finger, swirling around the tip.

He stifled a moan as you popped the digit between your lips. The band cooled your lips the further you took him, letting your eyes meet his in a deadly hold.

“Fuck,” Rick sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. “Y’don’t know what you’re doin’ t’me.”

He set you down on his lap, your plush thighs flush against his denim clad legs. You could feel him through his jeans and the way he tried to shy away from you. 

“I told you I had a surprise,” you giggled into his ear, bashfully hiding your face in your hair.

You wanted him bad and Rick could only resist for so long. The more he tried to pull away, the more of yourself you gave to him—it felt like an endless back and forth.

“You’ve been plannin’ this then, huh?” He rasped.

His guilt began to simmer and the realization that you wanted him just as badly—plus the grinding of your hips—dimmed any doubt he had before. A slight cockiness smoothed over his tone with you so desperately pawing at him, crying in his ear for more.

Nodding, you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Wanted you for so long.”

You whined, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands smoothed down your back, twisting the hem of your shirt around his fingers until he skated a light, feathery touch along your skin. 

“Yeah?” He laughed a little at your eagerness, the way you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. “Coulda told me sooner, darlin’. Woulda taken care of ya.”

Pressing your hips down even harder, Rick took hold of your waist, stilling your movements. The pads of his fingers tapped gently against your side, beckoning your attention. Eyes blown wide, you looked up at him, lips parted like you were drooling over the sight of him.

“You want that, hmm?” Even with you crawling on top of him, nudging the buckle of his belt, there was a part of him that still needed to hear that yes. A deep, gaping part of him that still didn’t believe you could want him in this capacity, that in his position as a leader he had somehow swayed your thinking. “Wan’ me t’take care of ya?”

Impatiently, you clawed at the collar of his shirt, stretching out the fabric, trying to pull it over his head.

“Mhmm,” you nodded exaggeratively, your tongue poking out to wet your lips. “Please, Rick, that’s all I want.”

Well if you were gonna ask so nicely…

He smiled, washing away that last shred of doubt with that persistent look in your eye.

“Okay, sweet girl.” He glanced over his shoulder, wishing there was somewhere else other than the front seat of this truck he could be having this moment with you. The seat was cramped, your legs tangled in his lap, pressing against the steering wheel with a certain discomfort. “C’mere.” He lifted you onto the center console, guiding his seat back, and widened his stance for you to sit comfortably between his legs.

Happily, you perched yourself in front of him again, roaming your hands over the expanse of his chest. You tugged yourself closer, allowing yourself to get lost in the scent of him, letting your face absentmindedly brush against his skin.

“Wish this coulda been somewhere more special,” he started. Teeth grazed the shell of your ear, biting the lobe and tugging the skin harshly, making you whimper. “Been thinkin’ of this for a while, doll…” His hands slipped up the legs of your shorts, cupping your ass beneath the fabric, toying with the hem of your underwear. “How soft your skin feels in my hands…how good you’d taste. Feels like a dream jus’ gettin’ to touch you.”

You tossed your arms over his shoulders, bucking into his touch. Forehead pressed against his, you whined, wanting more of him. You placed your lips on his, tugging him closer and pushed deeper into the kiss. His lips were warm just like the rest of him, skin cracked and rough on the edges, reminding you that he was really here. Hands firm, he held you like it was something he owned, something he couldn’t live without. 

Brushing your tongue over his bottom lip, he gave you a false sense of control, letting you explore him eagerly, shamelessly circling your hips. You were chasing your own pleasure through the confines of your shorts, moaning into his mouth each time you felt him brush up against you.

If he weren’t so close, Rick could’ve lived in this moment forever, letting your bodies meld into one another. He couldn’t fool himself though—he wasn’t getting any younger. It had been a while since he’d felt like this, been this close to somebody. Though his mind was cherishing this moment, taking it all in one breath at a time, his body was chasing a fast release, his balls tightening with each roll of your hips.

“Slow down, doll” he chuckled, hands resting on your hips, stilling your movements. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

That made your head dip low and cheeks flush in embarrassment. It had been so long since you’d been intimate—spent so much time daydreaming over this man—that the moment you got the opportunity you were rutting up against him like a hormonal teenager.

You softly mumbled out an apology, hips twitching with need as you tried to give him some space.

“Jus’ a little eager, ain’t that right, darlin’?” His fingers held tight on your jaw, cheeks slightly pinched together. Your eyes were glassy, lips pouted with a pent-up frustration that made his cock twitch beneath the denim. “Ain’t nothin’ t’be ashamed of.”

Nodding, you smiled, pawing at the loops of his belt, tugging his hips towards you.

He curled his fingers more sharply around you, cupping your heat, feeling the damp, sticky wetness through the fabric. Your body was a stripped wire, feeling every touch times ten, flashing sparks with each graze of his fingers.

Rick was so gentle with you in his words. You could feel through his touch that he wanted nothing more than to strip you down and claim you as his. His mind was a complicated thing though, always had been, seeking confirmation with every interaction. He didn’t move his lips or wander his fingertips until he had found the spot that made you shudder, moving on to claim the next piece of you, lapping up your sounds like praise.

He turned you in his lap, pressing you back flush to his chest. You could see out onto the street now, fingers curling around the leather of the sterling wheel while you tried to ground yourself. Lifting your hips, he popped the button of your shorts, sliding the fabric down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. 

Sucking in a breath, he groaned out a low string of curses, taking in the view of your soaked undergarments. Looping the waistband over his thick digit, he snapped the elastic back onto your skin, watching you flinch forward.

“Stop teasing.” You pleaded, arching your back, chasing his touch. “Please.”

The sound of your desperation, those salty tears rasping your voice, had his fingers moving even slower. He wanted to hear you beg. Wanted you sobbing in his lap until your tears soaked the denim, just pleading for a taste of his cock. But you were so sweet with your tear stained cheeks and puffy lips, asking for him so nicely. This time he’d let you off easy, figuring he’d savoured the moment long enough.

“Okay, darlin’.” His thick middle finger breached the hem of your underwear, pressing up the seam between your thigh. “Easy now.”

You were thrashing against him, bucking against the empty air. He kept you still though, one arm wrapped over the front of you, pressing down on your hips. His head dipped next to yours that was lulled back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut with an impatient scrunch of the nose. His stubble scratched your skin and you could hear his stuttered breaths while he looked down at your core fluttering around the tip of his finger just barely grazing your entrance.

Collecting your wetness onto his fingers, they glistened in the light, matching your slick coated thighs. Pulling the rest of the fabric from your thighs, he brushed his thumb against your clit in a long, slow stripe. Again, you arched your back up off of him, tipping your head back with an unrestrained moan.

That was the sound he was looking for.

Latching his fingers onto the bud, he pinched, watching you squirm beneath him. Once again, you flooded his ears with that melodic sound, the unspoken praise perking up his ears.

“Rick…” you sighed, reaching down to his wrist, urging him for more.

Pressing down firmly, he traced slow, lazy circles onto your clit, watching the way your face scrunched in pleasure. He took in every subtle nuance, matching his fingers to the pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. With full control, he used his leg to guide you along his slick coated fingers, slinking his hand to brush against your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he said in awe. His movements were quick, dipping the tip of his fingers between your walls before retreating with a squelching ‘pop’. “Y’hear that? She’s jus’ beggin’ f’me.”

You babbled incoherently, all thought going to the chase of your hips after his fingers. Rick forced his fingers past your lips, garbling the words on your tongue as he pressed the pads further down your throat. You gagged around him, spit bubbling up through your lips. He experimentally dipped his fingers even further back, testing your limits for just a moment before retreating, letting a string of spit connect him to your gasping lips.

He could do this all day if you’d let him. Looking at the way you twitched in his lap, mind numb, body pliant, you honestly might’ve let him. Watching you writhe in pleasure, chasing after his touch, having you call out for him—it was all too much.

Rick was studying—learning the ins and outs of your body in case you ever gave him the honour of touching you like this again. He could ignore the discomfort in his pants if it meant he got to hear those pretty moans on your lips just a little longer.

Eyelids fluttering open., you cried out his name again. “Need you,” you mewled. 

“Y’got me, doll,” he whispered huskily. “All of me– jus’ gotta tell me what you need.”

“Your cock,” you said shamelessly. 

You were always bold, cracking crude jokes that made the group stifle a laugh, maybe even roll their eyes. This was beyond any of his expectations though. This was pure, blatant desire—all directed at him—tumbling off your lips one confession after another.

“S’all yours,” he rasped coarsely. 

Your little fingers tugged on his belt, haphazardly unlatching the clasp the moment he gave you the go ahead. You were beaming, practically buzzing, to get your hands on him. Palming him through the fabric, you pulled down his jeans. Leaving him in just his boxers, the plaid fabric stared back at you intimidatingly, doing little to conceal the rest of him.

Shy fingers poked through the opening, carefully pulling out his length. He held his breath, watching you in awe, a crazed look in his eye while you lazily stroked his cock. Letting out a shaky groan, he couldn’t stop his hips from twitching up into your palm or they way needy moans filtered through his lips.

Rick was a giver—would’ve let himself go untouched if that’s what you wanted. You seemed to be enjoying his pleasure just the same though, taking in those beautifully parted lips and messily scattered curls. 

As much as he wanted to collect himself—focus on your pleasure—he was content with letting you take, take, take, his cock further and further into your palm, wrapping another hand to compensate for the girth.

He was big. Enough to make you a little nervous through your brazenness. The length of him was average, a perfect six or so inches that curved deliciously to his flushed tip. Wrapping your hand around him though, the base of him was wide, the tips of your fingers barely meeting back together. 

Rick was a mess beneath you, heaving out breathy moans and squirming his hips. He was close, more than he’d like to admit, and although your hands felt like heaven on his dick, he tore away your wrists.

Your eyes flicked up at him with a sharp insecurity, the hastiness of his movements taking you by surprise. He still had your wrists taken in his palm, chest heaving while he tried his best to collect himself. Every movement had him sensitive, on the verge of release, but he couldn’t let himself finish before he got inside you—before he made you finish.

You yelped as Rick lifted your hips, tossing your arms over his shoulders for balance. He was steady in the confined space, lip tucked beneath his teeth as he watched you with precision. Leaning back, he angled his hips towards the wheel, guiding you back so he could watch himself slide into you.

Sliding his tip through your slick, you gasped, tipping your head against the glass. He notched his tip to the brink of your entrance, watching your chest heave. As much as he wanted to watch the way you swallowed him in, he kept his focus on your face, stilling his movements each time he saw you wince.

He only had the tip in and you were already scrunching your nose, squirming away from the sensation. The intrusion burned, his cock bullying its way through your walls, pushing its way in with a brutal stretch.

You hissed, latching onto his arm, your other hand against his chest, trying to push him away. “S’too much, Rick,” you yelped, watching his swelling tip push past your folds. “C-can’t do it.”

Guilt burned his chest hearing you squeal like that, clawing into his chest to relive the ache. Seeing you so fucked out though—eyes rolled back, lips parted with a shiny trail of spit slicking your skin—he couldn’t pull out now.

He cupped your face, callouses scratching against your skin to refocus you, to bring you back to him. Curling his fingers around the back of your neck, he pulled you to his chest, easing in another couple of inches while he smoothed out your hair.

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he shushed your cries into the fabric of his shirt. Tracing shapes into your skin, he waited for your sniffles to subside before taking your hips back into his hold, guiding you down the rest of his length. “You’ve got it…” He picked your limp head off his shoulder, watching it soften as you got used to his size. “See? Ain’t too bad.”

He felt a tight squeeze around his cock and wriggle of your hips telling him he was allowed to move. Still, he needed further reassurance through your frantic nods into the crook of his neck.

“This okay?” Slowly, Rick pulled all the way out until it was just the tip, letting you sink back onto him with a loud squelch. You murmured some sort of praise into his skin, a conglomerate of ‘yesss, please, more’ muffled into his shirt. “Gotta hear ya, doll.”

“Yesss,” you moaned, lifting your head the best you could to look at him through teary eyes. “So good…please.”

Rick let out a satisfied hum, content with himself in how quickly he was able to make your mind go stupid on his cock.

Picking up the pace, you could feel the truck rocking beneath you. His breath was ragged, keeping himself flush against the back of the seat and holding a solid grip on your hips. As he pounded up into you, the edges of your vision blurred out, getting fuzzier the closer your bodies got. Your bodies clung together, sweat dripping off his curls and into your lap, only adding to the soft sloshing between you. 

He had fully stopped talking now, too close to the edge to hear your sweet voice try and respond to him. Just your gasps, stuttering out with thrust, was almost enough to send him over the edge, his eyes squeezing shut with the last of his restraint.

Trailing his hand around your front, he dipped his fingers between your folds, collecting the slick you were so generously pouring out for him. Deft fingers crept to your clit, starting with light, fluttering taps that had you biting your fist, trying to conceal your noises. He built up the pressure, finding a steady rhythm around the bud until he felt you shaking, your walls squeezing him in tight.

“C’mon, doll.” He leaned forward, swallowing back a groan, choosing to sink his teeth deep into your shoulder. “Let it all out.”

You cried out at the sensation, all of too much as you came tumbling over the edge. Little crescents indented the skin on his shoulders the deeper you dug, trying to ground yourself through your release. You were trashing in his arms, feeling the drag of his cock past your walls even through the aftershocks. 

He didn’t let up, kept pounding into you with the same force while you rode out your orgasm, chasing his own release. Just moments behind, you heard a broken moan stutter out from his lips, a rosy pink dusting his cheeks. Lifting your hips, he guided you further back against the wheel. Pulling you off his length, he frantically brought up a shaky hand, imagining it was yours as he tugged along the length of his dick. 

His eyes were focused on the tears bubbling in your eyes, that blissed-out look behind them, and the way your pussy fluttered around nothing, trying to coax his length back in. His hips stuttered once, twice, and he was painting the inside of your thighs with his release, blindly smearing the rest along his tip, leaning his head back with a sigh.

“God.” He looked at you in disbelief, almost reaching down to pinch himself. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Giggling, you felt a hot embarrassment creep up your neck. Sobriety had settled its way through the cracks, your orgasm washing a needed wave of clarity over you. Now, despite being the one to initiate all of this, you felt embarrassed to have been so needy in front of the man you had been crushing on for months.

Rick took notice of your silence, the way you avoided his gaze like the plague. Scrunching his brows, he took hold of your chin, forcing you to look his way.

“Doll?” He blinked, trying to read your expression. “Y’alright?”

Bleakly, you nodded, somewhere far off from yourself.

“Talk t’me,” Rick urged, growing more concerned. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Frantically, you shook your head, palms splayed out in front of you. “No, no, it’s just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Was…was that okay? I was pretty drunk and all over you…Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”

A laugh leaked from his lips before he could stop it from happening. 

You thought you’d forced yourself on him? 

He could’ve never thought of something further than the truth—the same exact thought clouding his mind except about himself.

“That’s what got ya so down?” Chuckling, he brought a hand to your face, pinching your cheek with his thumb. “Thas the last thing you need t’be worryin’ ‘bout. Could never stop me from wantin’ ya…was worried that you didn't want me, darlin’.”

“Really?” you giggled, popping your head off his chest. 

“Yes, really,” Rick smiled. “An old man like me would be crazy passin’ up a pretty girl like you. ‘Specially if she wanted me s’bad as you do,” he teased, giving your hip a playful squeeze. “Needy lil thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the blush that crept on your face. “Yeah, yeah, Grimes.” Crossing your arms, you gave him a feigned look of annoyance. “Thought you said we needed to get back to camp?”

Squeezing your thighs, he took one last look over your figure before clearing his throat. “Anythin’ you say, darlin’.” His eyes were unfocused, darting up and down your frame—god, he was pussy whipped. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first, yeah?”

Smirking, you dipped your pointer finger down to the puddles splashed on your thighs. Swiping at the liquid, Rick watched you intently as your lips wrapped around the digit, sucking off the salty fluid.

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking your thighs in a bruising grip. “Gonna be the death of me, doll.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @death-in-a-tar0t-card @skankhvnt42 @riverz-pawz @1unaang3l @thee-fantastic-mrfox @spookysights-blog @snooziesuzie @kitty-grimes (message me to be added or removed)

[amaranthinespirit]

husband!simon riley when you've gotten comfortable

before you got married, you always demonstrated the more polished side of yourself. dolling yourself up for dates, wearing the prettiest outfits, and doing your hair in your favorite styles. you kept lipgloss on you at all times, the plumping kind so you'd always figure out when simon got to curious and tried it for himself (he always had to pocket it for you).

simon loved that side of you. the soft, feminine and put together side of you. the one that simon wanted to protect because more often than not, he looked more like a guard dog rather than your boyfriend.

but things changed when you married and moved in, and you weren't put together all the time. you wore baggy clothes you'd stolen from simon, your figure lost in the fabric that fell to just above your knees. your hair tied lazily, or most of the time just a straight mess. your skin void of any makeup, and you just lounged around the house because simon paid all the bills.

and simon fucking loved it. seeing you in a natural state that you trust him with turns him on more than he can admit. he's the type of guy to pause as he passes the couch, shake his head with an accusatory finger jab, mumbling "you tempt me," and walks off like nothing happened.

more often than not, he's taking you to bed. splitting you apart on his cock while you wear his shirt, hair getting even more mussed against the bedding. all while grunting and groaning about how you tempt him every time he enters the house, resisting the urge to bend you over every available—like he doesn't already.

[cs-glitch]

john price, who asks his most trusted sergeant (gaz) to help him give you a special gift for mother's day....

18+ MDNI !!!

cw: fem!reader, breeding kink, age gap, slight dubcon, slight manipulation, discussions of pregnancy & struggling to conceive, actual pregnancy, implied lactation kink, use of 'mama', brief pricegaz (if that's not your cup of tea)

You want a baby more than anything– you've always loved kids, and you're so good with them. You’ve been married to John for over a year now and together for three total– you know you’re ready. 

Your husband, Price, feels so guilty for leaving you alone all the time, so he happily agreed.

“It’ll be good for you, give you something to look after,” he’d said when you’d discussed it. 

“It’s not a puppy, John,” you huff.

He wraps his arms around you in an apology. “Besides, it’s not about that. I like the thought of having a piece of you with me, always,” you whispered as you gently cupped his jaw. You’d only laughed against his lips when his hard-on pressed into you.

  You've been trying for months now with no luck.

"These things take time, lovie." He'd tried his best to console you. 

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as you stared at the negative test. "But what if it doesn't happen? What if there's something wrong with me?"

"Sweetheart, even if there's a medical issue on your end, there's nothing wrong with you," he presses a kiss to the side of your head. "If it comes to that, we'll talk with our doctors and explore other options."

He doesn't like to dwell on the age difference between you too much, but he knows the harsh truth– he's the problem. He hates to admit it, but he's getting up there in age. Achy knees, reading glasses - this is just another reminder to add to the long list. 

There are other options, better options, he's sure, but why would you see some specialist when Gaz is right there?  Sergeant Garrick is young and strong, with no known health issues – plus, he's seen the way Kyle's eyes roam over your body when you visit the base. 

After a long, long discussion, you decide you’re not opposed to the idea as long as Kyle agrees to it. Price doesn't have the heart to tell you that his sergeant would blindly agree to anything he asks if it meant getting just a taste of your cunt. 

That's how you end up spending Mother's Day getting fucked over and over while your husband watches. 

You're not sure how many you've come– your head's too fuzzy to remember– but you know Kyle's about to approach his third.  Your legs are thrown over his shoulders, and there's cum dripping down your thighs, pooling onto the bed. Every time he thrusts into you, wet sounds fill the room.  

“Fuck, feel so good, love. Gonna make you a Mama, yeah?” he groans as he continues to pound in and out of your cunt. 

He trails his hand up your body, squeezing your chest. “Can't wait to see your tits swollen and heavy with milk. Gonna let me have a taste?" he says as he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. 

“Fuck yes, baby. Gonna let you milk me dry,” you squeak out. 

John’s eyes on you from the corner of the room seem to heighten every touch. The fact that he’s not even touching himself, just watching.

“Doing so well, love. You too, sergeant,” he praises, his gaze focused on your dripping cunt. 

You grip the sheets as Kyle’s thrusts start to stutter, preparing yourself to take another load of his cum. His thumb circles your swollen clit, and you feel tears on your cheeks. "Please, inside, mmm," you sweetly beg, clenching around his throbbing cock. 

Your eyes roll back as you feel him spill inside you. “Yes, yes, take it, Mama,” he grunts. You arch up against his chest as he swallows your own moans with a kiss. 

He pulls away and hovers over you as the two of you catch your breath. You let your head fall on the pillow as your eyes start to flutter. 

Gaz’s fingers grip your jaw as he lifts your head, pressing your foreheads together. “Got one more in me, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, gently pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. 

“Too much. ‘S too much,” you glance over at your husband. 

You don’t get the pampering you’re looking for– not from John– instead, he’s frowning at you. “You can take one more load, can’t you, sweetheart?” faux-sympathy dripping in his tone. 

You shake your head with a whine, tearing up at the disappointed look he gives you. 

“Now, lovie, you said you wanted a baby. Garrick’s being so nice, doing us a favor, helping us like this.” He gets up and kneels by the bed, gently caressing your cheek. 

“I do! Want a baby, please! ‘M sorry, Kyle, can take it. Wanna be a mama.” You arch your hips up.

“That’s it, love.” He intertwines his fingers with yours. “Good girl, gonna make such a good mother.” he kisses your shoulder, running his hands along your sides.

He glances up at Gaz. “Go on then, Sergeant,” he commands. 

Price’s go-ahead is all he needs to start humping back into you. He’s already too close to fully thrust in and out, instead choosing to grind against you. His hands grip your thighs so hard you can practically see the bruises. 

“Good, lad, treating her so good,” John mutters, leaning up to meet Gaz in a wet kiss. Already over-sensitive, the sight is enough to make your cunt gush around his cock. 

“Shit, hng, yes,” you sob out, mind too hazy to form any kind of thought. Your eyes screw shut, and you can feel two sets of lips on you– one on your neck and another along your chest. 

Gaz hips still as he fills you up one last time– as he spills inside your womb, hot and sticky, you swear you can practically feel your stomach bulging from the cum.

You're not sure when he left, but John returns with a wet rag, gently wiping your thighs before a pair of fresh underwear slides onto you. As he crawls into bed next to you, you blink owlishly, looking around. 

“Where’re you going?” Your voice comes out slurred and needy when you spot Kyle putting his boxers back on. He freezes, glancing over at the two of you before stumbling on his words. 

“I was just, well, I didn’t think-”

John cuts him off with a low chuckle. “Get in bed, Sergeant- it’s an order.” He leans over to pat the space beside you. 

You hum in content as you wrap your arms around Kyle’s waist, feeling your husband pressed against your back. 

When your next period comes two weeks late, you rush to take a test. The first person you call is Sergeant Garrick, who's overjoyed at the two little pink lines staring at him.

[cs-glitch]

thinking about bear hybrid!price who refuses to let you shave in the winter...

18+ MDNI

cw: fem!reader, no smut but nudity & suggestive, mentions & discussions of body hair & shaving, that's all i think ?

You're in his den bedroom after being apart due to an extra long mission. It's not quite freezing yet but the weather's getting colder. This will be your first winter with him and you've read up enough that you think you know what behavior to expect.

He's on top of you, smothering you really, placing kisses along your jaw and neck. His facial hair's grown out more so it tickles you but in a way that you don't mind. He takes your shirt off and pins your arms above your head. You're eager for him to hurry up and take your bra off too, but he's paused.

His eyes are zoned in on your freshly shaved armpits. He glances at you with a frown and furrowed brows.

He's grumbling to himself as he drops your hands, quickly removing your jeans. His warm hands run up and down your smooth legs before reaching down into your underwear. His rough hand on your bare cunt makes you shiver.

You're preparing for teasing touches, maybe a bite or two on your inner thighs. Instead, you get John looking up at you nearly in tears.

"You... shaved? Where's your fur?" he says carefully. Taking on the cadence of someone who's been told their loved one's terminally ill.

Every time you think you understand bear hybrids John surprises you. "Why's it upset you?" You're confused but willing to listen– you'd never want to make John ashamed of his instincts.

"I'm not upset," he scoffs defensively. "Just worried. It's winter, lovie, how're you supposed to keep warm?"

Oh. Oh. You're still confused, sure, but it's endearing how he's concerned.

You're sitting straight up now and he pulls you into his lap. He's wrapping his arms around you as if he's worried you'll freeze.

It's then you notice it's not just his beard that's grown. He does have a lot more body hair and fur than usual.

"Baby, I can wear long sleeves, and pants, and winter clothes." you try to soothe him but your words don't really help. "Normally, I don't shave in the winter but, well, most guys don't like to see all that hai-"

"Fur," he cuts you off with a grumble.

You try not to laugh at his pout. "Fur," you correct yourself. "I didn't think you'd wanna see me all fuzzy."

He lightly bites the spot where your neck and shoulder meet. "I do. How else am I supposed to know my mate's gonna be safe and warm?" he whispers into your skin.

"How about this. I'll go ahead and throw my razor out," his tail starts to wag at this. This time you can't help the giggle that slips out. "Until my fur grows back I guess my strong, handsome, mate will just have to keep me warm," you let out a dramatic sigh falling backwards onto the mattress.

He lets out a purr and gently flops on top of you. "Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbles pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

[residentsuperhero]

breaking up is hard to do

synopsis: After breaking up with Adrian Chase, you find your dating life thwarted at every turn by Evergreen's own Vigilante.

pairing: adrian chase x reader tags: stalker vigilante, possessive & jealous adrian (wait maybe this also works for your suggestion @genuinelygemini!), that being said - generally lots of antics and humor, angst, fluff, (but it's adrian so there's still murder), reader kind of matches vij's freak, brief sexual references, language, attempted mugging, gun violence word count: 9.1k (sorry I got carried away) note: (Based on this request from @danversxwasabi <3) as I'm not sure what's going on with the tumblr reblog/comments/notes situation this is a reminder that all my work is also cross-posted on my AO3 (I'm actually going to be changing my username there to match here soon!)

You were fairly certain that Vigilante was cockblocking you.

If you were being technical, your suspicions had started a few months ago, when you’d gotten back on the market after a particularly painful breakup with –

Adrian Chase had been…Adrian Chase had been the perfect boyfriend. Until he wasn’t. 

You’d met just over a year ago, when Adrian waltzed into your coffee shop just before closing, a gleam in his eye and a demand for “something that’ll keep me awake. For like, a really, really long time. I want to get punched in the face with caffeine.”

It was said with the particular intensity of a man who definitely didn’t need caffeine ever, but you’d indulged him anyway.

“Have you tried cocaine?” you’d asked, a small smirk on your lips.

“What? No! Cocaine is like…” he’d lowered his voice and leaned over the counter, scowling. “Very illegal.” 

Then he leaned back abruptly as if burned, and looked you up and down. “Why? Do you do cocaine?”

“Not my scene,” you’d replied, your turn to lean forward conspiratorially. “But I can make you something just as efficient. We’ll have you practically vibrating out of that little dad outfit of yours in no time.”

And that had been all it’d taken. Six shots of espresso and a criminal amount of vanilla syrup over ice with milk. You’d expected to see his face plastered on the morning news for a caffeine overdose. Instead, he became a regular, always in right before closing. Sometimes he’d stay and chat with you until the shop was closed up for the evening and then he’d insist on walking you to your car. 

Which became you two sitting in your car and talking for hours. 

Which, one particularly cold evening, became you two making out in your car. (You’d finally had to be the one to initiate - Adrian couldn’t pick up on a goddamn signal if his life depended on it.)

Adrian decided you were boyfriend and girlfriend after that, always said with a beam of pride and like it was one big mashed up word: “boyfriendgirlfriend”. As if he was afraid if he didn’t say it fast enough that would be the exact amount of time you’d need to break up with him. You weren’t sure how much say you’d actually had in the matter of becoming boyfriendgirlfriend, but it was weirdly nice, actually. After the last several years of fuckboys and ghosting and “not putting labels on things”. You’d had a gnarly past with dating - you’d probably be a serious contender for Guinness World Record for Most Times Someone Had Been Cheated On. And Adrian knew that. And Adrian Chase was built different. 

Until he wasn’t. 

At first, that was a good thing. 

Sure, he was obsessed with you in a way that was sometimes vaguely disconcerting, but he loved you. Hard. You weren’t sure he knew any other way. He loved his friends hard, too. They were basically all a package deal. You never quite understood how they all became friends? They were like a random grab bag of people flung together by circumstances that were entirely unclear to you, no matter how many times one of them gave you a half-assed explanation.

And really, the problem with Adrian Chase had been a slow build. The issue had always been there, it just became more and more prominent over the year you were together until there was simply no ignoring it. 

He had been hiding something from you. 

You’d never confirmed he was cheating, not like you had with all the others. There was no smoking gun: no incriminating texts accidentally sent to you, no “hey girlie” DM from some stranger, no friend who’d seen him at the club making out with someone else. There was just...something. Something not right.

He’d go radio silent for long stretches of time, which was uncharacteristic of a man who often sent you over 100 texts a day. He’d be evasive about what he was up to when he wasn’t with you or at work. Once, you’d gone to Fennel Fields to drop off his jacket that he’d left at your apartment when he left “for work” only to find he wasn’t scheduled at the middling Italian restaurant at all.

The final straw had been when you’d woken up in the middle of the night to find his side of your bed empty. He didn’t come back for three days. 

Then he’d shown up at your door in the middle of the night, soaking wet from the rain, his eyes brimming with tears, a set of scratches down his cheek. He looked like some cat that had come skulking back to its owner after discovering the alleycat life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

And you’d hated that his pained expression made you feel anything at all. That your heart squeezed tight when you looked at him. That his choked, desperate pleas had been almost convincing. But you’d learned your lesson the hard way in the past and you weren’t willing to repeat your mistakes. The risk of Adrian breaking your heart all over again was insurmountable.

Worse still was the fact that the anger never came - only the sorrow and the loneliness. You’d stayed awake for nights after, wondering if you’d made the wrong decision. Because Adrian wasn’t like the others…right? He’d adored you. Worshipped you, even. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars…

Either way, he wasn’t being honest with you. You had to hold tight to that certainty.

Adrian Chase: i’m so sorry please forgive me Adrian Chase: i can’t explain but I promise i’d never hurt you

So you’d spent an entire weekend drinking Three Buck Chuck (you didn’t give a flying fuck if inflation made it $4.49, it was still $3 in your heart) and repeatedly washing every fabric in your apartment until none of it smelled even remotely like Adrian Chase. You’d stood numbly over the washing machine, bottle in hand, and willed yourself not to cry.

If only it were so easy to wash your brain clean.

Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase): you were right to break up with me Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase): i won’t bother you again

But time heals all wounds, right? And time was certainly making a valiant effort at it. 

Your best friend had made you re-download Hinge, your coworkers at the coffee shop had all consulted on your profile, and you were officially back on the market after much protest and turmoil. Of course, dating would require your heart to be “in it”, which it certainly was not. But some casual dating to take your mind off of things surely couldn’t go amiss.

That was, of course, until Vigilante showed up.

The first time seemed like pure coincidence. 

It just so happened that Vigilante was in a foot chase with some low level criminal or another and ended up knocking over the outdoor dining table you had been sitting at with your first Hinge date. That could happen to anyone! Especially in godforsaken Evergreen.

In the end, it was actually kind of fortuitous that Vigilante had shattered a perfectly good table in your lap. Your date had turned out to be some kind of red pill loser who listened to Andrew Tate like it was mindful meditation. He had just been going on about “low value females” when glass and ceramic and wood exploded and spared you from another second of any of that bullshit. You were…weirdly grateful to Vigilante?

He stood up from the table, dusted himself off and held out the purse to a woman standing breathless on the sidewalk a few feet away. He kicked the purse thief in the ribs for good measure, waved at you and started to take off.

“Wait!”

You weren’t sure why you said it. You stooped to collect the hunting knife that’d fallen off his…utility belt?...and offered it to him. He came back and reached for the knife, but for some reason your fingers had been unable to let go. At the time you’d chalked it up to some kind of panic response - your brain synapses simply weren’t firing correctly. Shock. Or something. It was only later that the real reason became startlingly clear. 

You’d been struck by the odd desire to keep him close. 

“Uh…thanks, citizen?” he said with a clumsy attempt to disguise his voice. You released the knife into his grasp unwillingly.

“Why do you sound like that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Like what? I don’t sound like anything. I just sound like me. Vigilante.”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Why are you doing a weird voice? You sound like Yoda swallowed Kermit the Frog.”

“That’s…no I don’t!”

You paused for a long moment, trying to place the vaguely familiar insistence in his tone. “We’ve met before.”

“N-no we haven’t,” he said lowly, a tremble in his voice. “Because I - I would definitely remember meeting you.”

It was strange, how you felt a little dejected that he didn’t remember that night. In his defense, it had been over a year. Probably a little after you and Adrian had originally started to become friends, actually. 

You’d been walking home one night and he’d appeared out of nowhere - handed you the earbud you hadn’t realized had fallen out of your pocket about two blocks prior and then just…stayed. Walked you home in a companionable quiet (which you remembered thinking was weird, because all the reports you’d heard and the late night Reddit posts you’d read about him mentioned how chatty he was) and disappeared the moment you were safely in your apartment with the deadbolt slid into place.

At the time you’d thought: he probably did that sort of thing all the time, right?

Of course, now you knew better.

That first date had ended with your date looking back and forth between you and Vigilante, before calling you a “freak bitch” and leaving you splattered in salad dressing with a check to cover.

What, in all likelihood would have technically been the second time Vigilante crashed your date, you’d gotten ghosted instead.

So maybe you decided to have a drink or two while you waited for what had clearly become a total, radio-silent abandonment. And maybe you’d not eaten anything beforehand because it was supposed to be a dinner date. And you’d fucking driven yourself there but your ass would be walking home. 

It was probably for the best - you were pretty sure you’d only matched with the ghoster because he had glasses that reminded you of Adrian. 

Of course Vigilante was standing in the parking lot when you tripped out the front door. You walked straight past him and straight past your car and you didn’t even bother to look to see if he was following. Somehow, you knew he was. 

He fell into step beside you silently, somehow feeling not like a threat, but a gentle comfort. A wordless offer of companionship.

“I imagine you’re not on any dating apps, Vigilante, so you don’t get it, but it’s fucking bleak out here,” you complained. “There are no good men left on this Earth. I finally had one who was good and he still managed to let me down in the end.”

“How?” came the gruff, muffled, accented reply. You stumbled on the uneven sidewalk and your hand flew to his bicep just as his hands wrapped around your waist. You didn’t pull back, you just stared up at him, hoping maybe your drunk self would see something your sober self couldn’t.

“It’s…hard to explain,” you replied, scrunching your brow as you studied his featureless face, head tilted back slightly to look up at him.

“Try me,” he said, his voice painfully soft. For not the first time you wondered what the man under the mask was really like. You reluctantly released your hold on his arm, and, in turn, his fingers drifted away from your waist. You started walking again, weighing whether there was any harm in unburdening your heart to Vigilante.

“Adrian was the first guy I dated who really and truly made me feel loved? Like I never doubted that he adored me. And I think because of that I was willing to overlook some things for a long time. And then suddenly one day I realized he’d disappear a lot, or be vague about where he was or sometimes he was straight up lying to me. And it didn’t matter how much I thought he loved me because his actions proved that maybe I shouldn’t have been so certain,” you explained, really focusing on your words, wondering in the back of your brain if you sounded like a drunk idiot. 

When he didn’t say anything, you continued, “I’ve dated more than my fair share of guys who cheated or fucked around and even though I felt so certain Adrian wasn’t like that, there was still this doubt in the back of my mind that overweighed everything else. Maybe he wasn’t cheating but I’d given people the benefit of the doubt in the past and always been sorry in the end. Cheating or not - which, I’ll be honest, I find really hard to believe he was cheating because of the way he’d…um, actually you don’t need to hear about that! Uh, cheating or not, he was keeping something from me.”

Vigilante’s decisive lack of response kept your drunk mouth running. “I think the worst part is I maybe miss him? Or, not maybe, I know I miss him. I think about him all the time even when I try not to. I even miss his quirks – of which he had many, let me tell you! But I guess that’s what happens when you love someone that much. And now I’m worried maybe that was the best it’ll ever get for me and it’s gone and I fucked everything up forever.”

You could feel his gaze on you but you didn’t indulge it. You were too busy thinking about the thing you knew you shouldn’t say, the most painful, stupid, ugly part of it all. “The worst part is that it makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me? That there’s something inherently unlovable about me baked into my DNA or something. Why else would all these guys cheat on me, or lie to me, or whatever? Like there must be something fundamentally wrong with me. I’m the common denominator.”

You felt his gloved hand scrape at your elbow, fingers pressing into the skin firmly. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” came his quiet reply finally, his voice strangely ragged. You squinted up at him. 

“Yeah, well, why would you?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“I…wouldn’t,” he replied slowly, before nodding emphatically.

“Right…”

“Right.”

You weren’t totally sure if he was being confusing or you were just drunk? Maybe both?

You turned and found yourself at your apartment door. You blinked for a moment - you’d been so preoccupied you didn’t even remember marching up the stairs. Wait, did it mean that he did remember walking you home all those months ago? Or you’d just led him right straight there. Again. A total psycho knew where you lived.

“Good night,” he said suddenly in that stupid put-on voice. Your heart leapt into your throat anyway. Were you that desperate? 

“Good night, Kermit Yoda,” you taunted, flashing him a smile as you closed the door and you definitely didn’t wobble on your feet. You made an auditory show of dramatically flipping the deadbolt and sliding the chain lock into place. 

“Fuck.” You heard him whisper from the other side of the door in a voice that sounded much more real than the one you’d come to know. There was a small thump and you wondered if you looked through the peephole you’d see his forehead resting against the door. 

You decided it was better not to know.

You leaned with your back against the door and pulled out your phone. Against your better judgment, you scrolled through your old texts until you found the Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase) thread that you’d been so good about not looking at. Mostly. You hadn’t had the heart to block him, but you’d deleted his number to remove the temptation. And true to his word he hadn’t bothered you again.

You dragged your thumb along the edge of the screen as you debated. Maybe there would be no harm in just…checking in on him? You were still somehow unaccustomed to the total lack of him in your life after a year that was so full of him. You’d find yourself missing him in tiny ways over and over again, even if you were loathe to admit it. There was a stupid, Adrian Chase sized hole in your heart. 

Your other hand drifted into the waistband of your jeans. What if you opened the door and invited Vigilante inside to fill something else of yours? Maybe you could bite into one of those biceps of his and convince him to let you call him Adrian.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. What the fuck was wrong with you? You pulled your hand from your pants, closed your messages and opened Hinge instead. 

The second time (ghosting date notwithstanding) was perhaps the strangest of all.

It was quick drinks at a bar downtown before he suggested you two hit the club. You could tell what he was after the moment you’d laid eyes on him, but you didn’t mind. You’d been meaning to fuck Adrian Chase right out of your system (and apparently Vigilante, too) and your date was easy on the eyes, if a little smarmy. You could deal with that if it meant getting railed so hard you forgot your own name. Though, if you were judging by the rhythm of his hips as he grinded against you, you might be out of luck on that front.

“Club’s a front for drug smuggling!” a familiar voice called as it passed you, so casual your brain didn’t process it until a moment later. You barely had time to react before Vigilante was pulling a gun and executing the club owner right in front of everyone. Your mouth dropped open and for a second you swore he was turning back to look at you, like he was looking for your approval.

Then, the club burst into understandable chaos. People went running for the door, shouts filling the room in lieu of music. Someone knocked straight into you and you hit the deck hard. You managed to get yourself onto your knees (the drink-slick floor was not agreeing with your choice of shoewear) when your date’s hand appeared in front of you. You grasped onto it, grateful for your only lifeline, and opened your mouth to thank him when you realized rather suddenly that the hand was gloved and attached to the rest of fucking Vigilante.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding strangely breathless.

You yanked your hand out of his and scowled at him. “That was really fucked up.”

“I thought you said drugs weren’t your scene,” he snipped back. Was that some sort of accusation? It felt loaded with a meaning you couldn’t quite parse. The club music was still blasting and you’d just watched Vigilante kill a man in front of your very eyes. Your brain was…not thinking clearly. 

Still, it reminded you of something distant. Or someone.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he exclaimed. Then he looked over his shoulder and you both processed that the dead club owner’s security seemed to be getting themselves together, hands reaching into jackets for what you could only imagine were concealed weapons. He spun you around and pushed you towards the door. 

“Oh! I ordered you an Uber: silver Honda Civic, license plate JG8566, Jamil has a 4.9 star rating. Get home safe!” he chattered at you before pushing you out the front door and onto the sidewalk. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind you. 

The driver of a small Honda Civic waved at you from across the street. He poked his head out the window. “Uber for Vigilante?”

You looked around furtively to see if anyone had heard him and then with a hearty sigh you stepped off the curb.

The third time was the time that really pushed you over the edge.

Your new date had taken you to one of those trendy places-of-the-week that filled a niche so specific you weren’t sure how they sustained a business on “boutique rice pudding”. As it turned out, they didn’t. In fact, it turned out that Rice to Riches was a money laundering scheme. 

A money laundering scheme that Evergreen’s own Vigilante had taken upon himself to break up right in the middle of your date. He’d breezed right in the front door, waving at you as he passed. For a moment you presumed you were actively hallucinating. But the sound of a fight in the kitchen had you realizing otherwise. You listened to the sound of fists hitting flesh over and over and by the time your brain was able to properly have the feeling that you should definitely leave, Vigilante was standing at your table.

“Hey!” He was still doing the stupid voice, apparently. 

“Hi?”

“So, just a heads up this place was a money laundering front.”

“Okaaaay,” you drawled, uncertain of how you were supposed to respond to that info. “You know, a heads up usually comes before you murder a bunch of people.”

“Oh, I didn’t murder anyone. They’re just uhhhhh out cold. Tied up,” he replied in a way that was utterly unconvincing. 

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. You turned to your date to say something but he was white as a sheet, his fingers still gripping his spoon while his mouth hung open, slack jawed. 

“Are you on a date?” he asked flippantly, examining the fingers of his gloves as if he were casually looking at his nails. 

“Yes?”

“You sure go on a lot of dates.”

Wait a minute, did Vigilante think you were a slut?

“Three dates is not a lot of dates. And, not that it’s any of your business but…I’m trying to get back out there after a really shitty break up. Is that a fucking crime?”

His sure-fire posture shifted slightly and he crossed his arms over his chest. Your gaze caught on his biceps and suddenly your fingers itched with the memory of them. God damnit. “Maybe it should be.”

Your brow furrowed. Was he fucking pouting? You were indignant, and feeling a little reckless. “Well, then, Vigilante, go on - put that dumbass sword on your back to good use and kill me.” 

“Uh…do you two know each other?” your date asked. You blinked at him dumbly - you’d forgotten he was there. 

“No!” you and Vigilante snapped at the same time. You stared hard at him, trying to make out anything beyond that stupid red visor of his. 

“Look, you seem nice but this has been deeply weird, sooo I’m gonna go,” your date said, but not before taking his rice pudding with him. You couldn’t blame him - for a money laundering scheme the pudding was really good.

You whipped back towards Vigilante as the bell sounded over the front door and the only person with a lick of common sense in the scenario fled the scene.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded. You clarified before he could shrug it off, “Why are you so hell bent on ruining all my dates?”

He laughed, an awkward, strained sound that devolved into a cough as he clearly tried to disguise the sound. “Um, selfish much?”

“Excuse me?”

“You really think the world revolves around you so much that I’m specifically trying to interrupt your little dates or whatever?” he scoffed, apparently intent on doubling down on his unusual attempt at indifference. “I’m a little busy fighting crime to worry about your inept dating life, dude.”

You narrowed your gaze at him, almost positive he was lying. But the alternative did seem insane. He sighed. “What possible reason could I have for wanting to keep you from dating?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” you admitted. What else were you meant to say? There was no proof, not really. But you didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Oh, so he’s like…in love with you?” your friend said when you’d finally finished recounting the strangest weeks of your life.

Coffee threatened to spill out of your nose as you choked, “What?”

One of your regulars piped up from their usual table by the counter. “Oh, yeah, no I agree. It sounds like he’s totally in love with you.”

“On what planet is he – oh my god, there’s no way, guys!” you argued, even if the sinking feeling in your stomach said otherwise. Was it possible? And if it was – why? Why you?

You waved them both off. “He doesn’t even know me.”

Even if you were unconvinced of some kind of undying love you were convinced that it was all on purpose. Fate had often been unkind to you in the past, but it was a level of sadism that even you could not believe existed naturally in the universe. 

And all of it – the failed dates, the weird, strangely intimate encounters, the skin-crawling feeling of being followed, the gnawing feeling of familiarity – had led you to a totally logical, reasonable plan: set a trap for Vigilante. 

So maybe you’d spent maybe a little too much time planning it. Thoroughly vetting the restaurant, the people who ran it, pouring through social media accounts and a background check on your date - certifying that there was no off-hand excuse for Vigilante to crash your date.

No crimes, no drug fronts, no nefarious owners. Just an above-the-board night out with a nice guy. It was your own little challenge to him, a desperate bid to prove your theory right. If he crashed this date you would know for sure that this wasn’t just some weird cosmic intervention and that he was doing it on purpose. 

“Are you okay?” your date asked. Alex? Andrew? Adrian? (NO, definitely not.) Fuck. What was his name again? “You seem a little…distracted.”

You dragged your gaze back to him and put on a carefully practiced smile. “I’m so sorry. I am distracted, you’re right. And that’s not fair to you.”

“Anything I can help with?” he offered with a lift of his brows and a small tilt of his head. He took a sip of his drink, waiting for you to fill in the blanks for him. Adam! Adam seemed…nice. And you were…toootally blowing him off. You sighed, defeated, and smiled apologetically. 

“It’s going to sound crazy,” you started, raking your hands over your face.

Adam smiled. “Try me.”

You shifted slightly in your seat. “Okay, so you know Vigilante?”

“Vaguely? The costumed maniac who works with Peacemaker and is somehow not in jail?”

You chuckled. “That’s the one. Well, uh, I think he might be – ” In love with me? But you figured that was not the right thing to say on a first date. Was the alternative really much better? “Stalking me?”

Adam choked on his sip of wine. “What?”

“Or it’s total, weird karmic coincidence that he just keeps showing up where I am!” you offered. Adam’s head tilted slightly to the side, bewilderment written across his handsome features. 

“How many times has this happened exactly?”

“Four. Give or take. Not counting the time he walked me home like a year ago.”

“Sorry, Vigilante walked you home?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds.”

Adam’s eyes studied you for a moment before he turned and flagged your waiter down. Damn it, you thought, he doesn’t even need to be here to ruin dates for me. Maybe you’d have to store the Vigilante card in your pocket for some bad date down the line. 

But instead, Adam leaned back in his chair and smiled at the waiter. “I think we’re going to need another glass of wine. And what’s the best dessert you’ve got?”

When the waiter disappeared to fetch both things he leaned his elbows on the table. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Outside the restaurant you two did the awkward dance between lingering and saying good night once and for all. With both your rides ordered the two of you stood waiting, close together. (It was cold! Who could blame a girl?) Adam reached up and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Listen, I’m really hoping I don’t get a visit from Vigilante later for this, but, uh, can I kiss you?” Adam asked. His sandy hair was given an orange halo by the streetlight above you both. He really was handsome in a sort of everyman kind of way. Considerate, kind, easy to look at and not Vigilante – you nodded. His lips pressed against yours gently and something that felt almost like guilt twisted in the base of your stomach. 

When his car rolled up first he offered to stay with you but you’d waved him off. “Can’t lose you to Vigilante, now can I?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek and made you promise to text when you got home safe. The second his car disappeared around the block your driver cancelled on you. You’d already waited an eternity and getting a rideshare in downtown Evergreen on a Friday night was a nightmare scenario. Besides, the walk would be good for you. There was plenty to think about on the way home. Like…

Where the fuck was Vigilante?

Maybe you were back to the drawing board entirely. You’d been so convinced he was doing it on purpose, but maybe you’d been wrong? Maybe it really was just all coincidence? What a weird, specific curse to have upon you. 

And then you heard the footsteps behind you.

The feeling of being followed was familiar now, unfortunately expected, but when you whipped around the very clear glint of a knife pointed at you, well…that was new.

“Oh!” you managed to squeak out. It wasn’t Vigilante at all. Instead, you were face to face with some guy who was very clearly trying to mug you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed.

“Give me your purse, bitch!” 

You raked a hand over your face. “Please don’t do this. I’ve been having a really shitty few months and I’m - ”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Listen, asshole, I’m just trying to warn you. Vigilante has been stalking me so you probably don’t want to fuck with me.”

You didn’t think you’d get to play the card so soon! A strange delight unfurled in your gut. Maybe invoking his name would somehow finally make him appear. Your life in danger would be his very own Bat Signal. 

The man faltered slightly before tightening his grip on his knife. “Why would Vigilante be stalking you?”

“You know, man with knife, that’s a really good question,” you said, nodding thoughtfully. The strange sense of calm running through you really should have been more alarming. You felt yourself take a step towards him and his expression shifted into pure confusion. Maybe that was good. Maybe you could actually handle this yourself. Maybe this was like when people gave advice to out-freak your would-be attacker. Maybe –

A single gunshot silenced the rest of that train of thought. Hot blood splattered against your clothes, your cheek, in your slightly open mouth.

“Oh my god,” you managed, frozen for just a moment before bending to spit onto the sidewalk. You lifted the hem of your sweater to your mouth to scrape the taste of blood out of your mouth while you tried desperately not to gag.

“Nice! I’ve been looking everywhere for this guy!” Vigilante cheered, a slight hop in his step as he crossed the street to where you stood.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giving your shoulder a slight nudge with his own. You at least had the good sense to recoil from his touch. His hands shot up to shoulder height, palms towards you in a show of reassurance.

“Sorry! I was running a little late. Did I miss your date?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, realizing a moment too late that you sounded a little disappointed. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with you? “I even got a good night kiss. Which, before you say anything, is not a crime.”

Tension visibly rippled through Vigilante’s muscles. “Was he…was he good to you?”

“He was very nice.”

“That’s it? Just ‘very nice’? Sounds kind of lame to me!”

“Well, he’s not you.”

“Not me good, or not me…bad?” he asked quietly. 

You faltered a moment, genuinely unsure. Sure, the stupid, depraved thought had been knocking around in your head for a little while now. That while Vigilante was actively ruining your dating life, at least he was somewhat consistent. At least he showed up for you. And maybe there was something kind of hot about the mask now that you thought about it.

God damnit, you really needed to get away from him before you did something stupid. So, you continued walking towards your apartment, thinking maybe he’d have to stay behind to deal with the body. But instead he just followed along with you like some hapless dog.

“For one thing, he didn’t just murder someone in front of me again,” you said instead of really answering the question.

He put his hands on his hips. “That guy was going to hurt you. You’re telling me you would have preferred I let him stab you in the face over a purse? That would be a total waste of a really good face.”

“No! I’m not saying that, I’m saying…fuck I don’t know, Vij,” you sighed. He froze, a particular tension to his posture. But your brain was busy playing catch up with the fact that he’d said you had a…good face? 

“Say that again,” he murmured. Something was so, so familiar about the cadence, the desperation. An impossible thought prickled at the back of your mind and you batted it away.

“Say what again?” you asked.

“Call me Vij. I like it when you say it.”

A shudder rolled down your spine, involuntary and unwelcome. You struggled against the feeling settling in your gut. “Not until you admit that you’ve been trying to ruin my dating life.”

“Why would I admit that?” he scoffed. “Or, um, I mean, uhhh…I told you before, I think that’s a really self-centered way of looking at the world. To assume that just because I happen to show up at all your dates and they happen to be interrupted or end badly while I’m around doesn’t mean that I’m doing it on purpose! And actually, as a feminist, I find that kind of assumption offensive.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yes, really! I think all women should be allowed to date whoever they want!”

“All women?” you asked.

“Mhmm!”

“Even me?” you continued to press.

His shoulders shifted slightly. “Yup!”

“And so I should be able to fuck whoever I want as much as I want?”

His entire body went stiff as he seemingly tried to force himself to nod.

“For sure. Yes! Definitely! Go off, diva! Have sooooo much sex. Like maybe even have too much!” he rambled. You just stared at him with wide eyes. Then he laughed sharply, and the familiarity of it ran through your whole body. There was no way… “I mean, can one even have too much sex? Probably not!”

You tilted your head slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Can I admit something?” he asked, the question bursting out of him like he’d been biting his tongue, his voice sounding strained. He waited for your sharp nod before he continued, “I’ve been trying to ruin your dating life.”

You faltered. “What?”

“Yeah, ha, you totally caught me!” He scratched at the back of his neck and again that sense of familiarity ran through you like ice in your veins.

“You know, my friends think it’s because you’re totally in love with me.”

His head tilted slightly and you would have given anything to see the expression on his actual face. “Oh! Well, probably because I am.”

For a moment you could practically smell the short-circuiting happening in your brain. “You…huh?” 

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as you both stood at the bottom of your apartment complex stairs. “Sorry, I thought it was obvious?”

“Why else are you doing all this?”

“Is love not enough these days?” he joked breathlessly. 

Something like panic started to crawl down your spine. You had, of course, considered the possibility, but faced with the simple truth of it you didn’t know what to do or say. So you did the only thing you could think of in the moment - you turned wordlessly and walked up the steps towards your apartment. You fished your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the lock before you turned back around to look at him one more time. 

It was a mistake. 

You couldn’t believe it. You were about to do something so, so fucking stupid. But the theory brewing in the back of your mind needed to be accounted for. 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” 

No sooner had you asked then Vigilante ducked his head down and pressed his mouth to yours, fabric scraping at your chin. You made a noise of surprise, muffled against his mask, as he pushed you back against your front door. All you could taste was polyester and sweat and something metallic. His tongue tried to lick desperately into your mouth but was constrained behind the fabric, now wet and sticking to your skin and his. It was entirely unsatisfying, frustrating even, but still you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading in your stomach. 

So you slid your fingers up his suit until you were prying at fabric, pushing it up until his hands grabbed your wrists firmly and made you stop. He pinned your arms down at your sides but still you leaned back to examine the small stretch of canvas he’d allowed you, taking in the pale expanse of his neck, the very bottom of his face. Even in the dim light something about it was familiar.

You leaned forward and peppered kisses to his exposed skin until you reached his uncovered mouth and waited. He surged forward, kissing you for real this time - nothing but wet lips and eager tongues and hot breath and his hands fisted into the fabric of your shirt as he yanked you against him and – oh. 

You pulled back.

“What the fuck?” you panted. If you’d felt insane moments before, you now felt the Earth had completely flipped on its axis the moment your lips had touched his. 

Because you knew that mouth. 

“Adrian?” 

“Um…who?” he attempted. 

“Take the mask off right now,” you ordered, pulling away from his grasp. 

“I can’t, I, uh, well, I’d have to kill you! If you saw my face! Because, you know - secret identity,” he scrambled. Oh my god. How had you not realized it sooner? You really were a fucking idiot.

“You won’t kill me,” you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. And besides, I already know what your face looks like, Adrian Chase,” you snapped.

He looked frantically over his shoulder. “Can we please talk about this inside?” 

“Why the fuck would I let Vigilante inside my apartment?” you asked. 

“C’mon, please don’t be like that,” he whined. 

“Like what? Seriously, tell me why I should let a stranger who is a murderous superhero wannabe into my home,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ll wait.”

“I don’t wanna be pedantic but you did just let Vigilante put his tongue in your mouth, so, I’m not really sure what the difference is?”

You stood your ground. You just wanted to hear him admit it. Because you knew him and you knew he’d cave.

“Fine! Fuck! It’s me, Adrian!” he exclaimed in a rather loud whisper. You rolled your eyes at him and he reached up to take the mask the rest of the way off.

“Jesus Christ, don’t! Don’t do that out here, you idiot!” you gasped and reached up to stop him. You cursed under your breath as you unlocked your door and then dragged him inside, your fingers hooked under the chest plate of his suit. With the door closed behind him and the lock safely in place, Adrian reached up and pulled the mask off with a gasp.

He stared at you with those wide, bright green eyes of his and smiled from ear to ear. “See, you do care about me still!”

You shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze directly. You knew exactly what it was like to fall into those eyes and you weren’t totally convinced you’d be able to climb your way back out. 

“No, I care about my nosy neighbors seeing me with a wanted criminal.”

“Sure,” he agreed, clearly sarcastic. He fished his glasses out his pocket and slid them onto his face. For some reason, seeing your Adrian - glasses and all - in the Vigilante suit was more befuddling than it was before. Worse still, it was also strangely arousing.

And then it hit you like running headfirst into a brick wall.

This is what he’d been hiding the whole time. 

“Why?” you asked, somehow the only word you could seem to muster.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific…”

“Why the fuck were you lying to me about this, Adrian?”

“I mean, not to be technical but I was lying to you about other stuff. You never asked me if I was Vigilante!”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Well, pardon me for not thinking to ask if my boyfriend is the psychopath running around Evergreen killing people for minor infractions! Adrian, you’re weird but you’re like…sweet weird. You don’t exactly give off psycho-killer vibes.”

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

You punched him straight in the arm. “Please be serious right now!”

“Sorry! I couldn’t help it! That song is so funny. Because like, what is this, you know? They’re really asking the right questions.”

“I cannot believe I spent a year dating you,” you sighed.

“Hey!”

“You don’t get to ‘hey’ me! You’ve been living a double life for…wait, was it the whole time we were together?”

Adrian chewed at his lower lip. “Maybe.”

“Adrian!”

“Yeah, okay, the whole time we were together and also like…for a while now.”

Your mind was reeling, trying to deal with the puzzle pieces and details and – oh yeah, the gnawing of your own presumed morality at the back of your brain. The man you loved was a killer. And maybe you loved the killer, too.

“When you disappeared for three days were you…doing Vigilante shit?”

“Oh, ha! Yeah, I was on a super serious top secret mission,” Adrian laughed. Then he took in your expression and he, too, sombered. “I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to explain. That night on your doorstep I planned to…um, but when I came back…when you told me we were breaking up, that you couldn’t trust me, I…I think it broke something in my brain. But I also realized you were right to break up with me. That actually you’re safer when you’re not dating me. I couldn’t live with myself if someone were to somehow trace me back to you. But then I realized that I could protect you as Vigilante, even if I couldn’t protect you as Adrian.”

“I didn’t want to break up with you, you know that, right?” you asked quietly. Something like a glimmer of hope flashed in his bright green eyes. “But I had to protect my heart.”

“What if…do you think there’s a chance you could let me protect that, too?” he asked, voice quiet and unsteady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

“Is that what you think you’ve been doing this whole time? Protecting me?” you asked, genuinely trying to understand the way his clearly warped brain worked.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but you do. You deserve the world. Because you’re not the common denominator in a sea of shitty men. You’re like a bright star that everyone is drawn to. And bright lights attract some losers, too and…I think I’m losing track of the metaphor but all I really mean to say is: you’re exceptional.”

Call it weakness, call it stupidity, call it what it was: a kindling breath on a flame you’d tried desperately to snuff out. You loved him.

It was unclear if it was you who leaned forward first or him but either way you found your head pressed against his chest, his arms sure and firm around you. 

“I have to ask — how did you know it was me?”

“I had my suspicions,” you laughed. Though clearly not enough. “But I knew for certain the second my lips touched yours.”

Adrian well and truly cackled. He lit up all over, exactly the same man you’d fallen in love with the first time you’d met him. Just with a little…more than you could have conceived of before. Maybe you weren’t ready to admit it to him quite yet, but a part of you clamored to get to properly know Vigilante, too. There was a whole new, strange, thrilling part of Adrian Chase for you to discover.

“I can’t believe you recognized my mouth, dude! That’s kind of insanely romantic if you think about it!”

“Yeah, I’m actively choosing not to think about it, thanks!” you retorted. Then, because for some reason you couldn’t help it, “I mean, I’m very familiar with that mouth’s work, it would be a crime if I didn’t recognize it.”

“Are you flirting with me right now?” Adrian asked, the question half a gasp, half a squeal of excitement.

“No! I don’t know! Maybe a little bit! Fuck! I can’t help it.” You scrubbed at your face with both hands like maybe you’d be able to wipe it all away. “It’s like…in me, you know?”

“What is?”

“Everything about you. I see your face and it’s like you’re hardwired in my skull and in my heart. I could have gone on one hundred dates or none and it wouldn’t have made a difference at all, because none of them were you!” you exclaimed, breathless. You knew Adrian well enough to know you were maybe being too flowery for his very literal brain to fully comprehend.

“Me Adrian or me Vigilante?” he asked, surprising you.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze and then gave a defeated shrug. “Both, I think.”

“Fuck, I think that’s the nicest and the coolest and the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Adrian murmured. He pulled you tight against him by the hips. “Can I kiss you again? I think I need to or else I’ll die.”

You answered him by pressing your lips to his, his chin captured in your hand, fingers pressed firmly into the skin – just enough pressure, not too much or too little for dear, sweet, Adrian. You kissed him hungrily, which seemed to take him delightfully by surprise, if the noises he made were anything to judge by. His tongue scraped over your teeth, and you bit at his lower lip and pulled. His fingers pressed so hard into your hips you thought they might bruise and you also thought you didn’t give a fuck. Adrian’s mouth travelled from your lips to your jaw to your neck. He sucked at the skin just below your ear and you knew he was trying to mark you as his. That was the question, wasn’t it? Were you willing to be his again, knowing what you know? 

It was utterly incongruous: your perception of Adrian, the man you’d loved and practically lived with for an entire year versus Vigilante, a man you knew to be a totally cold-blooded, obsessive killer. Did it make a difference if it was in the name of justice? You had seen on the news when he’d been involved with saving the planet from those butterfly alien things with Peacemaker. How was he the kind of guy who could play D&D for hours, and talk incessantly about Pokemon, and kiss you so gently, and also the kind of guy who kicked criminal ass with no remorse and saved the planet from alien invasion?

“What are you thinking?” he asked, pulling back suddenly. He had that gentle, focused look in his eye that you knew all too well. 

“I think I should probably be scared of you,” you replied honestly. His tight hold on you loosened almost imperceptibly, but still you felt it. Of course you did.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered. “Please believe me.”

“I do. And, I also think you’ve permanently fucked up the wiring in my brain,” you grumbled against his mouth.

“Does this mean we’re getting back together?” he asked, and you could practically feel the excitement of the idea thrumming through his body. 

“Maybe,” you offered. He deflated slightly. “If we’re going to try and figure this out then there’s no more secrets between us, okay?”

Adrian nodded. “Sick! I mean, now you basically know all my secrets. Except, I guess, about all the drugs and blood money in my basement.”

“The what now?”

He darted forward and peppered your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks with kisses. Somewhere between them all he managed to say, “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“Hard to miss someone when you’re stalking them, Adrian,” you reminded him.

“But I miss you every time I blink,” Adrian breathed, wide-eyed and stupidly adorable and achingly earnest. Your fingers itched for every part of him but you refrained, hooking your fingers into the chest plate of his Vigilante armor. 

“I need to hear you say it – no more secrets. We are both totally honest with each other, for better or worse,” you demanded.

Adrian nodded, a wide grin on his lips. “I’ll never keep anything from you ever again. You can trust me, I promise. In fact, I promise on Peacemaker’s life! He’s the only thing I cherish in this life even remotely close to you, so you know I mean it. If I was gonna swear on the most important thing, well, that would be you, but I figured that’s a little counterproductive to the whole swearing on something thing.”

When you kissed again it wasn’t hungry any more. It was slow, it was deep, it was an acknowledgment that you had all the time in the world. Your fingers wove into his curls and pulled tightly, just the way you knew he liked. Because you knew him. He groaned his approval into your mouth and he wrapped around you, practically enveloping you. The next thing you knew his hands were under your ass and he was supporting you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you effortlessly towards your bedroom, pausing along the way to press your back to the wall and kiss you even deeper, his fingers needy and clumsy at the hem of your shirt. His fingers, still gloved, scraped across the skin of your stomach, reacquainting themselves with familiar territory. 

His lips didn’t leave yours the entire time, even as he carried you to your bed and laid you down like the most precious thing on the planet. He leaned over you, hands pressed into the mattress, you hooking your fingers into the straps on the front of his suit to try and pull him as close as humanly possible. Things blurred into a hot, slow, haze of Adrian. 

Suddenly, you drew back with a gasp, both desperate for air and with another gnawing question on your tongue.

“Wait wait! You didn’t kill any of those guys I went on dates with, right?”

“Only the first one,” he said with a kind of severity that sent a chill down your spine and had you anticipating the feeling of him between your thighs in equal measure. Then you realized, somewhat dreamily, that Adrian already was in between your thighs. So you squeezed your legs around him tighter – you weren’t letting him go again. Adrian Chase really had ruined you forever.

“And what crime did he commit?” you asked against his mouth, your arms snaking around his neck.

“Being an asshole to the person I love most in the world.”

Then he unhooked your legs so he could slide down your body until he was kneeling at the edge of your bed. His fingers made quick work of your pants and yours pressed into the mattress as he made himself at home between your thighs like no time had passed at all.

Adrian watched you sleep for some time, your limbs tangled with his, you asleep in one of the oversized shirts he’d left behind, the poster of Fargo printed across your chest. The evening had gone better than he could have ever planned. And he had done a lot of planning. 

Sure, he hadn’t anticipated your date kissing you, but it didn’t even bother him anymore. But he’d heard what that stupid guy had said to you while he was hidden out of sight. 

Can’t lose you to Vigilante, now can I?

Now the mugger had been a total coincidence but one that made him look so cool and tough. He’d saved you from death, not just a shitty date with some stupid guy! Extra points for Vigilante! He’d high five himself if he could.

Adrian moved slowly, making sure not to disturb you in the slightest. He got distracted for a long moment just watching you sleep peacefully, a ghost of a smile on your beautiful mouth.

When he slipped back into the bed he had the Vigilante mask on and your phone in his hand. He cuddled up behind you and then tucked his chin into the crook of your neck. He ensured the flash was off and then took a picture. He opened your texts and found Adam (Hinge) with ease.

He attached the photo and then, smiling from ear to ear, typed:

You lose.

breaking up is hard to do taglist: @sideblogmeanz @danversxwasabi @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase @bunch-of-bens @lovenerdywhitemen2 @morguegrl89

gen adrian taglist: @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase

(if you want to be on my adrian taglist let me know below! x)