⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

safe with me | R.G.

feat. Rick Grimes x sunshine!reader cw: MDNI 18+, established relationship, mentions of traumatic incident with family annihilation & suicide (you are responsible for the content you consume), mentions of child death, hurt/comfort masterlist

“Carol!” Rick called, jogging across the lawn to catch her after the town meeting. The sun blazed down, ruthless and disorienting after hours of being indoors. “How'd it go?” He asked, referring to the run she led this morning.

They both knew he was asking how it went for you specifically.

Rick didn't care about much else besides you and his kids these days. Alexandria ran just fine without him worrying himself sick; you’d shown him that.

Carol grimaced. “She hasn't come to find you?”

Rick's jaw clenched, his heart beating a bit faster. “Would I be askin’ if she did?”

“She, ah—she’s fine,” Carol clarified, sensing his mounting alarm. “But there was a—an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” He growled.

“We were clearing a property, and she went into the house first—”

His anger flared. “Why would you let her—”

“Because everyone matters, Rick,” she snapped. “I can't treat her special because she's yours.”

He grit his teeth. He knew Carol already paid you extra mind, so there was no sense arguing it.

“She volunteered anyhow, so I sent her. There were no Biters, but…” Carol took a shaking breath. “She found the family in the dining room, parents and two little boys. Practically nothin’ left of the bodies, half-eaten dinners in front of ‘em, rotten through. Mom’s brains all over the wall—”

“Alright, alright,” Rick cut her off, scrubbing a hand over his face. Fucking brutal. Rick had seen plenty gruesome scenes like it, but you—somehow you'd held onto your heart through the end of the world.

“I don't think she took it well, didn't speak the rest of the run. Passed her ration off to Rosita. Had that stare, y’know?”

Rick nodded. Had that stare himself on countless occasions. “She went home?”

“Far as I know,” Carol affirmed. Rick went to head that way when Carol grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “Don't push her, she'll talk when she's ready.”

“I know, I know," he assuaged. “I’ll go easy.”

Carol nodded and released him, and he started down the road, breaking into a jog when he was sure no one was looking.

When he reached your shared house, sun-bleached siding and half-roasted grass, he slipped through the front door, finding Carl reading by the lone fan in the living room. The house was eerily quiet, save the cordant hum of the whirling blades, it's cedar bones heavy on its foundation.

“Hey,” Rick hissed, getting Carl's attention. “How is she?”

Carl shrugged. “Makin’ lunch. Not singing’ like usual,” was all the boy offered before turning back to his comic.

“Alright, take your sister and go on to Michonne's for a bit,” he said, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Carl huffed his displeasure, but did as he was told, trudging upstairs to fetch Judith while Rick moved towards the kitchen. He waited to hear the scampering of Judith's footsteps and the click of the door shutting behind them before pushing through the small door into the kitchen.

You were staring down at the blue flames of the gas stove, an open can of soup in your hand. Completely frozen, besides your yellow sundress fluttering around your bare legs.

Normally, the sound of Rick's boots up the steps was enough to have you bounding out the front door and throwing yourself into his arms, even if he'd only been to the neighbors and back. And you always sang while you cooked, some scratched-to-shit record backing you up.

His heart cracked.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, careful not to startle you.

You blinked, bleary eyes focusing on the can of soup, then flicking back up to the empty pot. Trying to connect the dots of what you'd been doing. “I'm making lunch,” you said, barely above a whisper, and he wasn't sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

“I see, can I help you?” He asked, moving a little further into the room. Turning down the knob on the stove to reduce the lapis flame.

You shook yourself, straightening with a too-wide smile. “I've got it!” You chirped, pouring the can into the pot. It spat and sputtered, entirely too hot. Rick snatched it off the burner, putting his body between you and the wrathful soup so you didn't get burned. “Shit! Let me get some towels.” You hurried away, frenetic energy wafting from you, spooked like a hare.

He knew that with one wrong move, it could tip into full-blown panic. “Honey, easy,” he soothed, catching you by the arms when your turned back towards him. “No harm, no foul.” He gently took the stack of towels from you, six for a few splatters of broth, and set them in the counter.

“I need to—” Your eyes were glazing again, hazy as the memory creeped back in.

“Don't worry about lunch, darlin’. I sent ‘em off to Michonne's for a little while.” He took your arms again, rubbing up and down your biceps to try and keep you with him.

“Oh,” you mumbled, glassy eyes drifting just past him at the wallpaper. “Why?” Your eyes refocused on him, brow furrowing slightly.

He leaned down to kiss the wrinkle away. “Too nice a’day for kids to stay inside. And thought you and I could spend some time together.”

“Oh,” you repeated. You fell quiet for a moment, and he could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to dredge something up you'd forgotten.

He waited patiently, sliding his hands down to hold yours.

“How was the meeting?” You finally asked, though your voice retained that same listless quality.

“Went fine. Same shit, different folks,” he said, shifting both your hands to his right one so he could bring the left up to cradle your face. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” You leaned into his palm, a rough, calloused thing against your supple skin, and your lashes lowered a bit, fluttery like moth wings. Something warm unfurled in his chest.

“C’mon, let me fix you somethin’ to eat,” he said, kissing your forehead again to hide the frown pulling at his mouth. He guided you back over to the stove, patting on the counter beside it. Your favorite spot whenever he got a wild hair to cook.

You hopped up, obedient little thing, and smoothed your skirt, crossing your dangling ankles.

He felt your eyes following him while he put on one of your favorite albums and resumed lunch preparations. He tried to keep his movements slow, fluid, easily trackable in your addled mind. After a few minutes though, you drifted off again, staring at a cracked tile on the floor.

Once the soup was simmering, he stepped towards you, moving to stand between your knees. “Pretty girl,” he hummed, tilting your chin up to look at him. “Why don't you tell me what's goin' on?”

You shook your head, tugging your chin from his fingers and turning your head away from him.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips along your hairline, balmy and salt-tinged from the heat. “You know I'll never let anythin’ happen to you,” he murmured. “Nothin’ out there can hurt you, or them, here.” He smoothed his hands over your ribs, the swell of your hips. “Not while I'm around.”

Tears welled in your eyes. That's a start, he thought. Out here, that numbness will eat you alive. Feeling is the only way to keep going.

“I’d rather die than let anything happen to them,” you whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.” He pulled you in for a proper hug, your face buried into the meat of his shoulder. “You take such good care of us, and I'm so grateful,” he said into your hair, kissing your crown. “You're a dream come true, darlin’.”

You cracked, a whimper eeking through your teeth, then another, until you were sobbing into his chest, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt.

He sighed in relief, petting your hair while you purged the pent up emotions. “That's a good girl, there ya’ go. Let it all go,” he encouraged, your tears seeping through his shirt and cooling his sun-warmed skin. “You're alright now, I've gotcha.”

“She poisoned them,” you sobbed, thumping his chest with your fist. Barely hard enough for him to register. “She must have been so desperate—”

“This world makes people do monstrous things,” he said, flattening your fist out against his chest, willing his heart to beat slow and steady under your palm. “We can't try to understand it.”

“Do you think they knew?” You looked up at him, lashes dark and spiked with tears, eyes almost feverishly bright. Pleading.

He shook his head, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, deeply sorry that he couldn't give you the answers you needed. “We can't know, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

“We should have buried them,” you whispered, looking towards the window. “It wasn't right, leaving them like that.”

Rick never loved you more than he did in that moment, his heart leaping up his throat, choking him with affection. “I'll take care of it, baby. Don't you worry.” He couldn't resist pressing a kiss to your temple, your forehead, your nose, adoring you so much it ached.

“You will?” You turned back to him, fingers tightening on his shirt.

“Daryl and I will go as soon as I know you're alright,” he promised.

“But—”

“No buts.” He placed a thumb over your lips, quieting your protest. Another sign that you were feeling a little more like your usual, stubborn self. “Now, think you can eat a little f’me?”

You eyed the soup warily as he clicked off the eye and fetched a spoon, returning quickly back between your legs.

He dipped the spoon into the broth, lifting a small amount to your lips. “Just a few bites?”

You folded your lips together and shook your head.

“Baby,” he sighed. “You need to eat somethin’. I won't go until you do.”

But instead of indignation flashing in your eyes, he saw a prickle of fear as you stared at the spoon. Guilt curdled in his gut.

“Here.” He put the spoon in his mouth, eating the bite instead, then scooped a second bite, offering it to you again. “We'll eat it together.”

You didn't look convinced, but you parted your lips anyways, and he fed you a small sip.

“Good girl,” he said, taking the rest of the bite himself. “You trust me, don't you? Would I ever give you something that was going to hurt you? Hurt Carl or Judith?”

“No,” you mumbled, accepting a second, larger bite. “You wouldn't.”

“I'll share every bite with you if that's what you need, whatever I gotta do to make you feel safe,” he promised.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his. He set the spoon down to hold your waist again, tugging you to the edge of the counter to feel your body press fully against his, his arms braced across you back.

“Promise me that if I ever start to lose it, if I ever pose a danger to those kids—” your voice splintered, brittle with emotion. “That you'll do whatever you need to keep them safe.”

He couldn't even think about it, the fleeting idea enough to make his chest constrict painfully, his stomach roil. “I'll do what I need to do to keep all three of you safe,” he promised instead.

“Deal,” you sighed, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

He shifted that final inch forward, catching your lips in a tender, top-lip kiss. You softened, nails raking through the hair at the nape of his neck as he drew you closer, languishing in the honeyed taste of you. Finally relaxing now that he was sure you'd be alright.

After a moment, you broke the kiss to breathe, your nose congested from crying. He grazed his thumb over your bitten lip, smiling softly at your slightly dazed expression.

“You're safe with me, darlin’,” he assured. “Always.”

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

My sexy man fr😍

the face of god…

fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite

raw. absolutely raw. next question.

ever look at a photo of drew starkey that is so perfect and ungodly beautiful that you just have to put your phone down and stare at the ceiling…?

❛ THE POGUES INTERRUPTING YOU AND RAFE MID-FUCK ❜

girlfriend¡reader . . . rafe cameron

The room was a haze of heat and shadows, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and the rhythmic creak of the bedframe. Rafe Cameron’s powerful body hovered over you, his skin slick with sweat, muscles rippling under the dim glow of a flickering bedside lamp.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, claiming, possessive. One hand pinned both of your wrists above your head, his fingers tight enough to bruise, while the other roamed your body, sliding from your throat to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh until you gasped.

His hips slammed into yours with a punishing rhythm, each thrust deep and unrelenting, his cock filling you completely, stretching you in a way that made your entire body shudder with pleasure.

Your thighs were splayed wide, trembling as they hooked around his waist, your heels digging into the taut muscles of his lower back, urging him deeper, harder.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Rafe growled, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with raw desire. His blue eyes burned into yours, darkened with lust, his pupils blown wide as he watched your face contort with every thrust.

He shifted his angle, his cock dragging against that sensitive spot inside you, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed, breasts pressing against his chest. The friction of his skin against your hardened nipples sent sparks shooting through you, and you clenched around him, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his tongue tracing the curve of your jaw before his teeth nipped at your pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your hands strained against his grip, desperate to touch him, to claw at the corded muscles of his shoulders, but he held you firm, his control absolute. The bed groaned under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming against the wall in time with his hips—thud, thud, thud—a primal beat that echoed the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding.

Your slick arousal coated him, making each thrust smoother, deeper, the slide of his cock inside you almost too much to bear.

Your moans were loud, unrestrained, mingling with his ragged grunts as he fucked you with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, like he was trying to claim every inch of you, to brand you as his.

“Rafe—oh God, please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pleasure built, a tight coil in your core that threatened to snap. Your hips bucked up to meet his, chasing the high, your thighs quivering as his hand slid from your breast to your clit, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision.

The added stimulation made you see stars, your head thrashing against the pillow, hair sticking to your sweat-dampened forehead. “I’m so close,” you gasped, your words barely coherent as he drove into you harder, his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was splitting you open.

He groaned at your words, his pace faltering for a split second before he doubled down, his thrusts growing even more brutal, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice rough, almost feral, as he pressed his thumb harder against your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that pushed you right to the edge.

Your body tensed, every muscle taut as the orgasm ripped through you, a white-hot wave that made you scream his name, your walls clamping down around him so tightly he cursed under his breath.

Your vision blurred, your body shaking uncontrollably as he fucked you through it, his hips never slowing, prolonging the ecstasy until you were a trembling, panting mess beneath him.

He wasn’t done. Rafe released your wrists, and your hands immediately flew to his back, nails raking down his spine, leaving angry red welts that made him growl in approval. He grabbed your hips with both hands, lifting you slightly off the bed to meet his thrusts, the new angle letting him hit even deeper.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into your dripping heat with every stroke.

“Taking me so fucking well.” His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you clenched around him again, your body still sensitive from your climax but greedy for more.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his sweat-soaked hair, pulling his face down to yours. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, all teeth and tongue, his stubble scraping your chin as he devoured you.

You could taste the salt of his sweat, the faint tang of whiskey on his breath, and it only made you want him more. Your tongue slid against his, matching his intensity, and he moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as he thrust harder, his balls slapping against your ass with every movement.

The world was nothing but Rafe—his weight pressing you into the mattress, his scent filling your lungs, his cock driving into you with a relentless, almost punishing force.

You were so lost in him, in the heat and the pleasure and the way he owned every part of you, that you didn’t hear the footsteps outside the door, didn’t register the voices until it was too late.

The door burst open with a loud crash, the knob hitting the wall, and the Pogues spilled into the room, their laughter and chatter cutting off abruptly as they froze, taking in the scene.

JJ was the first to react, his beer bottle slipping from his hand and hitting the floor with a dull thud. “Holy fuck! Are you kidding me?!” he shouted, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and disgust, though a smirk was already curling his lips.

Rafe stilled instantly, his cock still buried deep inside you, his body tense as he whipped his head toward the intruders.

His hands tightened on your hips, possessive, protective, but he didn’t move to cover you, his glare pure venom as he locked eyes with JJ.

Your heart pounded, mortification flooding you as you scrambled to pull the sheet over yourself, but Rafe’s weight kept it pinned beneath you, leaving you exposed and vulnerable under the Pogues’ stares.

John B stood in the doorway, a joint dangling from his fingers, his jaw slack as he muttered, “Dude, what the hell? Ever heard of a lock?” Sarah, next to him, looked like she was trying not to laugh, but her eyes were wide with surprise, her hand half-raised as if to shield her view.

Kiara’s face was a mask of disgust, her arms crossed tightly as she snapped, “This is why we hate you, Cameron. Fucking gross.”

Pope, as usual, was the quiet one, his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling, his cheeks flushed as he mumbled, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

JJ, never one to let an opportunity slide, leaned against the doorframe, his smirk growing as he took in Rafe’s flushed, sweat-slicked body and your disheveled state.

“Well, shit, Kook king, you’re really givin’ it to her, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you.” His eyes flicked to you, and he winked, his tone dripping with mockery. “You good, princess? Sounds like you’re gettin’ the full Rafe Cameron experience.”

“Get the fuck out, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, his voice low and dangerous, his body still pressed against yours, shielding you as best he could without moving.

His cock twitched inside you, and you bit your lip to stifle a gasp, the sensation sending a confusing mix of arousal and embarrassment through you. The tension in the room was electric, the hatred between Rafe and the Pogues crackling like a live wire.

You tried to speak, your voice shaky and breathless. “Guys, just—go. Please.”

Your cheeks burned, your body still humming from the intensity of Rafe’s touch, and the last thing you needed was JJ’s smartass commentary or Kiara’s judgmental glare.

Sarah was the first to move, grabbing JJ’s arm and yanking him back. “Let’s go, idiots,” she said, her voice firm but laced with amusement.

“They’re clearly… busy.” John B snorted, already turning to leave, while Kiara shot one last disgusted look at Rafe before following. Pope practically bolted, muttering something about “needing bleach for his eyes.”

JJ lingered, his grin wicked as he pointed at Rafe. “Don’t let us stop you, Cameron. Keep fuckin’ up her world.” He dodged the shoe Rafe hurled at him, laughing as he finally backed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

The second the door closed, Rafe’s lips were on yours again, his kiss fierce and possessive, like he was trying to erase the Pogues’ intrusion from both your minds.

“Fucking Pogues,” he growled against your mouth, his hips snapping forward, thrusting into you with renewed intensity.

You moaned, the sudden movement catching you off guard, your body arching into his as he picked up where he left off, his cock driving into you with a force that made your breath hitch.

“Let’s make sure they hear you this time,” he whispered, his voice dark and dangerous, his hands gripping your hips as he fucked you harder, faster, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body already climbing toward another release as the world outside faded away, leaving only Rafe and the overwhelming pleasure he gave you.

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault

return home ⸝⸝

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

Rafe with a bigger girl.

She gets insecure really easily so Rafe will fuck the shit out of her.. “fucking those stupid little thoughts out of your head baby” he’d say..

ugh he’s so sexy

rafe wouldn’t waste a second once you two were behind closed doors, easily stripping you out of your clothes so he could knead your flesh with rough hands. he’s praising you and telling you how perfect you are as he leaves kisses across your skin, your previous insecurities melting away into nothing as he touches you like he can’t believe you’re real. “everyone is so fuckin’ jealous of you.. they wish they could be this sexy without trying.” you’re struggling to kiss him while he drills into you, the bruising grip he has on your hips making you whine underneath him. “look at you taking my cock like the perfect slut you are,” your eyes are rolling back when you feel him reach depths like never before, “..fucking those stupid little thoughts out of your head, baby?” rafe doesn’t stop until you’re nodding helplessly, your heart fluttering in your chest as he continues to shower you with compliments.

his little "no no no" I'm gonna be sick this man cannot keep doing this to me 😣 MY BABYYYY

So real

inspired by request | rafe unintentionally makes you cry

“Can you just—fuck, I said right there,” Rafe snaps, pointing aggressively at the engine while you fumble with the flashlight.

You shift your grip, trying to get it where he wants, but your hands are shaking a little now. It’s hot, and his tone is making your chest feel tight.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Dude, just—why is this so hard for you?” he says, frustrated, wiping sweat off his forehead. “You’re literally just holding a light.”

You go quiet. You don’t say anything, just stand there blinking fast because if you speak now, you’ll cry. And you really, really don’t want to cry in front of him over something this dumb.

But a second later, your eyes are already watering. And he sees it.

“Wait,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Are you—are you crying?”

You quickly look away, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

“Babe,” he says, quieter now. “Shit. I didn’t mean to—hey. Hey, come here.”

You still don’t look at him, just hand him the flashlight and step back.

“Don’t do that,” he says, sighing. His voice is softer now, not angry anymore. “I didn’t mean to yell like that. I’m just pissed at the truck, not you.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he mutters, walking over to you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m a dick. I know. I’m sorry.”

You stay quiet, but your hand grips his shirt, and that’s enough for him.

“I’ll be nicer next time,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Promise. Just don’t cry, okay? Makes me feel like the biggest asshole alive.”

You mumble against his shirt, “You kinda are.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. But I’m your asshole.”