#'and i could see you up against the wall with me' HOW SHE STARTED LOOKING FORWARD TO THEIR NIGHTS TOGETHER

[daxisyzz]

hiiii i hope you are well !!! i was wondering if you could maybe do a fic where the reader gets kidnapped and tortured by hydra on a mission or something, and after a while bucky and the team find her and save her but she’s so psychologically damaged that she’s scared of everyone? preferably lots and lots of protective and comforting bucky as he looks after her and he becomes the only person she’s comfortable with, all the angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending would be amazing!!! thanks 🩷

Heyyy!! Hope you're doing well too. Writing this fic made me cry so I hope it's what you expected. Sorry for answering late🙃

Only safe with you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, trauma recovery, Kidnapping, psychological torture (not graphic), PTSD, panic attacks, emotional vulnerability, mentions of touch aversion, recovery

Word count: 1.1k+

You didn’t scream when they took you.

That came later—when your voice cracked raw from begging the shadows for mercy, for death, for something other than the cold numbness pressing in around you like icewater under your skin. But in the beginning, there was only silence. The kind that hollows you out from the inside.

The kind that makes you forget your own name.

You had been captured by Hydra. A mission gone wrong. A corner turned too fast. A shot fired too late. And then it all disappeared beneath the haze of a needle and the slam of a steel door.

No one found you. Not for weeks.

And in that time, you stopped existing.

You curled in on yourself, starved and shaking, while voices you didn't recognize whispered in the dark, breaking you down with every calculated word. They told you you were abandoned. That no one was coming. That you were alone because you were unworthy of being loved.

They never needed to touch you.

They just watched you rot from the inside out.

When the team finally found you, you didn’t recognize them.

You heard the explosion first—the thunder of boots, the sharp bark of Bucky’s voice, the sound of someone screaming your name like it meant something.

But all you saw were more shadows.

You tried to crawl into the wall when they burst into your cell. Your fingernails broke against the concrete, your body instinctively folding into itself, your mouth whispering pleas in a language you didn’t know you remembered.

You didn’t know Bucky was crying until his tears hit your hands.

"Hey," he choked, dropping to his knees, blood on his knuckles and desperation in his eyes. "It’s me. It’s Bucky. I’m here, okay? I’ve got you. You’re safe."

But safety was a concept that no longer made sense to you.

When his hand brushed yours, you screamed.

You screamed like you were dying. Like you were on fire.

And something in Bucky broke that day.

The jet ride back was too bright. Too loud. You were swaddled in a blanket like a child, staring through people who whispered your name with eyes full of quiet sorrow. Natasha sat across from you, tense and silent, her hand clenched in her lap.

Steve paced quietly in the back, eyes heavy with guilt.

Tony said nothing, choosing instead to sit beside you in stillness.

They all felt the ache, but none knew how to hold it.

Because they saw the pieces of you, scattered and bloody, and none of them knew how to put you back together.

Except for Bucky.

He didn’t leave your side. Not once.

You wouldn’t let anyone else near you. The first time Bruce tried to assess your wounds, you had a panic attack so violent your lips turned blue.

But Bucky?

You let him stay.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t see him. But he was there. Sitting on the floor, silent and patient, like he was trying to absorb your pain with every breath.

"You don’t have to talk," he whispered once, voice so low it made your ribs ache. "I’ll just be here. I’m not going anywhere."

And he wasn’t.

Not when you curled into corners, sobbing so hard you threw up.

Not when you tore your own skin in your sleep.

Not when you started to disappear into yourself again.

He stayed.

And the others watched, hurting in their own quiet ways.

Natasha lingered by your door some nights, pacing like she wanted to knock but couldn’t.

Steve brought books you didn’t read.

Tony made sure the lights never flickered in your room again.

They didn’t say much. They didn’t force anything. But they were there.

And Bucky? He just was.

Weeks passed.

You started whispering again. Small things. Words like "water" or "blanket" or "stay."

Always to Bucky.

Only to him.

He was the first person you let touch you again.

A pinky finger. Brushing yours. Barely there.

You sobbed when it happened. Clutched your chest like it hurt. Like it burned to feel something again.

Bucky didn’t cry. Not then.

But that night, Steve found him in the hallway outside your door, fists bruised and bloodied against the wall.

"I can’t lose her again," Bucky whispered, voice shattering. "I can’t."

Recovery wasn’t linear.

Some days you smiled.

Some days you screamed.

Some nights you let Bucky hold your hand.

Some nights you clawed at your own skin, begging him to make it stop.

And he did.

Not with force.

Not with words.

Just with presence.

He’d pull you into his lap, wrap his arms around your shaking body, press his lips to your temple and whisper, "You’re safe. You’re not alone. I’ve got you."

Until you believed him.

Even if only for a moment.

One night, you whispered, "Why did you stay?"

Bucky looked at you, moonlight catching the cracks in him that matched your own.

"Because you matter. Because you didn’t give up. Because you let me find you."

You blinked, tears spilling freely. "I don’t feel like a person anymore."

His voice broke. "Then let me remind you how to be one."

They say healing is like a mosaic, broken pieces coming together to form something beautiful.

You were still cracked. Still healing. Still learning how to exist in a body that had been turned into a prison.

But Bucky loved you through all of it.

With hands that never rushed.

With words that never demanded.

With a heart that only ever whispered, You are safe here.

And for the first time in months, maybe years—You believed him.

One Year Later

The morning sun slipped in through the curtains, painting your room in pale gold. The shadows that once clung to the walls had long since faded, replaced by quiet warmth and slow, steady breaths.

You sat curled on the couch, a book in your lap, half-forgotten, as Bucky entered with two steaming mugs in hand. He paused in the doorway, watching you with that soft look he reserved only for you—a kind of awe, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

"You’re staring," you said, voice lighter, steadier now.

He grinned. "Can you blame me?"

You set the book aside and took the mug he offered, your fingers brushing his without flinching. That tiny act still felt like magic sometimes.

You leaned into him when he sat beside you, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in without a word.

There were no more nightmares that week.

You’d started laughing again. Dancing in the kitchen. Humming in the shower.

You still had days where the world felt fragile, like it could crack open beneath your feet—but you no longer fell alone.

You looked up at Bucky, your eyes soft. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

His thumb brushed your cheek. "You saved yourself. I just got to love you through it."

And you did. Slowly, then all at once. Day by day, moment by moment, you let the light back in through him.

[littlelovelunette]

Hello♥️ I had this idea of Sevika and reader having sex for the first time after the reader had a baby, just some careful and gentle smut<3 (And maybe kinky breast milk stuff? 👉🏼👈🏼)

Lifting (3)

Sevika x New Mother!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Sex, lactation play, sex after childbirth, mating press, nipple play, slight suffocation, g!p Sevika, drinking breast milk in sex, breeding.

The baby was deep asleep. Sevika had done all the things you'd never thought you'd see her do. She had the nursery painted a pastel colour, bought all sorts of toys she could all the way from Topside. Rose was her absolute weakness after you. The way her small fist closed around Sevika's thumb as she slept on, drooling from the corner of her plush pink lips.

All the softness aside, due to the healing time you needed after giving birth, you and Sevika hadn't been engaging in anything even mildly sexual. Sevika didn't want to be the one to bring up the matter but you've seen the way she eyes you when you breastfeed your baby girl. You've seen the way she loves to stare whenever you're bending down to grab the laundry basket. She was like a desperate dog in heat, shameless about it too.

Once you told her it was okay to feel that way, she didn't hold back. Her cock lined against your slit as her hands massaged the sides of your body, "I'll go slow if you want me to," Sevika said, her voice low to not wake Rose up who was asleep in her crib next room.

You nodded, looking down where her cock head was already dripping precum at the mere sight of your beautiful pussy lips drenched with your own arousal from anticipation, hole twitching with the hopes of getting fucked hard.

Slowly, her cock slipped inside. The first few inches felt overwhelmingly big before the stretch made you wince uncomfortably, fingers digging into the sheets as your other hand grabbed Sevika's flesh arm, "H-hurts a little, wait..."

Sevika paused, her shaft halfway inside your pussy as she waited for you to get used to the girthiness. She rubbed your lower abdomen, "It's okay, sweetie. You're doing well, just take deep breaths." She said in a tone softer than her usual. "Let me know when it's okay to move."

You nodded your head nervously, gasping when Sevika's thumb found your clit, rubbing slow yet deliberate circles around it. "Yeah? That feels good?" Sevika teased gently as she pressed a little harder onto the bundle of nerves. You yelped out softly but then bit down onto Sevika's neck to keep your volume low.

Sevika didn't stop, her finger still easing circles around your twitching clit. Your legs wrapped around her waist as you pulled her flush against your own body, "Sev," you whispered needily, pulling her closer so her cock sunk deeper into your pussy. It disappears against your tight opening, stretching you out all the way. You moaned softly, walls fluttering around her in need, "I need you to rail me hard," you muttered.

Sevika smirked a little, "Yeah? You want daddy to pound you in?"

You nodded with a little shy giggle, gasping again when she bottomed out. "Oh!"

You bit down her neck again making Sevika groan, her brows furrowed as she started thrusting in a steady pace, the tip of her huge cock grinding deliciously against your cervix.

"Daddy, please, harder," the bed creaked dangerously as Sevika held your thighs with both hands and folded you.

You whimpered, her cock reaching deeper into your wet cavern. Sevika let go of your thighs and squeezed your tits making you gasp for air, her thrusts were brutal and you were almost suffocating because of the intensity of how she was pounding you into the mattress. All the wet schlik sounds that filled the room was enough to make your cheeks glow red, fingers clutching the bedsheets so tight than your knuckles went white. It had been a while since you both fooled around so it was ten times more intense than the usual.

Sevika squeezed your breasts a little harder than before a small amount of milk spurted out. She stopped, eyes wide with a little bit of surprise dancing within the grey orbs before it dissolved into amusement. "Oh?"

You hid your face with your hands in embarrassment, but Sevika's warm, bigger hands pulled yours down from your face. "Don't be shy now, baby, you're so hot," Sevika rutted her hips into your body harshly making her dick sink deep and hard.

"Ah!" You cried out, watching as Sevika's plush lips wrapped around your hardened nipple. She suckled softly at the start before she gave it a powerful suck, milk oozing out of the nub and filling her mouth. Sevika smiled against your skin.

"You're such a baby," you mumbled, playing with her hair as you squeezed down on her length.

"Mhm?" Sevika chuckled before she tugged at your nipple using her teeth, you jerked a little from sensitivity.

"Don't do that!" You whimpered, gasping for air once again as Sevika's hips continued rutting her length into you albeit a little sloppier than before as she got closer and closer. "Sev!" Your head lolled back, "Cumming!"

Sevika looked up at you, mouth partially full of milk. "Mm," she bottomed out two more times before her warm seed filled your insides up. She swallowed, "There we go, my baby mama," she grinned victoriously, "Once again, pumped full."

[muffinpink02]

ok important context, I’m in uni and have three suite mates and very thin walls…so a very specific time to myself is hard to come by. Tell me why, when Im finally able to enjoy one of those times, right when I’m about to get to the best part, the dorm fire alarm goes off!

Anyway it made me imagine Alexia overstimulating me with a vibe and then having to evacuate the building and she’s like you think you’re done? No chance

No!!!! Omg how bladdy annoying! 🥲 I hope you didn’t have to wait too long outside 🙃 and got back to your ✨ activities ✨

Also thank you for sharing this cos you also made me imagine 😂

Saved by the bell

Smutty, not smut 18

You’re close, so fucking close.

You’re close, so fucking close. 

You’ve been close for 20 minutes. 20 long agonising minutes you’ve been left on the edge, tasting the sweet sensation of an orgasm but never getting close enough to fall over the edge. 

Because the blonde who was currently straddling your waist was an evil but sexy menace. 

“Just a little more.” She whispered as she watched the beads start to form on your face. 

“Erghhh. A-Ale!” You stuttered. 

Her hazel eyes danced with an almost crazez expression, smiling possessively at you as she easily held your wrist above your head with one large hand. 

She pulled the pink vibrator off your clit, allowing you to breathe for a second, though the vibrations still lingered on your puffy clit, making the nerves in your body bounce uncontrollably. 

The sheets below you were soaked, sticking uncomfortably to your hot sweaty skin, every inch of your naked body was gleaming. 

But you weren't the only one who was wet. 

You were front row, watching as Alexia’s own juices dripped against your stomach. You moaned patheticly as you watched her shamelessly slide her cunt against your skin. Using you as she tortured you.  

“You look so cute, amor.” She husked before she lent down to kiss your puffy lips. 

You could only whimper below her. Your throat had dried up like the Sahara desert, your body probably using every ounce of bodily fluid it had on your wet pussy. 

Her kisses became more desperate, easily sliding her tongue into your mouth, swiping the muscle against your own tongue, moaning as she tasted herself from your earlier activities. She moved faster on top of you, her hips rocking on to your body like she was on a mission. 

She leaned back, just a little, her blonde hair draped down beside your face. “More?” she whispered against your lips. It was a rhetorical question, she wasn’t really asking. She was just giving you a little heads up. 

Your body tensed as she blindly moved her arm behind her, though she knew exactly where she was going. You could feel every nerve in your body screaming for a release, but you knew better than to allow yourself that pleasure. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. Readying yourself for the next wave of tortured pleasure. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The sound of an ear deafening alarm sweeps through the apartment.

Alexia freezes above you, her mouth gapping open. 

You stare at each other for a couple of beats.

“It's the fire alarm.” She winces.

You can’t stop the loud and very annoyed groan that comes out of your mouth. “You got to be kidding me? Its probably the neighbours below again.”

“I know. They set it off the other day as well.”

“I can literally smell the burnt food from here.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t we just wait it out?” You plead. 

“No. Come on get dressed. Vamos.” She sighs, just as annoyed as you, releasing your wrist as she gets up.

You both quickly throw on anything you can find and rush towards the door. But you nearly don’t leave once you see yourself in the hallway mirror. Your hair’s a mess, your face is deeply blushed and your lips are so swollen you look like you've been physically assaulted. 

You look fucked. And you hadn't even got to that bit yet.

Alexia pulls you out the door before you can protest. 

“Come on, the quicker we do this the quicker I can get you back in bed.” She smirks at you before throwing you a wink.

“And finally let me come?” 

“I was about to let you come just before the alarm went off.” She admitted.

You stop in your tracks, Alexia laughs as you try to pull her back to your apartment but it's no use. 

“Amor. Don’t worry, I'm not done with you yet.”

[tobesolnelyx]

hey, we had fratboy shauna, lottie, and... fratboy jackie?

— so into you || fratboy and g!p jackie taylor headcanons 🎬

a/n: nothing smart to say this time. just need her. also, she gives strong ariana grande songs vibes if you ask me.

summary: she changed since high school and turns out…she’s not as bad as you thought she is. modern college au. girlfriend!jackie.

warnings: NSFW - content - MDNI

★ — well, you didn’t know that someone like jackie taylor exist til the day you walked in class. she sits spread open at the desk. varsity jacket around her shoulders with college soccer team logo. there’s weird, like really concerning amount of silver rings on her fingers. and, oh god, boxers are picking out from the waistband of her jeans.

★ — after that you learn that this girl is a soccer team captain! and your friends are pretty sure she’s into you. you let it slide for now, cause jackie…simply doesn’t make a move. sure, smiles at you, sometimes throw compliment or two. but nothing besides that.

★ — and hell, that girl got reputation. people say she’s mean which…just doesn’t make sense in your head. she’s so nervous around you, how could she be mean to anyone? then, when she finally gets her shit together, she catches you in cafeteria and in front of all your friends she asks you out.

i mean, she tries. cause what comes from her mouth sounds like she’s choking. “hi…so…” she swallows. “i actually don’t know, i mean, you don’t have a boyfriend, yeah? or hell, girlfriend? i just…” she stutters. “maybe you wanna go out? tomorrow? i mean, no rush! we don’t have to, it’s your choice, really…”

“jackie” you cut her off. “just pick me up around 6.”

she stares at you for a moment then she looks like she’s suddenly buzzing with energy. “oh fuck, great—“ she says relieved. “i mean, yeah. cool. whatever.” she mumbles, trying not to sound overexcited. she does anyway. she blushes like a total idiot walking away.

★ — did i mention her obsession with varsity jackets? no? cause this asshole has whole ass collection in her closet. not like you’re complaining when she borrows you another one. they’re smell like hell. (borrows is a big word, she just warps you in it. deal with it.)

★ — oh jackie’s smell. always so fresh, with that cologne sticking tt her skin that fills up your nostrils anytime she’s hovering over you.

★ — right! going back to her rings! the same with jackets — whole ass collections is placed at her nightstand. she wakes up in the morning and put random ones on. the more the better. turns out she loves jewellery in general. necklaces, bracelets. yes, she wears your bra strap as a bracelet.

★ — speaking of which — jackie has piercings! just in ears tho. beginning with basic lobes and ending with conch, helix and rook. and well…one hidden one. albert king piercing.

★ — you gasp when you have sex for the first time, feeling something like ring brushing against your velvet walls. you stare at her. not used to this new sensation.

“jackie, is that…?” you start but she nods swiftly, cheeks are flushed both from embarrassment and arousal.

“is it bad, cause…?” she pants but you shake your head swiftly.

“no, fuck that’s…” you manage to choke out. “that’s hot, jax.”

★ — you see, jackie was a virgin until she met you. she’s so panicked when you’re fucking for the first time. constantly asking you if she’s doing okay, if she’s not hurting you.

“jesus christ, jax.” you breathe out with amusement. “just fuck me.”

and god knows she does. firstly, she’s hesitant, taking things slow. but when her dick is buried deep inside your slick folds? she nearly cries out from pleasure. poor jackie, never had pussy around her cock. when she gets more confident, she fucks you like woman possessed. and she even moans way louder than you. whimpering in your ear with each thrust.

★ — not to mention the first time you give her a head. her eyes rolls back in her head from pleasure while you suck her tip with piercing.

★ — here’s another thing: jackie is prideful. jackie doesn’t like when people tell her what to do. always cocky, in charge. like she’s the best in every single thing she does (she’s not. she’s just annoying.) and then, there’s you. and she loves when you put her in her place while riding her dick. or even without fucking her. she just obeys.

★ — she loves affection but only privately. in public she plays this unbothered, smug frat. keeping your close but not always touching you. pressing kisses to your neck occasionally but she doesn’t cling to you. not around people at least. cough, reputation.

★ — cause when you’re alone? fuck, she does cling. her hands are all over you, lips travelling constantly up and down. like she’ll die if she won’t be touching you. call her all you want, she’s secretly an awful simp for you. also, people know that. probably after she fell asleep on you at that one party. gripping you like you’re the last person on planet earth.

★ — she gives you a lot compliments. leaving the notes on the fridge, in your notes, in your bag…everywhere. and you learn to compliment her too by that! she’s blushing like hell when you call her handsome.

★ — she’s annoying. like really fucking getting on your nerves sometimes. caring too much about her reputation. her clothes. her fucking appearance. all the damn time.

“jax, what the hell?” you ask irritated walking into the bathroom. “you’re sitting here for hours.”

“yeah, to look pretty for a date with my prettiest girlfriend” she grins tugging you for a kiss. and yeah…you melt right and there.

★ — she’s a smoker — always walking everywhere with her vape. she probably smokes something awfully sweet. like strawberry or raspberry.

★ — she needs to keep up her reputation of that confident, perfect asshole that somehow is loved by everyone around. but when it comes to you…you’re her safe place. she’s sensitive. more than people think. sometimes she simply cries in your arms because of the pressure. only to feel a little guilty next day and brings you breakfast to your bed. from your favourite restaurant. she memorised.

★ — she doesn’t say much i love you’s. she’s definitely not so obvious with her love. but she’s sure as hell possessive — you’re her absolute everything. and jackie taylor doesn’t share.

[lieutenantsluvr]

what the quiet hides | oneshot

masterlist

pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

�� I'm the escape to somethin' that's worse I am the shadow drivin' the hearse ❞

synopsis: Joel struggles to readjust to life in Jackson—a quiet life untouched by the constant specter of death that once followed him. Learning to live as someone who's no longer a killer is no easy thing. When does a monster cease to be a monster? Simply put, when you love it.

a/n: i'd like to say this is the semi parallel universe as death trapped, clad happily—in other words, you know him, you know the terror he's caused, the lives he's taken. hell, you probably encouraged some of it. you aren't someone random. you're important—important enough that he keeps you an arms length away. I like writing the reader as someone who is just plain tired. you want to love, but you're also exhausted from the hell you've been through—and joel can be a frustrating man. you love him, definitely, but at the end of the day you're tired of the wall he's forcing you behind.

warnings/tags: heavy fluff, angst, sexual suggestions, implied intercourse, semi-established relationship, reader is downbad for joel, he's traumatized ofc, lots of dialogue, you play with his hair, something about domestic reader and joel makes me start crying andshitting at the same time

w/c 10.2k

“You have to talk to him,” Tommy says, low and slow, teeth grazing his bottom lip like the thought’s gutting at him. At this point, it’s less a suggestion and more a quiet plea. His fingers twitch against the warm surface of his coffee mug—white, plain. Trembling just slightly. Nervous energy in every motion.

“I don’t know who you think I am to him,” you say, the words scraping out of your throat like sandpaper. You inhale sharp and dry, coffee clinging to the back of your tongue like a ghost. “Whatever he’s doing, whatever he’s not saying—that’s on him. That silence? It’s his choice.”

“Maria’s on my ass—” he starts, but you cut him off before the rest can tumble out.

“I know how she feels about him, Tommy. I know how the whole damn town feels about him.” The words spill out hot, too fast, like you’ve been holding them in too long and they’re finally clawing their way free. “But I can’t just—fix it. He hasn’t said a word to me since we got here. Hell, I don’t even live with them.”

You pause, breath shaky, eyes fixed on anything that isn’t him.

“I traveled across the goddamn country with him—and Ellie,” you say, softer now, voice rough at the edges. “And this is where we ended up. Right here. Barely a word between us.”

The silence that follows chews at your throat. You try to swallow it, try to make it into something cleaner. Something that hurts less.

“You’ve known your brother a hell of a lot longer than I have,” you say, voice low, frayed at the edges. You drag a tired hand down your face, like maybe the weight behind your eyes will go with it. It doesn’t. Your fingers find the mug again, still warm, still useless.

“So, why don’t you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do?”

The words hang there—sharp, bitter, hollow in the way grief is hollow. You’re not angry at Tommy. Not really. But the question is more than a plea; it’s an admission. You're out of road. Out of maps. And out of whatever thread was holding all this together. Before there was a plan, a mission. Now? Nothing. It's all freewill.

Tommy doesn’t speak right away. Just stares, jaw tight, like he’s weighing the truth against the damage it’ll cause.

“I think…” he starts, then trails off, eyes dropping to the mug in his hands like maybe it’ll give him courage. “I think he’s scared. And Joel… don’t know how to talk when he’s scared.”

You scoff, dry. “Yeah, well. I don’t know how to wait around for someone who won’t even look at me.”

Tommy doesn’t rise to meet your frustration. He lets it pass, steady and silent. He understands—probably better than anyone ever could. He shared blood, breath, and a womb with that man. But more than that, he sees the truth for what it is. Sees it clearer than you’re ready to admit. Two people, equally wrecked, equally stubborn, and completely in love. It’s written all over both your faces, even when you won’t look at each other.

A few heartbeats drag by in silence. Heavy ones. Worried ones.

“Have you talked to Ellie?” he asks finally. Not so much a question as a sideways shuffle—dodging the heat of your words, giving himself something safe to stand on.

“Every day,” you reply, with a tired breath. Your fingers tap out some nervous rhythm against the table, soft and restless. “She drops by. Talks shit. Makes me laugh.”

You pause. The next part stings, but it’s true, and you owe the truth to Tommy, even if it’s ugly.

“She makes jokes, too. About Joel and I—says we’re professionals at pretending the other one doesn’t exist.”

A humorless chuckle slips out before you can stop it. “She’s not wrong.”

Tommy doesn’t smile. He just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say the one thing that matters most. The thing you keep dancing around like broken glass on a kitchen floor.

“I think she gets on him about socializing,” you mutter, words slipping out like they’re trying to escape your throat before your heart can catch up. “Hell, I know she does.”

And still, he doesn’t come around.

The confession comes quiet, bitter, reluctant.

Truth is—you miss him. God, you miss him more than you’d ever admit out loud.

You miss the almost-smiles, those fleeting little ghosts of warmth he used to give when no one else was looking. You miss the gravity of him—how the air changed when he was near, how the silence always seemed heavier, fuller. You miss the scent of coffee on his skin, like he carried the morning with him wherever he went.

You miss the way his eyes found you in a room like they were built for it. Always watching. Always knowing. Seeing right through you without ever asking too much.

You miss that laugh—barely a breath, a half-hearted exhale that said more than words ever could. You used to live for that sound. Now it’s just an echo in your skull.

And those eyes. God, those deep, forest-dark eyes. Like dusk caught in human form. The kind that made you feel seen. The kind that burned. The kind that made you want to stay.

You drag your fingers across your mug again, fingertips numb from the cold now. You’re not even drinking the coffee. Just holding onto it like it might hold you back.

“Tommy, I—” you start, voice catching on the edge of something you’re not sure you want to say. “I don’t want to look desperate. I don’t want to seem like I need him. Knowing damn well he doesn’t need anyone, not really.” You swallow, trying to shake the weight off, but it’s there. Always there.

A long, suffocating beat of silence stretches between you.

And then, quieter, as if saying it aloud makes it more real: “I don’t want to… get hurt.”

The words hang in the air, brittle with honesty, and they taste bitter on your tongue. The weight of them presses down on your chest like something you’ve been carrying too long, but never dared to unpack.

Tommy doesn’t rush to answer. He leans back in his chair, hands resting on his knees, his eyes searching your face like he’s weighing something heavy. He knows this—he’s been here before, watching people break without ever meaning to.

“Hell,” he says, voice quiet but firm, like he’s been carrying this truth for a long time and it’s finally time to share it. “You’re not the only one scared of gettin’ hurt. We all are. Joel, me, you, Ellie…” His gaze softens just a fraction, the edges of his expression sharpening with something that feels like regret. “We all keep our walls up, ‘cause it’s easier than lettin’ someone in and watchin’ ‘em leave. Easier than lettin’ them hurt you.”

A pause, long and measured, before his eyes flick to the empty space between you both.

“But you know what, kid? You can’t keep livin’ like that. You can’t keep waiting for the hurt to come before you decide to feel anything. ‘Cause it’ll eat you alive, piece by piece.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice softer now, a little more worn. “You can’t fight what’s real. Not forever.”

You laugh—more of a bitter chide than anything else. The sound of it barely even feels like yours.

“What, you think your brother loves me?” Your eyes lock with Tommy’s, deadpan and heavy with a kind of dark amusement, though the smile you offer is anything but genuine. It’s a fragile thing, a mask you slip on just to hide the ache beneath.

Tommy’s expression hardens at your words. For a moment, there’s a sharp edge to his gaze—something that goes beyond the casual brotherly concern. It’s raw, almost desperate, like he’s reaching through the layers of sarcasm and deflection, trying to make you see the truth.

“You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here?” His voice drops, low and urgent, as if every word matters too much to waste. “I’ve only watched you two—hell, for a few months, tops—and I see it. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.” He shakes his head, frustration in his tone. “But neither of you want to admit it. Both of you too goddamn stubborn to let the walls down.”

Tommy leans in, eyes locked on yours, a kind of plea in them that cuts through the sarcasm.

“Look, I know my brother,” he says, his voice strained with a rawness you don’t often hear from him. “He’s broken. But goddamn, he cares about you. He wouldn’t let himself care, but he does. And you—” He pauses, “You’re no better. I know you’re scared of getting hurt. Hell, I get it. But if you don’t stop pushin’ him away, you’ll lose him before you even get the chance.”

You'll lose him before you even get the chance.

A beat of silence hangs in the air. His voice softens, almost pleading.

“I want this for you both. I want you to make it work.” He exhales sharply, like the weight of it all is finally catching up. “But you’re gonna have to stop running, or you’ll end up with nothin’ but regret.”

You're gonna have to stop running. You'll end up with nothin' but regret.

You shift uncomfortably in the diner booth, your eyes drifting over the busy room, lingering on the Tipsy Bison—a familiar chaos of voices, laughter, and clinking glasses. It's louder than usual today, the air thick with chatter and the smell of fried food. You don’t even register it, though. Your mind’s elsewhere, caught in a storm of what-ifs.

“It’s complicated, Tommy…” you start again, voice hesitant, like you're not sure if the words will come out right—or even if you want them to. “What if Ellie doesn’t want us together? What if—”

Your throat tightens, and you break off. There’s a lump there, one you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try. Ellie. She's a part of this too, in ways you can't ignore, in ways that make the whole thing feel like walking on glass. You can’t just pull Joel out of the wreckage of his past without considering her, without wondering if you’re tearing apart something she holds together.

Shit, maybe you're making excuses at this point.

“I don’t want to make things harder for her, or him,” you mutter under your breath, eyes flicking back to Tommy’s. But even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. It doesn’t feel like you’re talking to him anymore, but to the fear inside you.

Tommy’s gaze hardens, but there’s something in his eyes—an understanding, mixed with the frustration of seeing you wrestle with the same doubts he’s been carrying for a while now. He leans forward, hands pressing into the table as he speaks, voice low but firm.

“Ellie’s not gonna stop you from doing what you feel is right,” he says, the words carrying a heaviness that suggests he’s had this conversation with himself a thousand times. “She’s smart. She knows what’s goin’ on between you two. Hell, she probably sees it clearer than either of you do.” He exhales sharply, “And if you think for one second that you’re doin’ her any favors by staying away, you’re wrong.”

He pauses, staring at you with a kind of raw honesty you don’t often get from him. “Ellie’s already lost enough people in her life. She knows the damage of keepin’ people at arm's length. And I think she wants you and Joel to make it work. She wants him to stop runnin’. But you—” Tommy leans in closer, voice growing softer, more insistent. “You gotta stop runnin’, too. The both of you are too goddamn old, and scared of gettin’ hurt to even take a chance on what could be good.”

He pulls back, letting his words hang in the air, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. “If you’re waitin’ for things to be perfect before you let your guard down, you’re gonna be waitin’ forever. And by then… it’ll be too late.”

Christ.

You exhale—deep, shaky. The kind that comes from somewhere buried, where you've been holding it all too tight for too long. Your forehead drops into your hands, elbows on the table, the weight of everything finally pressing down.

“You gotta stop clocking me like this, Tommy,” you mumble through your fingers, voice muffled, worn thin with exhaustion. There's no bite to it—just a hollow kind of resignation. The truth hurts worse when someone else says it out loud.

For a second, neither of you speaks. The noise of the Tipsy Bison hums around you, distant, like you’re underwater.

Tommy leans back, arms folded, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter—gentler.

“I’m not tryin’ to call you out. I’m just tired of watchin’ two good people pretend they don’t want the same damn thing.”

“Fine.” You say it like a weight’s being dragged out of your chest. Your eyes flick up from the mug, settling on Tommy—guarded, but less so than before. “I’ll try.”

The words taste strange coming out, like they don’t quite belong to you yet. But they’re real. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, the wall you’ve been holding up cracks just a little.

You lean back in the booth, staring past Tommy now, past the crowd, into the blurry space where you let yourself imagine something different—something softer.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say to him,” you admit. “But I’ll try. If he still wants to hear it.”

. . .

It’s later now. The sun’s long gone, buried beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep blue and silver. The moon hangs heavy above Jackson, casting a soft, almost mocking glow over the dirt roads and still porches. The air’s thick—hot in that suffocating way that clings to your skin. You tug at your shirt, the fabric damp and stubborn where it sticks to you, like even it doesn’t want to let go.

Joel’s house stands quiet in front of you. Still. Heavy. That same heavy stillness he wears like armor. He's intimidating. Fuck, even his house is.

You stare at the door like it might lunge at you. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to turn around. To walk back home. To pretend like this never happened. But your feet don’t move.

You can’t run anymore. Not from this.

Your hand rises before you even realize it—slow, shaking just enough to betray you—and you knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each one lands like a heartbeat, louder in your chest than it is in the air. And then nothing. Just silence pressing down on you like a second skin.

You swallow hard, already halfway regretting it—but it’s too late now. You’re here.

And he knows it.

You wait, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat, like your body can’t quite decide whether to brace for impact or run. The seconds stretch—long and hollow—and just when you’re about to turn away, the door creaks open.

But it’s not him.

It’s Ellie.

You blink, your posture faltering ever so slightly. She’s standing there barefoot, hoodie slung half-off one shoulder, a brow raised like she’s been expecting something, just not you.

“Oh—” you exhale, breath slipping out in a sigh you didn’t mean to let go. “El, hey.”

Ellie leans on the doorframe, chewing the inside of her cheek for a second, eyes scanning your face like she’s reading a book she’s already halfway through.

“Hey,” she says, casually enough, but there's something knowing behind her tone. “Tommy send you?"

You glance past her, instinctively, but don’t see him. Just low light and a half-finished glass of water on the table inside.

“Is he here?” you ask, softer than you meant to.

Ellie nods, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Yeah. He’s in his room. Pretending he’s not listening.”

She steps aside, wide enough for you to enter, then adds, dry as ever, “Try not to break anything, yeah?”

“Yeah, ’boutta wreck your house,” you tease, giving her a gentle nudge with your shoulder.

Ellie snorts, but her smirk is soft. “Figured. Thanks for the warning.”

You step just inside the doorway, letting the air of the house settle around you—familiar and heavy all at once. The door clicks shut behind you, but it still feels like the world’s wide open, pressing against your back.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, the words leaving your mouth on an exhale like they’ve been sitting in your lungs for weeks. Maybe longer.

Ellie’s smirk fades, and her eyes meet yours, more serious now—older, somehow. “I know,” she says, simple, sincere. “Me too.”

You nod, pressing your lips together to keep the ache at bay. “I know things have been… weird.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, shrugging one shoulder, “Weirds definitely the word.” Then she looks at you again, more gently this time. “But it doesn’t mean they’re broken.”

A silence passes between you, one that feels less awkward and more like mutual understanding. She takes a step back toward the hallway and jerks her chin toward Joel’s room.

“He’s not gonna bite,” she says, almost teasing—almost. “Probably.”

You stand there, staring down the hallway like it’s the mouth of hell itself—dark, quiet, unforgiving.

“Well,” you mutter, squaring your shoulders with mock solemnity, “just so you know… you’re in my will.”

Ellie quirks a brow, arms crossed, already bracing for the punchline.

“And if I don’t come back from this,” you go on, dramatic, waving a hand toward the hallway like you’re heading into battle, “I want you to have my jacket. The one with the fleece inline."

Ellie scoffs. “Wow. Generous.”

“Also, my stash of knitting spools. And—” you glance over your shoulder, dead serious for a beat, “—burn my journal. Don’t read it. I mean it.”

Ellie’s laughter finally breaks through, light but real. “You’re such a dork.”

You flash her a shaky smile, one that barely masks the pounding in your chest. But it’s enough to steady your feet. Enough to take the first step down the hallway.

“Yeahhh,” you breathe, voice low now. “… You're my dork.”

And then you're moving—one slow, inevitable step at a time toward his door.

You take those few agonizing steps toward his door, each one louder in your ears than they should be. The hallway feels longer than it is, stretched by nerves and silence, the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot like a countdown.

You stop in front of the door—his door—and for a second, you just stand there. Your hand lifts before you can talk yourself out of it. A soft knock. Barely audible.

Your voice follows, thinner than you meant. “Joel…?”

Silence.

Then something shifts behind the door. A quiet sound—maybe the creak of floorboards, maybe just your own heartbeat in your ears. The air feels too still, like the house itself is holding its breath.

You swallow. Everything in you feels crooked, like you’ve walked into the middle of something fragile and sacred and utterly unknown. Your knuckles hover near the door again, but you don't knock a second time.

Instead, you speak—awkwardly, gently. “It’s… just me.”

Still nothing. But you know he’s there.

Because that silence? That’s Joel’s kind of silence. The kind packed with meaning. The kind that makes you want to run and stay all at once.

“I guess you could say… Tommy got to me.” You offer it like a half-joke, your voice barely carrying through the door, but it’s all you’ve got. “Wouldn’t shut up, really.”

Nothing yet. Not a sound. But you keep going, because if you stop now, you won’t start again.

“I wanted to talk about… things.” The words stumble out in a rush, awkward and unpolished. You wince the moment they leave your mouth, like you already hate how vague they sound. “About us. About what happened. About what… didn’t happen.”

You let out a shaky breath, one hand ghosting against the doorframe.

“I don’t even know if you want to hear it. Maybe you don’t. I wouldn’t blame you. But I… I’ve been carrying it. All of it. And it’s getting heavy, Joel.”

There’s a quiet inside that doesn’t feel empty—it feels held. Like someone’s standing just beyond the door, rooted in place. Listening.

You lean your forehead against the door, lowering your voice like a secret. “I miss you. Even when you’re right in the same room, I still miss you.”

“I know things have been awkward since we came back… since Salt Lake City.”

The words slip out, slow and uneven, like they’ve been stuck in your throat for months.

“I’ve thought it over a million times in my head,” you admit, your voice softening, fraying at the edges. “What I could’ve done. What I should’ve said. If I made you upset, angry… shit, happy.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter and breathless. “I don’t know. You never told me.”

There’s still nothing from the other side of the door. But you don’t stop. Can’t.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” you whisper. “This thing between us. This silence. I want us to be whatever we were before.”

You pause, your hand resting on the wood like it might anchor you. “Friends?” you offer, the word clumsy on your tongue, too small for what you really mean. “I don’t know.”

And it’s the truth. You don’t. All you know is the ache in your chest and the ghost of what you had—whatever it was—flickering in every quiet second he doesn't speak.

“But I’d rather fumble through it with you… than keep pretending I don’t care.”

You pause, chest rising, falling. Waiting.

The silence is thick—almost suffocating now. Like the walls are leaning in, like the air is pressing too close.

And you know.

You know it deep in your gut, in the stillness that follows your words like a cold wind after a flame.

He won’t talk to you.

He’s not going to.

Maybe he never was.

You pull your hand back from the door like it burned you. Your fingers curl into your palm, like they’re trying to hold something that’s already slipping through.

Your throat tightens, and you bite down on the lump rising there, hard enough to hurt. It’s all unraveling now—the hope, the effort, the trembling truth of how much you wanted this to go differently.

But it didn’t.

And maybe it never would.

You hear it before you see him—a deep, guttural clearing of his throat. The kind of sound that carries years of whiskey and smoke, rough around the edges, just as familiar as the gravel in his voice.

You freeze.

And then you turn—slow, too slow, as if your body can't quite catch up to the pounding in your chest.

Your eyes fall first to a chest too broad, just a little too close. The worn fabric of his shirt stretches tight across his shoulders, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

But it’s when your gaze rises—slowly, reluctantly—that the air hits you like a punch.

It’s him.

Standing there.

You blink, the words coming out softer than you meant, almost lost in the rush of your heartbeat. “Oh.”

The stupid thing is, you thought he’d been in his room, behind that door. You thought he was keeping his distance.

He was never in his room. He was right fucking behind you.

You clear your throat, the sound cutting through the thick air. Your fingers curl into fists, but you don’t look away. Not now. Not when you’ve come this far.

“I had… a lot to say to that door… in case you couldn’t tell,” you say, your voice smooth, confident—maybe even a little too sassy. But it's a mask. And for once, you're not hiding behind it.

Joel's eyes flicker, dark and unreadable, like he's weighing the space between the two of you. His jaw tightens, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of anger, sorrow, and something softer, something dangerous. He steps forward, closing the gap between you, but not too much. Just enough to remind you he’s there, that he's always there. Even when you don’t see him.

“You talk to doors often, now?” His voice is rough, like it’s been sitting under layers of dust and regret.

You shrug, trying to keep the snark, the bravado, up even though it’s crumbling under the weight of his stare. "I thought I’d give it a shot. Guess it didn't work."

Joel exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face like the whole world’s suddenly too damn heavy. Because it is. Your presence alone is heavy. His shoulders are stiff, tense, like he’s holding back an ocean of things he doesn’t want to say—or maybe things he’s too terrified to admit.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he mutters, voice low, gravel rough. "You think you do, but you don’t."

Your heart kicks in your chest, but you don’t flinch. “I think I just want you to talk to me.”

Joel's eyes narrow, his chest rising with a deep breath. You see it—the way his gaze flickers toward the floor, the way his hands twitch like he’s holding himself back from doing something he’ll regret. “You don’t know what it’s like. What I’ve done. Who I am. I—” He pauses, shaking his head like the words won’t leave him, even though they’re clawing at his throat. "I'm not the man you think I am."

You take a step forward, closer, but just enough to show him you’re not afraid. You’re not backing down this time. “I don’t think you're a damn saint, Joel. I know that. I've seen that.” Your voice softens, just a fraction. "But I don’t care about that. I care about you. And I want to fix this. Whatever this is."

Joel’s eyes flick to you—deep, tortured—and for a second, just a second, you see it: the war inside him, the cracks that he’s been trying to keep sealed. His lips press tight, and you can almost feel the weight of his self-loathing hanging between you like a wall too thick to break through.

“You don’t know what I could do to you.” His voice is raw now, quieter. Dangerous. "I ain't good for you."

You shake your head, every bit of your soul pushing back. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

The silence settles between you again, thick and heavy, but you don’t look away. Not this time. Not when you’re finally here, finally saying it. Whatever happens next—whatever he says, whatever he does—you’ll face it. You’ll face him.

“What do you think you’re going to do to me, Joel?” You exhale sharply, feeling the anger bubble in your gut, each word sharp as glass. “Break my heart? Shit! You’re halfway fuckin’ there!”

The words leave you faster than you can control them, a slip of frustration, of everything you've been bottling up for far too long. You hope it doesn’t come off as a confession, but the weight of what you just said lingers in the air between you. The ache you’ve been carrying around—growing like an open wound—is bleeding out. And you hope to God it doesn’t hit him wrong. That whatever oozed from your heart doesn’t make him pull away even more.

You wipe your palms against your jeans, trying to ground yourself before the next words come out, but they do anyway.

“I don’t know what we are, or what I want us to be—but I do know I can’t go without talking to you. Seeing you.”

Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with the same fire. The same desperation.

“Tommy coming to me like you’re already halfway in the ground, begging me to get you to talk to somebody around here. Fuck, Maria thinks you’re a liability.”

You’re pushing, and you know it. But it’s not without reason. The words burn like gasoline on your tongue, and part of you is waiting for him to snap—waiting for that goddamn wall to crack, for any emotion to spill out of him. Anything.

You pause, just long enough for the words to settle between you, before they fall out, heavy and reckless.

“Thinkin’ that if I walked right into that bar and grabbed the first man I’d see… would you do anything about it?”

Joel’s gaze hardens as you speak, each word you throw at him building tension between you like a fuse to a bomb. He’s still standing too close, but this time, it feels like more of a challenge than an invitation.

His jaw tightens, his fists flexing at his sides as if he's trying to hold onto something—control, composure, whatever's left of him.

“You think I’m going to break your heart?” His voice is low, a rough growl that cuts through the air, but there’s something strained in it—something raw, something rabid. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing to you?”

He steps closer, a fraction. “You really think I want to keep you here in this mess?” His eyes burn, a flash of anger now, but something darker, too—fear, regret, maybe guilt. It’s hard to tell with him. But you see it there.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots like he's pulling the anger and pain out of him, trying to keep it from spilling over. His words are like gravel now. Rough, jagged.

“Tommy came to you about me, huh?” His voice drops a little, bitterness creeping in.

“Figures. He’s always had a way of making everyone else carry my weight.” He shakes his head, eyes flicking away momentarily, before settling back on you. “Maria can think whatever the hell she wants. She doesn’t know a damn thing about me. About what I’ve done.”

He doesn’t back away from your challenge. If anything, his presence becomes more imposing, like he’s daring you to push harder.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t care?” he mutters, his voice quiet but thick with something unspoken. His eyes narrow, hard and unyielding. "Do you really think I wouldn’t do anything about it?"

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t touch you—doesn’t move a muscle, as if holding himself back from something he can't control. The silence between you swells. He’s trying to choke back whatever’s clawing at him, and you can feel it in the way he holds himself, rigid and cold.

“I’ve never wanted you to walk away," he says, his tone softer now, "But I’m not the kind of man who deserves you. Not the way you think. I’m trying to keep you safe, and you… you just don’t get it.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Please,” you breathe, the word escaping more like a crack than a whisper, jagged and raw.

Your voice trembles under the weight of it, tears burning behind your eyes—thick and hot, pressing hard against the dam you’re trying so damn hard to keep in place.

“Just let me help.” It slips from you like a split thread, like hope stretched too thin. “Let me do something.”

You blink, once, twice—but the tears don’t fall. Not yet. They just sit there, glassy and defiant, blurring the edges of him as you fight to keep them at bay.

“I don’t want to beg,” you murmur, softer now. Almost ashamed of how close you are to breaking.

But it’s already there—in your voice, your eyes, the way your hands tremble like they’re reaching for something that might never reach back.

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

His face shifts—barely—but you catch it. A flicker of pain that cuts through the stone of him. His mouth opens, then shuts again, like the words hurt too much to form.

“You think I want you to beg?” he growls, but it’s not anger. Not really. It’s fear dressed in anger’s skin. His hands flex, jaw tight, like he wants to grab something—you, maybe—and shake some sense into both of you.

“I hear you talk like that and it makes me feel like I already broke you.”

His voice is low and uneven, the kind of sound that comes from a man who hasn’t cried in years but might start now if he lets go for even a second.

He shifts, takes a step back like he’s trying to create distance between your pain and his guilt, but it doesn’t work. It never works. He may not want it to work.

“You wanna help?” he mutters, not looking at you. “You are the help. Just being here, standing there—looking at me like I’m not… like I’m not some monster—I don’t deserve that.”

He finally meets your eyes again, and this time, there’s no armor left. Just Joel. Just the tired, hollowed-out man beneath all the grit.

“I don’t know how to let you in without ruining you.”

There it is. The truth.

But even then—he hasn’t walked away.

You pause, eyes locked on him, heart pounding so loud it might as well reverberate through the damn room. He looks like something cornered—scarred and tired, a man built of walls too high and wounds too deep.

A feral thing, wounded. Backed into himself. An animal.

“Do…” you falter, swallowing the tightness in your throat. “Do you trust me?”

It's not a weapon. Not a trap. Just a question.

Laid at his feet like an offering. Like maybe, if he says yes—just maybe—something in both of you can finally rest.

His brow furrows slightly, like he doesn’t understand how anyone could still ask him that. How anyone could look him in the eye and mean it.

Then—quietly, a rasp, low and broken like gravel over ash:

“…Yeah. Yes.”

His voice shakes on the word.

“God help me, I do.”

He looks at you like it costs him something to admit it. Like handing you that truth took a piece of him he’ll never get back.

Your breath stumbles out, ragged and quiet, and then—you move.

You reach for him with care, like he’s something fragile under all that roughness. He is. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, steady and deliberate, guiding it upward with a kind of grace that feels almost reverent. Like you’re not just moving his hand—you’re inviting him in.

You press his palm to your skin—just there, along the slope of your collarbone, your jaw. Not forceful. Not demanding.

It’s not control. It’s not surrendereither.

It’s trust. A quiet way of saying: I’m not afraid of you.

Not like you’re afraid of yourself.

And he feels it—how you don't flinch, how you don’t recoil. How you let him in, even here.

Your voice comes low, breath warm, eyes searching his like you’re trying to stitch together something he’s long since torn apart.

“There’s a moment,” you murmur, “before and after someone learns the truth of you… the real you. What you’ve done. What you carry.”

“And in this moment… this world after?”

You tilt your head into his hand, just slightly. Just enough.

“I still choose you.”

Joel doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t blink.

Just stands there, frozen in the raw gravity of your words like they physically hit him—like you knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His hand stays where you placed it, warm and heavy against your skin, but his fingers twitch—once, like he’s unsure if he should pull away or hold tighter.

He should walk away. That’s what the voice in his head screams—the voice that’s always screamed. The one that’s kept him alive through blood, betrayal, and loss. Sarah.

But for the first time in years, he ignores it.

Because the way you're looking at him? Like he's not just a wreckage of a man? It breaks him.

His palm spreads wider, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw like he’s memorizing it, religiously.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he rasps, voice low, nearly pleading, almost broken. “You think you do, but—God, darlin’, you don’t.”

Still, he doesn’t pull away.

He steps closer.

So close the heat from his chest radiates through your skin like fire licking at every nerve. His breath fans against your face, hot, unsteady.

"I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

And then, something shifts—snaps.

His other hand comes up fast, almost desperate, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in. Not rough—not this time. But there’s a bite to it, a hunger barely contained. His forehead leans against yours, the closeness almost unbearable.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he mutters, barely audible. “One day, you’ll see me for what I really am.”

Fuck, you hope so.

His mouth hovers near yours—right there—but he stops. Breath trembling, lips barely apart. Waiting.

For you to move. To choose him again. Even now. Even like this. It's selfish. He doesn't care, he wants to be selfish. Selfish with you.

You lean in, slow and surrendering, your hand resting over his—where it cradles your jaw.

Your body leans into his, like a tide drawn to the gravity of something larger, heavier, older than reason.

It's not an act of bravery.

It's not even hope.

It's desperation—that aching kind. That aching, pathetic kind of deal people make with the devil when they’re too tired to run anymore.

If he wanted you whole, he had you. And if he wanted to ruin you? You’d let him.

Because some part of you knows… he already has. And you're still here, reaching for him like ruin is worth it if you end up with him.

Whatever restraint he was holding cracks apart, splintering into ash. He surges forward—not rough, not angry, but hungry, lips crashing into yours with years of silence and grief behind it. His mouth claims yours like he’s been dying for it, like the taste of you might pull him back from the edge he’s lived on for too damn long.

His hand slips to the back of your neck, the other anchoring at your waist, pulling you tight, flush, his. There’s nothing gentle about it, not after everything. It’s messy. It's flawed.

It's real.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only by a breath, foreheads touching, eyes shut.

“You ruin me,” he whispers, voice frayed. “Every damn day.”

He moves his weight forward, free hand pushing down on the bedroom handle. A quick push and it's open, softly guiding you inside.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, a quiet weight settles between you—backing you into the cool, dim light of the bedroom. His hand still grips your neck, but it’s softer now—more possessive than forceful, as though he’s trying to make sure you’re real, choosing him.

His lips graze your ear, his breath uneven against your skin. The heat from his chest against your back makes it feel like the world outside doesn’t matter—like it’s just the two of you, everything else lost to the storm inside.

His hand slips from your neck, trailing down the curve of your spine, a soft press against the small of your back, urging you closer. And still, he doesn’t speak—only guides you to the bed, each movement slow and deliberate, like the space between you matters.

When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses. He doesn’t push you down. He stands there for a moment, breathing, letting the tension settle like dust between you.

Joel runs a freehand through his hair, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m not the man you think I am,” he says, voice low, broken. "I can’t be."

He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming.

“But if you’re here,” he breathes, “if you’re still here… then I guess we both got somethin’ to prove.”

His lips meet yours again, this time gentler, more desperate. As if he’s trying to hold onto something fleeting—something he’s terrified of losing, even as he’s the one pushing you away.

. . .

The morning light slips through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft slivers of gold across the room. The chirping birds outside are a reminder of the world that continues spinning, oblivious to the quiet, intimate war that’s just been fought between you and him.

The ache in your body? It tells its own story—one of tangled sheets, and a bit more aggression than you thought he'd unleash.

You stretch a little, muscles sore but in the best way, the warmth of his body still lingering like an imprint. A soft, lazy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open, trying to gather the fragments of last night while the day begins to creep in.

The familiar blue comforter. The dark walls. The desk cluttered with wooden shavings, remnants of the life he’s built—a life that always felt like a fortress to keep people out, but last night? Last night, you breached it. You might have even been the main character of it.

You glance over your shoulder and, sure enough, his weight is there beside you. The soft, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the faded sheets. You must have rolled over at some point in the night, tangled yourself up in him without even realizing it. His arm is draped lazily over your hip, like it belongs there—like you belong there.

The faint marks on his collarbones—darker now in the pale morning light—are yours. A trace of the night’s heated exchanges.

That was you.

It feels almost surreal, the contrast between the man he’s always been—gruff, distant—and the one you just saw, the one you touched, held. The one who let his guard down and let you in.

You can still feel him on you, in you. His weight, his warmth, the echoes of his lips against your skin.

The stillness of this moment is almost too much, too peaceful for the chaos you both carry inside. But for now, you don’t think about it. You don’t think about what happens after—about where this goes, what he really means when he says he doesn’t deserve you, or what the hell happens when everything falls apart again.

Instead, you focus on the weight of his hand against your skin, the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips, the soft rasp of his breath so close it makes your pulse quicken. You close your eyes again, breathing him in, and for once, the world outside feels just far enough away.

You lift your hand slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile quiet around you. One fingertip escapes the safety of the blanket and drifts toward him—toward that single curl that’s fallen stubborn across his brows. You brush it back, gentle, and it coils around your finger like it knows you. Like it wants to stay there.

He doesn’t stir.

You stare at him—really stare—and something settles in your chest. Heavy. Bitter. Tender.

It's cruel, you think. Unforgivably cruel, that the world has been so merciless to a man like this. A man who carries so much weight in his shoulders, in the lines carved deep around his mouth and eyes. A man who’s learned to bury softness just to survive.

Because the man before you now? Lying there half-wrapped in sheets and sleep, his hand resting against your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he's nothing like the monster he thinks he is. He feels sweet.

Sweet in the way his fingers twitch in his sleep, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Sweet in the quiet tension of his jaw, even now—like he’s still fighting demons. Sweet in the memory of his mouth on yours, rough, desperate, demanding.

It’s almost unbearable. It feels like something holy.

Your fingers drift lower, slow and reverent, tracing the hardened edge of his jaw—rough with stubble, sharp from years of clenched teeth. It’s not a perfect jawline, not clean or pretty, but it’s his.

Your thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, then down, brushing gently over his bottom lip. He stirs just slightly, not fully waking, but reacting. His breath hitches faintly, and you pause, holding your touch steady.

You wonder if he’s dreaming. If, in that dark, quiet place behind his eyes, he still sees fire. Blood. Regret. So, you touch him like you can rewrite it.

"Handsome," you murmur, more to the moment than to him.

Because he is. Handsome in a way the world would never see. In the way he loves, fiercely and silently. In the way he breaks apart at night and still holds people together by day. Always a protector. Never protected.

You lean forward just enough to press a barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth—soft, chaste, real.

And when you pull back, his eyes are open. Heavy-lidded. Watching you. He heard you.

His eyes don’t move at first—just stay fixed on you, heavy and unreadable, like he’s still trying to wake up from something deeper than sleep. You feel the weight of that stare settle into your ribs, slow and silent.

Then, finally, he blinks. A breath. A shift in the sheets.

"Good morning," you whisper, a little softer this time—as if saying it too loud might break the spell of him staying.

You try to lighten it, teasing to fill the silence. "I can’t promise I wasn’t doing anything weird while you were sleeping,” you murmur, your voice playful, lips curling as you roll onto your stomach. Elbows press into the plush give of the mattress, propping yourself up just enough to face him.

Only then does the flick of your gaze drop—chest bare, collarbone exposed. The comforter barely modest where it rests along the dip of your spine. He’s just as bare. Both naked. Still.

Joel exhales through his nose—soft. His hand flexes slightly where it’s still tangled in the sheet between you, then reaches, slow and unsure, to tuck the corner of the comforter back across your back. His knuckles drag against your skin. Not by accident.

“You always talk this much in the mornin’?” he rasps, voice thick with sleep and gravel.

You watch the way his eyes settle on you again, less guarded now, like whatever armor he wears hasn’t quite returned to him yet. He sees you—not just in his bed, but here. Still here.

“Only when I wake up next to someone handsome,” you murmur, "…which doesn't happen often."

Joel huffs a breath—something between a scoff and a laugh—and drags a hand down his face. He doesn't say anything right away. But then his fingers drift toward you again, rough palm finding your hip under the covers.

You move closer—slowly, deliberately—testing the weight of the morning, the strength of what last night left behind. The sheet shifts with you, sliding down your back just enough to expose more skin to the chill of the room, but you don’t care. He’s warm.

Your hand drifts upward, fingers threading into his curls—messy from sleep, soft in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him. You let your nails scrape gently against his scalp. Soothing and affectionate.

He leans into it. Barely. But he does.

"Regret your decision yet?" you whisper, voice teasing at the edge, daring him to pull back. To throw up walls. But there’s tenderness laced in the words, too—a crack in your own armor.

Joel’s eyes flicker open wider, finding yours in that hazy glow of morning. His jaw works for a second, like he’s chewing over every version of no that he doesn’t know how to say right. Then, his hand slips from your hip to your waist, palm warm and grounding.

“No,” he says, low and solid.

Then quieter—more broken: “Just scared you’re gonna wake up and regret yours.”

And there it is—laid bare between you. Not lust, not anger, not even love.

Fear.

He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to. The silence after his words says everything: he’s afraid he’ll ruin this. Ruin you. That whatever passed between you last night was a kindness he’s not meant to keep.

But his hand stays. And his eyes stay. And so do you.

You study him in silence, eyes drifting across the lines etched into his face—Every scar, every shadow, you take in as if remembering them.

Then, softer, a little teasing: "What's your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?" Your smile curves as you lean deeper into the sheets, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.

He grunts—barely more than a sound, but it’s a start.

“You ask a lotta damn questions,” he mutters.

The bed shifts as he moves, sitting halfway up with the sheet tangled around his waist. His back’s to you now—broad, scarred, tense. Like he’s already regretting last night, or maybe just the part where it meant something.

He runs a hand through his hair, rough. “Don’t got a favorite,” he says, after a beat. “Food’s food.”

But it’s a lie, and you both know it.

Another beat.

“… Pancakes,” he adds gruffly. “With butter. None o’ that syrup crap.”

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t let you see the look on his face. Keeps his voice flat like it doesn’t matter. Like you didn’t just break something open in him he’s been holding shut for years.

"So, I'll make pancakes." You stir, sitting up against the sheets. Softly—you lean over and embrace him in warmth. Hugging him from behind. Bare chest pressed against scarred and ripped skin, hands softly tracing against his hips.

Joel stiffens under your touch like he's not used to it—like the idea of someone holding him just to hold him sets off alarms he can’t quite silence. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades, skin against scar, breath against memory.

He doesn't move at first.

Then his hand lifts—hesitates—and finally lands on yours, resting where it’s wrapped around his hips Not gripping, not pulling you closer. Just there.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he says. Gruff.

You can feel his heartbeat—strong, steady. Alive.

“Pancakes,” he repeats, quieter this time. And you catch the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough.

“Don’t burn ‘em.”

His voice is softer now. Still rough, still Joel.

You slide from the bed in a hush, the sheets whispering behind you. Before distance can settle in, you lean in close and press a kiss to his temple—fleeting. Like it might ward off the ghosts for just a moment.

Your bare feet tap gently across the worn hardwood, and the air bites a little colder when you aren't caged against the warmth of him. The room is dim and quiet, dust caught in slivers of early morning light. It smells like old wood, whiskey, faint cedar. Him.

You scan everything—the way he lives, the wooden spooled mess he doesn’t clean up. Everything here is stitched with the weight of a life survived, not lived.

Your hand finds his flannel slung over the back of a chair, worn soft from time and habit. You slip it on — oversized and heavy with warmth—and spin once as you finish buttoning it up, grinning through a small exhale.

“Feelin’ like Joel Miller already,” you say, half to yourself, half to him.

From the bed, he lets out a small scoff. Doesn’t sound amused. Doesn’t sound angry either.

“Careful,” he mutters, voice raspy with the morning. “That ain’t somethin’ you wanna catch.”

You glance back at him — the way he’s still sitting there, one arm draped over his knee, body cut from shadow and silence. He watches you like you're some dream that he doesn't know how to comprehend.

“I dunno,” you say, quieter now. “Might be worth it.”

He looks away, jaw tight. Like he wants to believe you but doesn’t trust belief.

You round the corner, still in his flannel, steps light, almost playful—until the smell of coffee hits first. Familiar, grounding. But something else follows, quick on its heels. A shift. Presence.

“Joel? Did you make coff—” You stop.

She’s already there. Leaning against the counter, mug in hand, eyes too sharp for someone her age.

Ellie.

Your breath hitches half a beat, and you straighten instinctively. She somehow still manages to fill the room like she owns it — like she’s been here longer than time itself.

She nods toward the two mugs on the counter, smug as anything. “Made you coffee,” she says. Then, with a shit-eating grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows: “I guess the talk went well… last night.”

It’s not even a question. You blink, caught between embarrassment and a laugh. “Jesus… Ellie.”

“Not quite,” she shrugs, sipping from her mug. “But thanks.”

You lean against the frame of the doorway, tugging the flannel a little tighter around you. She catches the motion—notices it’s Joel’s—and her eyes glint with mischief.

“What time did you… get back last night?” you ask, trying to recover.

She shrugs again. “Early enough to hear him snore like a dying bear. Which, by the way, you might wanna get checked out. I thought something was in the walls.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head.

There’s a pause — just enough time for the teasing to fade. She looks at you for real now. Not cruel. Not guarded. Just watching.

Ellie nods, satisfied enough for now. Then she pushes the second mug toward you.

“Drink up, Flannel Thief,” she says. “You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Your eyes practically roll in your head. "Listen… I can't be teased about this forever… Can't you just say… ew gross old people, and get on with it?" You lean against the countertop, fingers reaching for pancake things. Measuring cup… bowl… something to mix with…

Ellie snorts, clearly delighted, and sips her orange juice with exaggerated smugness.

“Oh no, no no. See, you wish that’s how this worked,” she grins, watching you pull out a mixing bowl like it’s part of a comedy routine. “But unfortunately for you, I’m a mature and emotionally evolved young woman who believes in holding adults accountable… for being disgustingly affectionate in my presence.”

You groan, grabbing the nearly empty pancake mix box and shaking it, “You're 15.”

“Old people sex,” Ellie says flatly, grinning into her mug. “Right in the next room over. You should be ashamed. Honestly.”

You shoot her a look, but there’s no heat in it. “Alright, alright, Jesus. I’m already dying inside.”

She shrugs. “Then my work here is done.”

You start pouring contents into the bowl. She watches, but it’s not really about the pancakes. There’s a lull. Not awkward, just quiet—and when she speaks again, her tone’s softer. But still unmistakably Ellie.

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs, “I’ve never seen him sleep past dawn unless he was half-dead or actually happy.”

You stop whisking for a second, glance over. Her eyes are downcast, but not sad. More cautious and hope. Like she’s letting herself believe in something for once.

You offer a small smile. “Well… he’s still in bed, so either he’s dead, and I murdered him… or you’re stuck with me a little while longer.”

She doesn’t smile back right away, but her voice comes light:

“I guess I’ll deal.”

Behind you, you hear the floor creak — heavy, slow steps — and you know it’s Joel before you even turn. You don't look right away. You just pour the batter onto the skillet and ask over your shoulder:

“You want one pancake or two, old man?”

Joel stands in the doorway like he’s been there a minute, just listening. His hair’s a mess — that soft, grizzled kind of disheveled that only makes him look more like himself. The blue robe hangs open over a threadbare white T-shirt and those familiar flannel pants, one tie dragging against the floor. He scratches the back of his head like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

You turn to face him fully, spatula in one hand, the smell of browning batter filling the quiet between you.

“Or none at all,” you add, eyebrow raised, “since you think my cooking is sooo bad.”

His eyes flick between you and Ellie — who’s already pretending not to watch while sipping from her mug like it’s the most dramatic scene in a movie.

Joel exhales through his nose, like it’s taking every ounce of restraint not to be dragged into the teasing.

“You burn toast,” he says simply.

You gasp. “It was one time.”

Ellie raises a hand. “It was two. That I know of.”

Joel just walks to the table and sits down with a grunt, clearly satisfied with himself. “I’ll take two. Since you’re wearin’ my damn shirt, might as well feed me too.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Cute."

Joel grumbles something under his breath, but there’s a warmth in his eyes when he looks at you. Tired, guarded, but not closed off like before. Not entirely.

Ellie leans back in her chair, hands behind her head, eyes gleaming.

“This is so weird,” she mutters. “But also… kinda nice.”

Joel gives her a side-eye. “You don’t like it, you can go live with Tommy.”

She snorts. “Please. Free food and emotional bonding? I’m thriving.”

You plate up the pancakes and slide a stack in front of each of them, sitting across from Joel, your knee brushing his under the table. For the first time, the room feels full. Not just lived in—but alive.

You sit quietly, trying to act like it’s nothing—just breakfast, just fuckin' pancakes—but your fingers twist together in your lap beneath the table. It’s stupid. How nervous you are. Not just for him to like it, but for her to like it. Like somehow their approval means this whole fragile, reckless thing has weight.

Joel eats like a man who doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying it. No theatrics, no compliments—just steady bites and the occasional small nod, like his silence is the only permission he knows how to give.

Ellie? She’s less subtle. She drowns hers in syrup and makes dramatic noises of satisfaction with every bite, clearly enjoying the chance to be chaotic.

“Not bad, Flannel Thief,” she says through a mouthful. “A solid seven-point-five. Could be higher with chocolate chips.”

You chuckle lightly, the knot in your chest loosening by a thread. “Next time, then.”

Joel’s fork slows, just for a second.

You catch it. You always do.

Next time.

You glance up at him again, eyes following the shape of his arms, those worn-in muscles that always carry more than just weight. They carry history. Guilt. Survival. Safety. Everything you never thought you'd find again.

Then your gaze reaches his face, and he’s already watching you.

Those brown eyes—soft in the morning light, a little wary, a little tired—but still warm. Still him.

You try to hide how much you’re looking. How much you want this to be something real.

“Y’know,” you murmur, voice just for him, “you don’t have to eat it out of guilt. I can handle the truth.”

Joel snorts softly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ain’t guilt. Just quiet. You oughta try it sometime… maybe next time.”

But there’s the smallest twitch at the edge of his mouth. The ghost of a smile, buried under years of practiced gruffness.

And for a moment, it feels like maybe. Just maybe. You're not the only one hoping this sticks.

masterlist

a/n2: this has been in my notes app ... ignore mistakes pls

[itsnesss]

hi! how are you? i was thinking maybe max x reader where reader just needs a hug. like maybe someone has made her feel bad and she just can't help but crumble into his arms, sobbing in his chest. hurt-comfort kinda :)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you come home shattered after a rough day. max sees through your silence, holds you as you break down, and comforts you with quiet love

warnings | emotional distress, crying, hurt/comfort themes, mention of self-doubt/insecurity, soft fluff and vulnerability

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The day had started like any other. You woke up to the sound of your alarm, answered a few messages, even dared to wear that sweater you love so much the one Max always says makes you look “ridiculously adorable.” But as the hours passed, something inside you began to crumble, as if the world was mocking your efforts to hold yourself together.

It started with an offhand comment, one of those disguised as a joke but aimed straight at the heart. It wasn’t the first time someone questioned your place, your decisions, your way of being. But today, it caught you off guard. The words cut deep, right into that corner of your chest where you keep all your insecurities, that place Max tries to fill with his affection, but that sometimes just opens up on its own.

You pretended to be fine. You smiled. You nodded. You even made a joke yourself, as if it didn’t matter.

But it did matter.

It mattered so much that the moment you walked into the apartment you share with Max, everything felt heavy. You dropped your keys on the entryway table, like always, but you didn’t take off your shoes. Or your jacket. You just stood there, back against the wall, feeling your eyes well up with tears without permission.

Max was in the living room, checking something on his tablet—maybe telemetry or a strategy for the next race. When he saw you, his expression changed instantly.

"Love?" he asked softly, setting the tablet aside. "Are you okay?"

You couldn’t answer. You just shook your head, trying to say yes, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled completely with tears.

Max reached you in two steps, quick but unrushed, with that way he has of respecting your space without staying too far.

"Hey… look at me," he whispered, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "What happened?"

And that was it.

Your body trembled. Your lips broke into a muffled sob. You shut your eyes tight and threw yourself against his chest as if it were the only safe place on earth.

Max held you without another word. His arms wrapped around you with firmness, as if he could hold together all the shattered pieces you were trying so hard to keep intact. His chin rested on your head, and he began to sway you gently, while your tears soaked his shirt.

"You’re here now," he murmured into your hair. "I’m with you. You don’t have to say anything yet."

Your fingers clutched his back as if you were going to disappear, and he simply held you. Patiently. Calmly. Lovingly.

Because sometimes, understanding isn’t what matters. Just being there.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, in his arms, your face buried in his chest as your world melted into tears. The silence between you was warm, soft, as if Max knew exactly that you didn’t need solutions, just comfort.

When your crying slowly began to ease, you felt his hand stroking your back in slow circles, and his other hand interlaced with yours.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly, no pressure, just leaving the door open for you to step through when you were ready.

You took a deep breath. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. He wasn’t in a rush he just looked at you with that tenderness that seemed reserved only for you. And then the words began to come, halting, with pauses and knots in your throat.

"It was something stupid…" you murmured, hating how vulnerable you felt. "Someone said something. Like a joke. But it hurt. It made me feel… like I don’t matter. Like everything I do is a joke."

Max frowned. Not in anger toward you, but toward whoever had made you feel that way.

"Who was it?"

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cause trouble. You just wanted the pain to go away.

"It doesn’t matter. It’s just that… I was already holding in so much. And that was like… the last drop."

Max brought your hands to his lips and kissed them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"Of course it matters," he said, his tone firm but full of care. "Because if something hurts you, then it matters. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. You’re not a joke. You’re not less. And if someone made you feel that way, they clearly don’t know who you really are."

His words broke you a little more, but this time in a different way. As if each sentence was unraveling the knot of guilt you carried in your chest.

"Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in," you whispered. "Like I’m less than everyone else. Like I don’t have the right to be tired, or sad, or hurt."

Max shook his head, eyes locked on yours.

"You have the right to all of that and more. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. I’m here to hold you up when you can’t anymore. Always."

And then he hugged you again, tighter this time, as if trying to rebuild you from scratch with nothing but his embrace.

"You fit with me," he added, whispering in your ear. "In my life, in my world. And if the world doesn’t see how lucky it is to have you, then the problem is with the world not you."

A silent tear rolled down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was relief.

After that hug, there wasn’t much left to say… but Max still wasn’t ready to let go of you completely.

He helped you take off your jacket, took your hand, and led you to the couch as if you were made of glass—not out of pity, but out of genuine care. He made sure you were comfortable, knelt in front of you, and studied your face for a moment in silence, as if checking for any shadows that still lingered.

"Don’t move, okay?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What are you going to do?"

"Trust me."

And you did.

A few minutes later, the sound of the coffee machine filled the quiet of the house, followed by the soft crinkle of a cookie bag. It wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t an expensive gift or a surprise trip. But when Max returned to the living room with your favorite cookies, a mug of warm milk, and a blanket in the other hand, you understood something important.

It wasn’t the gesture itself. It was the way.

It was how he remembered what you liked when you were sad. How he knew exactly what to say without pushing. How he looked at you—as if even after seeing you fall apart, you were still his favorite person in the world.

He sat next to you and wrapped the blanket around you with a care that felt like pure love. Then he handed you the mug and settled beside you, pulling you against his chest while his fingers played with your hair.

"Did I tell you today how brave you are?" he murmured suddenly.

You shook your head with a shy smile.

"Well, you are. A lot. But even brave people need to rest. Cry. Feel bad. That doesn’t make them weak. It makes them real."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling more at peace than you had all day.

"Thank you, Max."

"Always," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "This is your place. And no one—absolutely no one—has the right to make you feel otherwise."

He didn’t respond with more words. He didn’t need to. He just hugged you tighter, let the silence speak for you both, and for the first time all day… you felt like you could breathe again.

[millie-multifics]

Miles to Go

Jack Abbot x f!Attending!Reader

Dr. Robby and the day shift take over, though not before he can question Jacks new interest in you. You are forced to take a break as you are determined to prove you’re okay.

Warnings: Talk of death & severe injuries, self-doubt, pining.

Word Count: ~1.6

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x x x

Hour Four: Day Shift

7:00am

You leaned on the tall counter at the main nurse hub, trying to relieve the pain radiating through your lower leg as you focused on the tablet, reviewing patient notes for Dana to update the board. You updated the status of Abbot’s deceased trauma victim and added your name to a few patients who you had triaged that had made it to the back but had yet to see a doctor for further action.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

You glanced up from the tablet to give Frank your best glare. He had always been an instigator, teasing anyone about anything.

“Ignore him.” McKay joined in on the glare, before giving you a quick once over. “You look good.”

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” You leaned into Dana’s welcoming hug, accepting the caring embrace.

“I’m doing good.” You smiled reassuringly, though the charge nurse knew you well enough to recognize your discomfort with the attention. “Bridget had to step out a few minutes early and Abbot went for some air, so I prepared everything for you to takeover.”

The sun burned gold slightly above the horizon as Jack and Robby stepped into the elevator, journeying back to the ED. Both men plagued with the weight of death, Abbot with the trauma patient he had given his all to and Robby with the anniversary of Adamson. It was quiet for a moment before Robby spoke.

“How is she doing?” It was obvious who he was asking about, even without using your name. Abbot sent him a glance, remembering what Bridget had told him this morning. The confirmation he had received when you did not try to deny it, just asked how he had known that Robby had stayed the night with you.

“Seems to be doing okay. Had her in triage but didn’t stay there for long.” He explained, eyes glued to the ripped flyer promoting STI prevention. His mouth opened once more before he could stop himself: “I heard you spent the night?”

Robby had worked alongside Jack for a long time, one of the few people he had spent time with outside of the hospital walls. He would consider the veteran his friend, a buddy to share a beer and catch the game with every once in awhile, and he easily clocked the mans pointed curiosity.

“Something happen between the two of you?” Robby asked, but Jack was saved by the elevator doors opening. “Look, I don’t know what went on with you two, I only know what I can see.”

Robby paused, moving to block Jack’s escape route from a conversation he would rather avoid. “You hear she’s hurt, and you come in here like a bat out of hell, spend months helping her out then suddenly one day come in and ask me to start checking in on her.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, mimicking Jack’s moves to force the doctor to make eye contact. “Whatever happened, it’s really none of my business but I know last night she was feeling lonely. She invited me over for pizza and we fell asleep watching reruns of ER, that’s as far as it went, brother.”

His assurances hung in the balance, Jack digesting his words. Nothing nefarious had happened, he trusted Robby’s word on that. You had felt lonely, that made his chest ache.

“ER? She had me watching Grey’s Anatomy.”

Jack frowned as he observed you leaning against on the nurse’s station. He recognized the stance; it was one that you had called him out for when his prosthetic was particularly uncomfortable. Your leg was bugging you, to be expected as you had yet to spend much time on it since it healed. It had been brutal; transverse split of the tibia and compound fracture of the fibula, surgery and pins to realign then a heavy cast for six weeks. You had gotten your cast removed earlier than anyone had originally anticipated, replaced with a walking boot to keep it stabilized until two weeks ago. The orthopedic surgeon and physiotherapist had agreed you were clear to return to work, with restrictions, but you were more focused on proving to everyone (including yourself) that you were good and capable rather than taking care of yourself.

“Morning, Dr. Robby.”

“You,” He frowned overdramatically, “Need to buy new coffeemaker, that thing is possessed.”

You scoffed, offended for your precious Patricia. You had tried to get a new coffeemaker; you had shopped around over the years, but no one made the perfect tasting cup like her.

“Patricia just needs a little love and affection while she’s brewing.” Jack knew the struggle of the coffeemaker all too well, being faced with the flooded counter of hot liquid many times before you shared your secrets. The handle of the carafe had to be facing your kitchen window, and you could not fill the water reservoir with a drop over 4 cups otherwise the filter would backup.

“You would be the type to name your coffee maker.” Langdon quipped before quickly spinning on his heel to lead rounds to avoid your wrath.

You watched the students depart, glaring at the back of Langdon’s head. Suddenly, you realized that you had been left alone with Jack who had finished on the computer and was now leaning on the counter beside you, close enough that his warm elbow and bicep brushed the sleeve of your black scrubs.

“Time for a break, meet me in the lounge?” His tone left no room for protest. You knew that running or hiding would be futile, you could no longer avoid the stern look of concern he had been giving you all morning.

Chairs scraped the floor, not yours, the wheelchair you were bound to as your body healed had been parked by Jack before he claimed the seat to your left. You had not missed the way he had slid his chair closer to you. He had insisted about a month into your misery that he take you out; you needed a desperate break from the bleak walls of your apartment and worn couch. The last place you expected to be was seated in a circle of Veterans. He had unintentionally mentioned you the week before when he attended the meeting, brief snippets of what had occurred and your obvious struggle to allow yourself to heal. A few of the members encouraging him to bring you along.

At first you had felt out of place, like an intrusion into their shared traumas and camaraderie. You simply listened as some opened up more than others, each with their own story and struggles.

Details of how they were injured were generally kept minimal, sparing you the gory realities of war but they were honest about their struggles, both physical and emotional.

When it was Jacks turn, you listened intently. Until recently you had only ever known calculative, level-headed Jack. This was new, surprising, the way he shared his struggles so openly; the blood of fallen comrades, the loss of his own limb then his wife passing just as he had gotten a grip on his new reality, becoming a doctor to fill the void and doing his damn best everyday to help those in need.

Then it was your turn, but your struggles felt miniscule compared to those around you. Jack sensed your hesitation.

“You can share, or not, if you’re not ready.” He ducked his head to force your avoidant eye contact, “But we’ve experienced firsthand that you can’t heal until you face it.”

“My problems seem so tiny compared to the struggles you all face.” You spoke directly to Jack, keeping your voice low.

“You’ve been through a trauma, sure it may not be the same kind,” He reached for your hand, carefully as to not disturb the sling holding your clavicle in position, “But that does not make it insignificant.”

His thumb brushed the back of your hand, the warmth of his palm pressed against yours brought you ease- his hands were significantly softer than you had expected them to be.

“You should really be sitting.” His gruff voice from behind you caused you to blink back into reality. The barren room with the veteran’s circle was replaced with the empty emergency department staff lounge. You had been leaning on the counter, lost in reverie.

He pulled one of the chairs away from the table, signalling for you to sit. You rolled your eyes but obliged, silently acknowledging that doctors really did make the worst patients. He dragged another chair closer, a soft groan leaving his lips as he bent to lift your left leg onto the chair.

“Keep that elevated.” He instructed before reaching into his pocket, fishing out an icepack, “Put that on your collar for a little while, that CPR must’ve hurt.”

You hummed, not bothering to deny it as he could see right through you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, claiming the seat across the table from you, leaning on his forearms as he studied you.

“Obviously sore, apparently.”

“If it gets any worse, let Robby know. He’s got enough staff on board that you could go home and rest. No one would judge you for that.”

You both knew that there was no way in hell you would be doing that. You would rather suffer in silence.

“You doing okay though?” He asked again, concern painted all over his face as he thought about when he had spotted you earlier attempting to hide your distress in the bathroom.

You nodded, chin ducking to your chest to break eye contact. It was truly debatable in that moment, were you okay? Sure, you had a slight drawback this morning and your body was crying to go home and crawl into your bed but the feeling settling in your chest as Jack fussed over you felt heavier than the rest of it all.

x x x

Tags: @nosebeers @eugene-emt-roe @wolfbc97 @qardasngan

[rafes-honey]

Thinking of… °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sweetheart!pogue!reader x Rafe hooking up.

She never meant for this to happen. She was supposed to stay away from Rafe Cameron—he hated everything she stood for. She was a Pogue, and he made that fact clear every time he looked at her like she was dirt under his shoe.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was looking at her like he wanted to tear her apart.

It started with a stare across the fire pit. Everyone else was drunk, laughing, loud. She shouldn’t have even been there. But he caught her eye, that look flickering through his gaze—the one that always left her breathless.

Then, he moved. Straight into the Chateau. Didn’t say a word.

She followed five minutes later. She shouldn’t have. She did anyway.

He was waiting in the back room, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers, jaw clenched.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he said low, voice rough like gravel. “Like you want me to ruin you.”

She swallowed. “You hate me.”

“No,” he growled, stepping forward, eyes locked on hers. “I hate all Pogues. I fucking despise them. But you?”

He grabbed her, spun her, shoved her back against the door and kissed her like it was war.

Teeth. Tongue. All dominance.

His hands were everywhere—yanking her shirt up, pulling at her shorts, dragging his fingers along her inner thigh until she was shaking.

“You’re not walking out of here without my hands all over you,” he breathed against her neck. “I’m gonna ruin you for every Pogue you think you’re safe around.”

His fingers slid inside her panties and he groaned when he felt how soaked she was.

“Fuck, sweetheart… You’ve been wet for me this whole time?”

She whimpered, hips grinding into his hand.

He kissed her again—filthy and deep—while his fingers worked her open, pumping slow, teasing strokes until she was moaning into his mouth.

Then he pulled back and dragged her to the bed, eyes dark and wild.

“On your knees.”

She obeyed, hands trembling as she worked at his belt. He watched her every move like a predator—cock hard and leaking when she pulled him free.

“You wanna be a good little Pogue slut, huh? Open your mouth.”

She took him deep, and Rafe’s head fell back with a groan, hand fisting in her hair.

“Yeah… fuck, just like that,” he grunted. “Goddamn, you look good with your mouth full of me.”

He didn’t last long—he was too keyed up, too gone. He pulled out before he came, shoving her back on the bed, dragging her shorts down.

“You’re gonna take it, sweetheart. Every inch.”

And she did.

He slammed into her, hard and raw, no holding back. His grip bruised her hips. Every thrust had her crying out, back arching under him.

“You feel that?” he growled in her ear. “That’s what it feels like to be mine.”

“Rafe—fuck—”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, shaking. “I’m yours—I’m yours—I’m—”

He came with a growl, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Then he collapsed over her, chest heaving.

He didn’t pull out.

And when he finally looked at her—hair messy, lips swollen, skin flushed—he whispered it like a threat:

“You’re mine now. Don’t forget it.”

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Four

Azzi felt the energy in the gym as soon as she stepped through the door. The sound of basketballs bouncing, shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and the low hum of voices talking strategy all collided together to create a familiar buzz she hadn’t realized she missed. She was here—UConn, surrounded by the women she could only dream of playing with.

Paige walked beside her, her pace steady but her smile wide, like she couldn’t wait to show Azzi off to everyone. The team was scattered across the court, some running drills, others chatting and stretching. Azzi tried to act casual, but her heart was already beating faster than it should have been. She knew she was about to be introduced to a new chapter of her life—one that felt both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

“Alright, here we go,” Paige said, nudging Azzi with her elbow. “These are my girls.”

They walked up to the sidelines where the team had gathered, and as Paige’s voice rang out, the chatter died down. Eyes shifted toward them, and Azzi felt all of them land on her. She stood up a little straighter, trying to hide the nerves, but there was no mistaking the flutter in her stomach.

“Hey everyone,” Paige called out, drawing a few amused looks from the group. “This is Azzi. She’s, uh… she’s about to make us look bad with that three-point shot of hers, so just get ready.”

A few of the players laughed, and Azzi felt her cheeks heat up. She had, admittedly, practiced her three-pointer more than she cared to admit. She wasn’t trying to make anyone look bad, but she wasn’t about to downplay it either.

“Ayy, I see you,” Aaliyah said with a grin, nudging Saylor, who had a teasing glint in her eyes. “We’ve heard about you. Paige talks about you all the time, girl. I swear, I thought you were already on the team with how much she hyped you up.”

Azzi laughed, a little nervous but trying to keep it cool. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, we know about that three-pointer of yours,” Saylor said, giving her a wink. “But I’m not convinced you can outshoot us.”

Azzi shook her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she teased.

As the team laughed, Paige rolled her eyes, her lips quirking up as she muttered, “I hate that you’re already ganging up on me.”

The team was warm, welcoming, and easygoing, but Azzi couldn’t ignore the buzz of nerves swirling in her stomach. This was it. The dream she’d been chasing. These were the girls she was going to be playing with. Paige’s teammates.

Evina shot her a smirk, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “So, we’re just letting anyone in here now?” she teased, but there was a hint of respect in her tone. “Nah, I’m just playing. I’ve seen you in action. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Azzi felt her face flush under the weight of all the attention. Paige stood off to the side, watching her with an expression Azzi couldn’t quite place. She was so used to seeing Paige in control, confident, and now, here she was, practically glowing as she introduced Azzi to the team.

“You gonna be alright?” Paige asked softly, her eyes focused on Azzi like she was waiting for her to give the signal that she was okay.

Azzi gave a quick nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little overwhelmed.”

Paige smiled and nodded, her gaze lingering on Azzi for a beat longer than necessary. Azzi caught it—a brief, soft look that made her stomach do a little flip.

“Good,” Paige said, a little too fast. She quickly cleared her throat, as if shaking herself out of the moment. “Alright, let’s go, we need to get this warm-up in.”

But even as they started moving, Azzi could feel Paige’s eyes following her, even as she talked with the rest of the team. Every now and then, Paige would glance over her shoulder, her eyes lingering a second too long on Azzi. It wasn’t lost on her that, for once, it wasn’t her usual competitive gaze—it was something softer, something… more personal.

The girls slowly drifted back to their pre-game routines. Azzi found herself standing by Geno watching as they started their stretches. Aaliyah and Saylor walked over, her voice barely above a whisper. “By the way, Paige is, like, totally into you, no cap. She won’t stop talking about you.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, but before she could respond, Saylor jumped in with a laugh. “Oh, she’s totally right. Paige is practically in love with you, Azzi. I’m surprised she’s not holding your hand right now, honestly.”

Azzi felt her heart race in a mix of confusion and something that felt almost like excitement. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. She had to keep her cool.

“You guys are terrible,” Azzi said, trying to play it off as casually as possible.

“Nah, we’re just saying it how it is,” Aaliyah grinned, giving her a light shove. “Don’t worry, though. We’re just teasing. But seriously, no pressure.”

Azzi laughed and nodded, but it was hard to ignore the feeling that was spreading through her chest. Something new. Something that wasn’t just about basketball anymore.

The team gathered in a huddle as Coach began giving instructions for the warm-up. Paige moved into the circle, standing across from Azzi with a focused look in her eyes. Azzi caught her looking at her once again, but this time, Paige’s gaze lingered for just a moment too long, and then quickly darted away.

Azzi bit her lip, trying to shake the feeling of her heart racing again. But it was hard to ignore how much this—everything—felt like a beginning.

Maybe it was the game. Maybe it was just the fact that she was finally here, standing beside Paige, surrounded by these incredible women. Or maybe it was the way Paige couldn’t stop glancing her way, her lips pulling into that smile that Azzi had always loved.

Whatever it was, it felt like something important was happening. And Azzi couldn’t quite shake the sense that things were about to change in a way that neither of them were ready for.

But for now, she’d settle for just playing basketball, even if that meant having to navigate the unexpected emotions swirling in her chest.

Because, after all, this was the life she’d dreamed of. And it was finally happening.

The air was thick with the hum of a long practice winding down as the team spilled off the court and into the locker room. Azzi, still a little high from the rush of the scrimmage, quickly excused herself from the group, making her way to the hallway where she’d be meeting Geno and CD for a meeting that would change everything. She could feel the weight of the decision already settling in her chest—this wasn’t just about basketball anymore. This was about her future, about her life at UConn.

But first, the team.

As she passed the locker room entrance, she noticed Paige lingering at the doorway. The sight of her, with her hoodie pulled up and her damp hair falling loosely around her face, made Azzi pause. Paige caught her eye for a second, giving her a soft smile before heading inside.

“See you upstairs, right?” Azzi called out, trying to sound casual, but her voice held that little edge of uncertainty.

Paige nodded, her eyes softening. “Yeah, I’ll catch up. Don’t keep them waiting too long.”

Azzi nodded back, forcing herself to keep it together as she turned to head toward the stairs. But she couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips as she made her way up toward the offices. She’d never been this nervous about a decision in her life. UConn—this place, this team, everything—felt like home already. But still, committing was a huge deal. A permanent one. Especially for an indecisive person like herself. 

Meanwhile, back in the locker room, the tension was almost palpable. The team had just finished showering, and the conversations started up quickly, as always, but today they had a different topic on their minds.

“Yo, Paige,” Nika called out from across the room, leaning against the lockers with a grin plastered on her face. “I see you over there, acting all shy. What’s up with you and Azzi, huh?”

Paige froze mid-motion, her hands still tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie as she tried to dodge the question. “What?” she said, her tone a little too defensive. “Nothing. We’re just—”

“Just what?” Aaliyah interrupted with a smirk, crossing her arms as she leaned against the bench. “Girl, don’t act like we don’t see how you’ve been looking at her all practice. You’ve been practically glowing every time she shoots a three-pointer.”

“She’s got skills,” Paige muttered, brushing off the comment like it was no big deal. “It’s just basketball.”

But the teasing wouldn’t stop. Evina chimed in, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Girl, you know we can tell. The way you’re all overprotective about her now, like she’s your little sister or something. Are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

“You’re seriously acting like a big sister now,” Aubrey said with a laugh. “Is that why you’re suddenly looking after her? Gotta watch out for her, huh?”

Paige was starting to feel the heat, her face flushing despite herself. “Can we not do this right now?”

But it wasn’t going to stop.

“Nah, nah, we’re just saying, Paige,” Nika teased, sliding closer. “If you’re gonna keep looking at Azzi like that, maybe you should stop seeing other girls, huh? Can’t be talking about commitment while you’re out here kissing other girls at parties.”

The words hit harder than Paige wanted them to, and she found herself biting her lip, her gaze shifting away from them. She couldn’t help the tiny flicker of annoyance that swept through her. “I’m not ‘kissing other girls,’ okay?” she snapped. “And don’t act like you all know everything.”

But despite the heat building inside her, there was something else. Something she couldn’t quite deny. A tiny part of her liked this—liked the attention. Even though she hated the feeling of being exposed, of people digging into something she hadn’t even fully figured out herself.

Christyn, always the one to break things up when the teasing went too far, shook her head with a laugh. “Y’all need to lay off her,” she said. “But seriously, Paige. You’re gonna have to stop playing coy. We know you like Azzi.”

Paige crossed her arms, half annoyed, half amused. “I’m not playing coy. I just don’t need all of you in my business.”

Evina, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow. “No, but for real, Paige, if you like her, then go for it. Don’t leave it all unspoken like we did with Christyn last year.”

Paige gave a dramatic eye-roll. “Stop with the ‘unspoken’ crap. It’s not like that.”

But as she glanced at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hoodie and running a hand through her hair, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander back to Azzi. The way she’d looked at her earlier. The way she’d smiled when they spoke. And the way her heart had skipped when Azzi’s hand brushed against hers.

She wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet. But the teasing, while frustrating, made her think that maybe—just maybe—it was time to figure things out. Because if she really liked Azzi, she couldn’t keep running from it.

Azzi sat in the quiet office, the door to Geno and CD’s office slightly ajar, the hum of conversation from downstairs a distant background noise. Her hands were a little sweaty, her heart thumping louder than she was comfortable with. The papers in front of her were official now—her commitment to UConn. It felt surreal.

“We’re really excited to have you on board, Azzi,” Geno said with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “This is a huge decision, and we’re thrilled you’re choosing UConn.”

Azzi nodded, feeling the weight of everything crashing in at once. This wasn’t just about basketball. It wasn’t just about making the right decision for her game or her future. It was about who she wanted to be, where she wanted to go.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice steady but her mind racing. “This is all a little overwhelming.”

“I know it is,” CD added, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “But we’ve seen what you’re capable of. We’ve seen the kind of player you are, and we know you’re going to thrive here. UConn is going to be a perfect fit for you.”

Azzi gave a small smile, feeling a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt anywhere else before. She glanced down at the papers one more time, and then—without overthinking it—signed her name at the bottom.

“Welcome to UConn,” Geno said, his voice sincere.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azzi felt sure. The decision was made. She was here. And it was exactly where she needed to be.

Back downstairs, Paige was still trying to shake the teasing off, but the truth was, it kept tugging at the back of her mind. Azzi was upstairs right now, making it official, deciding to be a part of this world. And Paige couldn't deny that a part of her felt a little pride swelling in her chest. She was excited for Azzi. She was happy for her. But somewhere deep down, she also wanted to be a part of that future.

Maybe it was time for her to figure out what that future looked like.

Because now, everything was starting to feel real.

The locker room doors swung open, and the buzz of voices from the team filtered out into the hallway. Paige had barely stepped out when she spotted Azzi, her heart skipping at the sight of her. The two made eye contact across the corridor, and without hesitation, Paige pushed her way through the crowd of teammates, heading straight for Azzi.

“You ready to go?” Paige asked, her voice light—but there was something quieter underneath, something softer that only Azzi would catch.

Azzi gave her that grin, the one Paige had learned to expect but still felt like it was just for her. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s get out of here.”

They slipped out together, into the warm hush of the evening. Behind them, voices still carried from the gym, a fading buzz of teammates and coaches. But out here, it was just them—the sky a muted blue, the air holding the last heat of the day.

Inside the car, the soft hum of the engine filled the silence as Azzi pulled out of the lot. The headlights swept across the dark pavement, and they fell into that easy rhythm only people who knew each other well could manage.

“So… any plans tonight?” Azzi asked, eyes on the road, but she glanced at Paige with a raised brow.

Paige drummed her fingers on the window. “I don’t know. Might go out, might stay in. Depends on how I feel.”

Azzi smirked. “You’ve always got a million options. What’s it gonna be tonight?”

Paige smiled faintly, her voice teasing. “Might hit up a bar. I’ve been in desperate need of a night out. And you,” she added, turning toward Azzi, “could use a little loosening up.”

Azzi chuckled, glancing her way. “You’re not wrong. One night off won’t ruin me.”

Before Paige could say anything more, Azzi pulled into the dorm lot. “Here we are.”

They got out into the crisp night air and walked inside. Paige led the way up the stairs and into her room—clothes on the bed, papers scattered across her desk. Lived-in. Familiar.

Azzi stepped inside and gave the room a once-over. “Alright, what’s the move now?”

Paige collapsed onto her bed with a groan. “I need to figure out what to wear. Can’t show up looking like I just crawled out of practice.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You think I need to change? I’m already dressed up.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her grin softened the gesture. “You’re in joggers and a tank top. Trust me, you’re not stealing any spotlights like that.”

Azzi snorted. “You’re just jealous. But fine.”

She moved to Paige’s closet and pulled out two tops—a low-cut black halter and a white crop that barely covered anything.

“Alright, verdict?” she asked.

Paige studied the tops, her expression unimpressed. “Cute, but way too much for tonight. You’re not wearing either.”

Azzi turned to her, eyes twinkling. “Why not? You gonna stop me?”

Paige crossed her arms. “You’re not my girlfriend, Azzi. But I do have taste. And I refuse to be seen with someone who looks like they belong in a fashion editorial.”

Azzi smirked, but there was something searching in her gaze. “Good thing you’re not my boyfriend, then. You don’t get a say.”

Paige blinked, a little thrown. “Please. You wouldn’t have a boyfriend anyway.”

There was a brief pause. Azzi set the tops down, her voice shifting. “Actually… I’ve been seeing James.”

The words landed harder than Paige expected. “James?” she repeated, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.

“Yeah,” Azzi said casually. “It’s nothing serious. We’ve been hanging out a bit.”

Paige felt her stomach knot. “Didn’t know that.”

Azzi shrugged, as if she couldn’t quite tell what had changed. “Didn’t think it was a big deal. Casual, you know?” She tilted her head. “Wait… are you jealous?”

“No,” Paige said too fast, too sharply. “It’s whatever.”

Azzi stared for a second, then smiled faintly. “Okay. Just know I’m not tied to anyone. You don’t have to worry.”

“Wasn’t,” Paige said, even though she absolutely was.

The air tightened, tension slipping in like fog. Paige shifted. “Anyway—Nika still wants to stalk that guy from Ted’s tonight. You ready to play backup?”

Azzi laughed, checking her phone. “Oh, she’s got it bad. But I don’t think he’s her type.”

“She doesn’t care,” Paige said with a grin. “She’s just trying to get noticed.”

Azzi tossed her phone onto the bed. “I respect it. But are we spending all night wing-womaning?”

“If we have to,” Paige replied. “But I’m not playing matchmaker. Especially not for James.”

Azzi raised both hands in surrender. “Relax. I’m not the one who needs help.”

She glanced at Paige, her tone light but eyes sharp. “You’ve got your own crush to deal with.”

Paige looked away, busying herself with her clothes. “Whatever. You’re the one with the secret boyfriend. I’m just trying to get dressed.”

Azzi didn’t respond, but the silence said enough. Paige could feel it—something shifting, unsettled.

Azzi stepped back from the mirror, turning to check her outfit. The crop top hugged her frame, black and daring, paired with ripped shorts that showed off legs Paige had absolutely noticed.

From behind, Nika whistled. “You ate.”

Aaliyah grinned. “Top-tier. That outfit is dangerous.”

“Like, illegal,” Aubrey added with a wink. “You’re giving main character.”

Azzi laughed, a little bashful, but pleased. “Y’all are doing too much.”

Paige leaned against her desk, pretending to scroll through her phone. But her eyes kept straying back—to Azzi’s top, to her legs, to the way she smiled.

“Alright, let’s go!” Nika called, already halfway out the door. “I’ve got one tequila sunrise of patience left.”

The group filed out, Azzi and Aubrey up front. Paige fell in step with Aaliyah and Nika in the back.

“You good?” Aaliyah asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Nika smirked. “You’ve been watching Azzi like a movie.”

“It’s a free country.”

Aaliyah grinned. “That top is working overtime.”

Paige sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Bad?” Nika teased.

“Desperately.”

Inside Ted’s, the bass throbbed through the floor. College kids swarmed the bar, the dance floor, everywhere. Azzi led the way, hair bouncing, laughter rising.

And Paige followed, silent, trying not to stare.

“You sure you’re fine?” Aaliyah whispered.

“I’m walking.”

“Mmhmm.” Nika elbowed her. “You’re watching her walk.”

They found a high-top in the back. Azzi slid into a seat next to Aubrey. Paige chose the farthest stool, angled away but not far enough to not still look.

“You want a drink?” Nika asked.

“Please.”

Aaliyah waved at the bartender. “Something strong?”

“Very.”

“Tequila makes you honest,” Nika warned.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t drink.”

But even as she said it, Paige glanced back at Azzi—leaning forward, laughing, her top clinging like a dare.

Paige turned quickly away. “I hate everyone here.”

“Yeah,” Nika said, smiling knowingly. “Especially yourself.”

Paige didn’t argue.

She just knocked back the shot the second it landed.

The music had loosened everyone up. By now, the group had scattered across Ted’s—some at the bar, some dancing, others deep in whatever conversations tequila inspired. Paige stayed anchored to the wall, half-watching, half-sipping a drink that had long since gone warm. Her eyes kept drifting to Azzi.

Azzi was electric tonight. Laughing with Aubrey, swaying to the music, shoulder brushing against Nika’s as they danced. Even in the chaos, she stood out. And Paige noticed. God, she noticed.

“Hey,” a voice cut in, low and knowing. Evina slid in next to her, drink in hand.

Paige blinked. “Hey. Didn’t know you were here.”

Evina grinned. “You’ve been staring at Azzi for the past twenty minutes. I could’ve walked in wearing a mascot suit and you wouldn’t’ve noticed.”

Paige snorted, half-embarrassed. “You’re imagining things.”

Evina raised an eyebrow. “Mmhmm. You gonna make a move or what?”

Paige choked a little on her drink. “What?”

Evina jerked her chin subtly toward the other side of the bar. “Because Jalen from the men’s team is over there. And he’s definitely flirting with her.”

Paige’s eyes snapped over. Sure enough, Jalen stood too close, talking animatedly, that smug, easy grin he wore when he thought he was being charming. Azzi was smiling—politely, Paige noted. Or maybe that was just what she wanted to believe.

Without a word, Paige pushed off the wall and crossed the room.

“Yo!” Jalen grinned when he saw her. “There she is. You brought Azzi, right? She was just telling me…”

“Yeah,” Paige said smoothly, slipping in beside Azzi. “We rolled through together.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward her, unreadable.

“Man, she’s a good time,” Jalen said, clearly oblivious. “Y’all must keep things lit.”

“Something like that,” Paige replied, cool and easy, even as her hand brushed Azzi’s arm, casual. Jalen didn’t seem to notice.

A moment later, he got distracted by someone yelling his name from across the bar. “Catch y’all later!”

Azzi turned to Paige as he walked off. “Okay… what was that about?”

Paige gave a lazy shrug. “Nothing. Thought you might want a rescue.”

Azzi smirked. “Are you jealous or something?”

“Nope,” Paige said quickly. “Just didn’t want you suffering through his ‘what gym you go to’ routine.”

Azzi tilted her head, amused. “Mmhmm.”

The night wore on. Nika found her guy, dragged him onto the dance floor with zero shame. Aubrey was locked in some deep conversation with Aaliyah. And Paige found herself at the bar again—Azzi beside her now, close enough that their knees brushed when they shifted.

The song changed—something bass-heavy and hot—and Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear.

“Nika’s making moves,” she whispered, voice low and warm. “Think she’ll finally seal the deal?”

The breath on her neck sent a shiver down Paige’s spine. She turned sharply, startled and flushed, caught off guard by how close Azzi’s face was now. Their eyes met, and Paige’s heartbeat kicked up hard.

“She better,” Paige muttered, trying to sound casual. She wasn’t sure it landed.

Azzi smiled, leaning just a little more into her space, fingertips brushing the rim of Paige’s glass. “And us? Are we making moves?”

Paige blinked. Her throat felt dry.

She set her drink down and straightened. “You wanna head out?”

Azzi looked at her for a beat—quiet, unreadable again. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And just like that, they slipped out together. 

Aubrey and Aaliyah were still by the bar, casually talking and laughing, but as they caught sight of Azzi and Paige slipping away, their faces changed.

Aubrey glanced toward Aaliyah, eyebrow raised. “Did you see that?”

Aaliyah smirked. “I saw. Think they’re finally making a move?”

Aubrey chuckled, shaking her head. “They’ve been dancing around each other all night. I knew something was gonna happen.”

Aaliyah leaned in, eyes glinting with curiosity. “It’s about damn time.”

Alright, this took me a minute, but I hope y'all enjoy it. The next chapter might contain smut. I do not know yet if I want to write that or not, but let me know if you guys have any ideas.

[trippiexlove]

Daddy’s Home

Author Note: Part three to Stone Cold Sinner. Read PART 1 & PART 2 here. Soriya surprises Jey after being on the road. Based on the song Hey Daddy by Usher. If you would like to read any of my other works, here is my master list. Leave requests on this linked post.

Warning: SMUT, Fluff, Oral (M Receiving), Profanity. 18+ ONLY

Pairing: Jey Uso x Black OC (Ari Fletcher as FC)

Word Count: 2,973

Is you say, "Daddy's home, home for me" And I know you've been waiting for this loving all day You know your daddy's home and it's time to play So you ain't got to give my loving away

Josh leaned lazily on the back wall of the elevator as it ascending up to his floor. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. It didn't seem to last long, as the familiar ding make him pop his eyes open. 

He sluggishly walked down the long hallway, his muscles screaming in protest with every step. His world title, which felt 20 pounds heavier, in one hand and his gear bag in the other. 

Once he got his hotel door he swiped the card, the light turning green, walking in. He threw his title and bag on the couch before falling onto the bed. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, blowing out a sigh of relief. Before he drifted off to sleep he pulled out his phone. 

A text from Soriya was the first one he seen. 

Princess 🩵: You looked so damn good in your match baby! I can't wait for you to come home ❤️ Baby ❤️: Thank you princess, I can't wait to see you. 

After he sent the text he got back up heading into the shower. Due to his tiredness he didn't take long before he was right back in bed. His eyes shut and he drifted off to sleep with no issue. 

Soriya was finishing up making content when her doorbell rang. She got up, a smile already forming, knowing it would be Tiffany and Breanna. She swung the door open, pulling them both into a tight hug.

"Hey girl!" Tiffany exclaimed, stepping inside.

Breanna laughed, dropping her purse on the floor. "Hey bestie, we missed your face, Ri."

"Missed you guys too," Soriya said, leading them into the living room. "It's just been but you know." She gestured vaguely, a soft smile playing on her lips.

They settled onto the couch, and after a few minutes of catching up on work and the latest gossip, Tiffany leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, spill the tea. How's it going with the champ?"

Soriya's smile widened. "It's going really well, actually. He's amazing. So supportive, always finding time to call or text even with our crazy schedule."

"Aww, that's sweet," Breanna said genuinely. "But it must be tough when he's on the road so much."

A touch of sadness flickered across Soriya's face. "It is. I miss him like crazy when he's gone." She brightened slightly. "But he's coming back soon, thankfully. Just a few more days."

Tiffany's eyebrows shot up. "Coming back soon, huh? You should totally surprise him!"

Soriya's eyes widened, a spark of intrigue igniting within her. She hadn't even considered it. "Surprise him?"

"Yeah" Tiffany continued, her enthusiasm growing. "Think about it, he's probably expecting to just come home to a quiet house. Imagine his face when you're there waiting for him"

Breanna chimed in, a playful smirk on her face. "You could even make it a whole welcome home celebration. Cook his favorite meal, wear that lingerie he loves..." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Soriya's cheeks flushed slightly, but a genuine smile spread across her face. The idea was definitely appealing. Her mind started racing, little scenarios playing out in her head. What would his reaction be? What kind of surprise would he like the most?

"Hmm," she said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I may have a few ideas"

The girls stuck around for a while. Soriya cooking them dinner and they watched movies and drunk wine until they left a little while later. 

Soriya spent the next day getting herself together, buying the things she needed to surprise Josh in a couple days. 

She was currently leaving her hair appointment before her phone went off. Josh's contact and their picture flashed across the screen. She connected her phone to her car before she answered. 

She smiled as the call connected "Hey baby" 

"Damn," Josh took a double look, "You look good as fuck ma, I'm fuckin' with the hair"

Soriya ran her fingers through the long blonde strands of her fresh install "Thank you honey. I just got it done today"

"That's unfortunate cause I'ma just pull that shit right off" 

Soriya playfully rolled her eyes "Yeah no sir, you fuck up my hair then you're paying for it"

"Send me your stylist info, I'll just pay in advance" He shot her his infamous smirk as she tried to hide her blush. 

She couldn't help but laugh at his antics "Bye Josh I am not bout to play with you"

"You laughin' but I'm deadass serious" Soriya playfully rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "But for real tho, I'll be back in Atlanta on Saturday, you comin' down or what?"

Soriya shrugged her shoulders playing it off, "I can't baby, I got this event this weekend" which wasn't a lie, but she was sending one of her assistants instead. She knew they would handle it just fine.

When Soriya looked down at her phone, she started pouting when she saw his face. "Baby don't look like that. What about next weekend?"

"I can't, got a house show everyday that weekend" 

"I'm sorry baby," She tried to play it cool, not trying to give herself away "I'll make it up to you the next time we're together" 

Josh sighed in disappointment, rubbing a hand down his face "I understand princess," he looked back in the camera, sadness all over his face, "next time I ain't taking no for an answer tho"

She laughed softly before nodding in agreement, "I'm sure you won't" 

They finished their phone call before Soriya hung up, making it home. She brought in all the bags that she needed, organizing everything that she needed. Once she seen everything spread out, the excitement began to build within her. Along with the anticipation of seeing her man.

Soriya had flown into Atlanta the next day, thanks to Trinity for picking her up late last night. She was now busy decorating the living room. She didn't have much time as Josh was currently on a plane and would be landing very soon. 

"How you want to set up these balloons?" Trin held the balloons by their strings.

"I was going to string the letters together and let them float over the couch," Soriya reached over grabbing the strings she needed, handing them to Trinity. "can you do that for me please?"

Trinity nodded, getting right to work "Yeah I got you". Soriya gave her a quick thank you, rushing up the stairs. 

In Josh's bedroom she had it petals all laid out on the floor. A few gifts to the side she had to put into gift bags. His favorite snacks, a new iced out cuban with a matching bracelet, and a new pair of white forces because why not. 

Once she got that together she heard Trin come into the room. "Damn girl you going all out, you proposing to my brother or something" 

Soriya laughed shaking her head "I just missed my man that's all" she shrugged her shoulder, placing the gift bags to the side. 

"Mhmm," Trin gave her a sheepish smile, "I got the balloons set up if you want to come see them" Soriya nodded before they headed downstairs. 

Her eyes widen as she looked at the large balloons hanging in the living room. "They look so good, thanks Trin" She smiled, turning to give her friend a hug. 

"You're welcome sis, let me take a picture for you cause we both know he about to fuck up your hair" both of them laughing. 

She sat on one of little ottomans, her back facing Trin. She leaned over doing a pose as Trin snapped a few pictures, getting the balloons in the frame. "Damn, girl that ass sittin' right" 

Soruya bust out laughing before snatching her phone out of Trin hand. "Girl go, you always playin'"

"Yeah, yeah let me head out, me and Jon got plans" Soriya nodded, walking her to the door and watching her as she drove off. 

She walked back into the living room, looking over everything. She checked the time, seeing that Josh was probably landing as it was nearing 6pm. She cleaned up everything and quickly ran upstairs to get herself ready.

The wheels of the SUV crunched over the familiar driveway just after midnight. The Atlanta night was quiet, save for the hum of crickets and the occasional flicker of streetlight. Josh stepped out, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, cap low over his eyes. His body ached, but his heart beat a little faster as he approached the door.

It was cracked open—just a sliver.

He pushed it gently, and what greeted him on the other side took the last bit of tension out of his shoulders.

The living room was bathed in a soft, golden glow. Candles flickered along the mantle and coffee table. The faint sound of a song by Sza played low in the background. But it was the silver balloons—shining in the candlelight, big and bold, spelling out DADDY'S HOME—that brought a slow smile to his face.

And then... he saw her.

Soriya stood at the foot of the couch, framed by the balloon letters. She wore a deep sapphire-blue lingerie set, the color he always said looked real good on her skin. Her curves were wrapped in lace and silk, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She didn't say a word—just let her eyes lock with his, smirking slightly as she slowly walked toward him.

Josh dropped his bag and exhaled, the weight of everything finally melting.

"Damn," he breathed, eyes never leaving her. "This what I come home to?"

Soriya's smile widened, but her eyes softened. "Welcome Home Daddy"

He stepped closer, running a rough hand down her arm, needing to touch her just to make sure this wasn't another dream. "You always know how to make a man feel like a king."

She tilted her head, fingers reaching up to trace the gold chain resting on his chest. "You are a king, baby. Out there? You showed the world. But in here..." She placed her hand over his heart. "You're just mine."

Josh leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lips. "I missed you, baby."

"I know," she smiled and whispered. "And I missed you"

They stood there, letting the silence say what words couldn't. The beat of the music pulsed around them, slow and sultry. The air between them thickened, the pull magnetic.

"I want to take care of you tonight," Soriya murmured, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. "Let me."

Josh smiled softly, voice low and rough. "You already are." 

Soriya smiled, stepping out of his hold. Taking his hands in hers, she led him towards the stairs. "I have a few surprises for you upstairs that I want you to see."

Josh licked his bottom lip, his gaze lingering on Soriya. "That ain't the only thing I'm tryin' to see."

She glanced over her shoulder, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "If you're good, you can get that too." Josh let out a low chuckle, allowing her to lead the way to his room.

Once they were inside, Josh's eyes widened slightly. He took in all the decorations until his gaze settled on the three gift bags by the bed. "You did all this?"

"I might've had some help," she said, smiling proudly. "Go head and open your gifts."

"Damn, it ain't even my birthday." Josh grabbed the first bag, the smallest of the three. He pulled out a medium-sized rectangular black box with ELIANTTE in bold white letters across it.

Josh immediately looked at Soriya, who wore a proud smirk. "Why you looking at me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Open the box."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. He opened the box, and his eyes widened, seeing the chain and matching bracelet. He turned the box, admiring the way the diamonds caught the light. "Baby, what the fuck?"

"You like it?" 

Josh placed the box back in the bag. "I love it, mama." He picked up the next bag, pulling out a shoebox and giving her a goofy grin that made her laugh. "You just know me, huh?"

Soriya playfully rolled her eyes. "As if you needed another pair."

"Got to keep a fresh pair." He moved on to the next bag, his eyes lighting up as he saw all his favorite snacks. "You went all out, baby."

"This ain't nothin'," she shrugged. "Just love spoiling my man, that's all."

"Your man?" He teased, biting his bottom lip and tilting his head a bit.

"Damn right," she stated confidently, meeting his gaze with determination.

Josh sauntered over to Soriya, stopping directly in front of her. His impressive 6'2" frame towered over her petite stature. He pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. Soriya moaned softly at the contact, savoring every nuance of the moment.

With effortless ease, Josh lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He turned, gently laying her on the bed and then hovering above her.

Josh trailed kisses from her lips along the delicate curve of her jawline, continuing down the sensitive skin of her neck. The cool touch of his chain against her heated skin sent a shiver of relief through her. 

His hands roamed her curves, pulling on the loose tie of the robe. He leaned up, helping her slip it off. He took a moment to admire her. Her blonde hair glowing in the low light of the room. He quickly took off his shirt, throwing it across the room

His rough hand moved up the sides of her curves, resting at the base of her neck. Lifting her up slightly, he pulled her into another kiss. This one more needy than the last.

Soriya placed her hands on his toned chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. She flipped them over, her fingers splaying against the warm skin of his chest as she quickly straddled his waist, a small, satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "Mmm, this night is about you." Her gaze locked with his, a silent invitation in her eyes.

Josh didn't protest as she trailed kiss down his chest and abs, sliding down stopping at the top of his sweats. Josh watched with eagerness, waiting on her next move. 

She pulled them down, his thick, girth popped up. Soriya licked her lips unconsciously. Her delicate hands wrapped around him, earning a deep groan from Josh. 

She took the tip into her mouth, feeling Josh tense up. A low fuck coming from him. He wrapped his hands through her hair as he watched her take him down her throat. 

Soriya kept a steady pace, taking him inch by inch. Her hand stroking the part of his shaft she couldn't get to. 

"Fuck, ma," he took in a sharp inhale of breath "you're doing so good for me" 

His praise fueled something in her. With the increase of her pace, Josh's grip on her hair tightened. "Right there mama, shit keep goin' just like that" 

Soriya allowed him to take control, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tighten, knowing he was near his release. Josh fist her hair in his hands, guiding her through his orgasm. She immediately released him, Josh pulled her back up to him. Smashing his lips with hers. 

His hand reached behind her, unlatching the clasp with ease. Tossing the bra somewhere. Soriya pushed against his chest, "I missed you so much"

"Yeah," he stated in-between kisses, "show me then."

She sat up just enough to slip off her underwear with the help of Josh. She slid down his length, gasping at the fullness she was feeling. Keeping a steady pace. 

Josh trailed kisses along her jaw, down the side of her neck. Leaving love bites that she will definitely fuss about in the morning. But in this moment Soriya didn't care about that except for how Josh was making her feel. 

"F-fuck baby," A breathy moan escaped from her mouth. Josh taking one of her erect nipples into his mouth. Toying with the sensitive bud. 

Soriya's hands found purchase on his back, clawing deep scratches that didn't seem to faze Josh one bit. 

"Fuck you look so pretty taking me," Josh gripped her waist, angling his hip, hitting against a new spot. "say it back, tell me you're pretty"

"Baby," Soriya couldn't help but to moan out desperately. 

His hand came down on her backside, making her moan from the pleasure, "I said, tell me you're pretty"

Letting out a drawn out moan, she looked him in his eyes "I-I'm pretty"

He wrapped his hand around her throat, maintaining eye contact, "I'm gon' marry you one day, and you gon' have all my kids," Soriya inhaled sharply, not because of his words but the overwhelming of love she was feeling. "hmm, you gon' have my baby Soriya?" 

She nodded her head, not being able to put a comprehensive reply together. Josh could feel that she was close by the way he felt her clench around him. He was close too, but he needed to hear her say it "I need words baby. Don't you fuckin' cum until you say it" 

"Y-yes" The euphoric feeling starting to consume her "yes I'll have your baby" she threw her head back as her resolve began to crumble. 

"That's my princess," he laid open-mouth kisses along her neck, bear-hugging her as he was nearing his eventual release "that's it mama, let it all out for me" 

That was all Soriya needed as she let her orgasm her, "Oooh Fuck". Her nails digging deep into Josh's back, making him wince in pain. 

As her climax washed over her, it ignited his own. Josh's grip tightened, their bodies moving as one until the euphoric high began to recede, leaving them both breathless. He peppered Soriya's lips with soft kisses. "I love you."

Her chest still rising and falling rapidly, Soriya met his gaze. "I love you too." Wrapped in each other's arms, a sense of deep comfort settled over them before sleep claimed them both.

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[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 50. Friendly Advice

Summary: Dahlia offers Violet some advice when she runs into her at the burn pit before noticing a group of dragons flying in. Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links | Tumblr Community

I watch as Violet walks pass me, completely oblivious to me leaning against the wall where she’d just walked in on. That girl really needed to learn to check her surroundings. She was a walking target just due to her name. Gods, I’d even heard some of the first years saying she was a threat to the wing due to her smaller size. Which hadn’t been helped by Xaden’s display with her when her challenge target had suspiciously fallen too ill to participate. He’d disarmed her so easily, but given his talent on the mat, it had been expected. I know he’d done it to prove a point, but he had also shown everyone how easy of a target she was. Something I knew she didn’t need, even if we hadn’t been friends for years.

”I’m so sorry.” She whispers, barely audible above the wind.

I watch as she heaves the pack up and over the edge, the flames catching and burning the pack as it fuels the flames. Today had been the start of gauntlet training, and her squad was one of the first to run it. They’d also been the first to loose a squad member to it. I push off the wall, walking over to where she leans against the edge, both of us watching as three dragons approach from the west. Three dragons that look very familiar. But they’re too far away for me to be sure. But I do know Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi had all been gone for a while.

”You don’t need to be sorry.” I tell her, alerting her to my presence as she jumps back from the edge.

”Were you following me?” She snaps at me venomously. A tone I’d come all too familiar with when she talked to me now.

I scoff and shake my head as I fold my arms across my chest, leaning back against the corner pillar. “No, you just didn’t see me next to the door when you came in. I have better things to do than follow you around.”

”But you’re friends with them. With him.” She tells me, clearly reciting information she’s gathered herself and from Dain since she’d been here.

I roll my eyes. “Surprisingly there are people who are able to look past the bullshit they’ve been told and can be friends with me Sorrengail. Maybe something you could do if you didn’t take everything at face value. And maybe you would see, they aren’t that bad.”

She turns her head, huffing in annoyance at my words. I knew she wouldn’t like me pointing it out, but it was true. She took everything she was told and believed it. Just like a scribe. Just like she was taught. And her being better friends with Dain than me when it all happened, meaned she happily took his side.

”Have some advice Sorrengail. You are number one here. You need to look after yourself. You are you’re number one priority. Your life is your number one priotity. Dain can’t always be there to protect you.” I tell her before turning and walking back towards the door.

”Is that a threat?” She asks, her voice shaking slightly. I made her nervous. Or at least made her question something enough to make her nervous.

I stop and look over my shoulder at her, noting the glare she tries to give me. I scoff and shake my head. “No. Just some advice no one else here will tell you because they either want to kill you, see you fail or get you out of here to safety. So do something they don’t expect and prove them wrong.”

I walk out of the tower before she can reply, leaving her to ponder my words. I didn’t want her to die despite our fractured friendship. But I wasn’t going to outright help her. This place was a mental game. You could be as strong or as weak as you were in here, but ultimately those with mental strength faired the best. Something I knew she could do. And I hoped she realised that soon. She just had to find a way.

I make it to the Rotunda before I feel a shift in the courtyard, turning to see the door to the flight field open. Even before they walk under the mage light I know who it is. Watching as Bodhi, Xaden and Garrick let the door close behind them as they enter the courtyard. I quickly hide behind the door, propping it open with my foot. Was it wrong to hide and spy on my best friend and boyfriend? Probably. But I couldn’t deny I was suspicious as to where they’d been. Seeing as they’d all disappeared without a word. And it wasn’t the first time I’d noted it. Here and there over the last few weeks I’d noted Bodhi and Garrick, even Imogen sometimes being gone here and there.

“Do you know where they were?” I ask Proth, hoping he might know something from their dragons.

”They’re your friend and mate, why don’t you ask them yourself.” He drawls, sounding almost bored.

”You’re no help.” I snap back as he chuckles down the bond at me.

”There has to be something more we can do.” Bodhi says to the two of them, clearly annoyed by something.

”We’re doing everything we can.” Garrick bites back.

Something was clearly on all their minds. Had them on edge. Xaden stops mid step, his shoulders going rigid. Shit, did he know I was here?

”What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, looking over at the only other people in the courtyard, a couple who had decided to use the courtyard as a make out spot. Lovely.

”Go on. I’ll meet you inside.” Xaden tells them.

Bodhi’s brow furrows, clearly not sure at Xaden’s sudden change in behaviour as he also scans the courtyard. Luckily neither him or Garrick see me peeking around the door. But I can’t guarantee that Xaden doesn’t with his shadow ability.

”You sure?” Bodhi asks as he turns his attention back to Xaden.

”Go.” Xaden orders them, nodding towards the dorms.

I gently close the door to the Rotunda, moving as quietly and quickly as I can to run into them “accidently” on their way to their rooms. I push into the stairwell, hearing their footsteps below me as they shuffle up the stairs. I wait a few more seconds, waiting till their footsteps are closer till I start moving. I pretend to be looking for something in my pack as I dawdle up the stairs.

”Dahlia?” Bodhi asks in surprise, stopping suddenly in the stairwell causing Garrick to run into his as his eyes raise to me. “What are you doing out?”

I look up at them, pretending to be shocked by their appearance. “I had patrol this evening at the burn pit remember?”

I note how both their eyes widen slightly in alarm. They both know that tower has the perfect view of anyone flying in and out of that flight field.

”You expect Bodhi to remember something like that?” Garrick teases as he shoves Bodhi aside, walking the last few steps to join me, taking my hand in his, my body instantly relaxing at his touch.

It was stupid how much he relaxed and calmed me, even when I was suspicious as to what they had been up to.

”I will let you know I have great memory.” Bodhi fires back, scowling at Garrick.

”Clearly not because I told you yesterday I was stationed there after classes today.” I say with a roll of my eyes as he glares at me. “Where are you two coming back from?”

”Xaden wanted to get out for a bit, went on a small flight.” Garrick says with a reassuring squeeze of my hand as he smiles down at me.

”Must have been you three I saw then. Saw some dragons fly in not long ago.” I say casually as I look between the two of them.

Garrick doesn’t even seem phased by my comment, but Bodhi looks nervous. His eyes darting between Garrick and I. Meaning this wasn’t just a casual flight. They were up to something they didn’t want me knowing about.

”More than likely. Don’t think I saw anyone else out tonight.” Garrick says with a shrug, before stiffling a yawn.

I look up at him, noting how tired he looks. Something that seems to be a common thing for him recently. Maybe that has something to do with the late night flight?

”Lets get you to bed.” I tell him, turning and pulling him towards the archway that will take us to the second year floor.

Bodhi groans behind us. “Can you please put up a sound ward if you want to partake in any extra curricular activities? Some of us actually want to sleep.”

”Maybe someone should learn to put their own up.” Garrick teases as we round the corner.

”They don’t teach second years!”

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[sapphicandgraphic]

Safe House—Chapter 4

Synopsis: Natasha is a lawyer, and you’re a key witness in one of her cases. Fearing for your safety, she offers her home as a safe house during trial prep. While living there, she and her wife Wanda start to fall for you.

Chapter: 4/10 in which Natasha learns more about reader’s past, and things get steamy when Wanda x Nat give reader a boxing lesson in the garage.

Series Warnings: Non-magical AU, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective WandaNat, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sexual violence

Natasha was sitting in her office with a stack of files and an espresso when she heard some commotion in the hall. She tensed momentarily, then smiled when she recognized the familiar grumble. Her personal assistant, a young man named Ari,  appeared in the doorway, looking vaguely harassed and uncertain. 

“Ms. Romanoff,” he said. “You’re 10:00 is here.” 

“Thanks, Ari,” she said, waving her hand to signal that he should send them in. He nodded then stepped back as Yelena rounded the corner, looking slouchy and sullen. 

“Terrorizing the front desk again, are we?” Natasha tried her best to sound disapproving. 

Her sister shrugged. “They make it so easy.”

Yelena smiled sweetly at Ari and gave him a little sardonic wave before closing the door firmly in his face. 

Natasha groaned. “You’re lucky I already made partner,” she said. “Otherwise I’d have to disavow you entirely.” 

Yelena snorted, then strolled across the office and threw herself into one of the chairs opposite Natasha’s desk. Her posture was lazy, casual, but Natasha could see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

“You summoned me?” 

Natasha nodded, steepling her fingers diplomatically, trying to gather her thoughts. “How are things at the farm?”

“Oh boy,” Yelena chuckled darkly, leaning back and resting her boots on the edge of the desk. “Trying to butter me up with small talk?” 

“What?” Natasha asked. “I can’t ask my only sister how she’s doing, sequestered in a secret hideout hundreds of miles outside the city?” 

“Not really your style.”

Natasha deliberated for a moment, then walked around and shoved her sister’s feet off the polished oak surface of her desk. 

“That’s more like it,” Yelena grunted. 

Natasha rolled her shoulders, irritated at being provoked. 

“Things at the farm are fine. Clint’s been on high alert, but nothing out of the ordinary,” Yelena said. “And the kids all said to tell you that I’m the coolest auntie in the world.”

Natasha smirked, but ignored the jab.

“Whatever you called me here for,” Yelena continued, a note of real worry creeping into her voice now. “Must be pretty bad if you’re so anxious to avoid the subject.” 

“Fine,” Natasha sighed, relenting. “I wanted some background on our friend.” 

Yelena narrowed her eyes, walls immediately going up at the idea of betraying your confidence. “So ask her.” 

“It’s sensitive,” Natasha said, leaning against her desk. 

“Since when do you let that stop you?” Yelena scoffed. She had seen her sister tear hardened criminals apart in pre-trial. 

Natasha shifted, crossed her arms. “I’d like to spare her the discomfort, if I can.” 

Yelena seemed to soften instantly. “Alright, what do you want to know?” 

Natasha had figured this angle would get her sister talking. Still, she felt a small pang of guilt. The topic wasn’t a pleasant one. “The other night,” she began. “She told me the story of how you met. Said she was going through a dark time and you pulled her out of it.”

“Sounds about right,” Yelena said.  Her eyes flickered toward the floor and Natasha sighed. 

“Well, what did she mean by that?” She pressed. “Is there anything illicit or criminal that could damage her credibility during cross-examination?”

Yelena chewed her fingernail, stalling. “She was partying a bit too much.” 

“Drugs?” Natasha guessed. “Sex?” 

Yelena nodded, but Natasha could tell there was more she wasn’t saying. A cold, anxious fear suddenly gripped her. The idea of you putting yourself in dangerous situations made her skin crawl, and she dreaded the answer to the next question. 

“What else?”

Yelena looked away, clearly distressed at the memory.

“Lena,” she said, voice gentle. “What else?” 

“I don’t know for sure,” she insisted. 

“But you have a theory,” Natasha guessed, waiting for her sister to elaborate. Yelena stood up, walking toward the large window that looked out over the city. 

“I think she was…letting people hurt her,” Yelena said quietly, casting around for the right words. 

Natasha felt a tightness in her chest. She desperately needed to switch into attorney mode. She wouldn’t be able to do her job properly if she let these inconvenient personal feelings throw her off balance. 

“Hurt her how?” She asked, voice shaking slightly.

“She would get super fucked up and go home with strangers.” Yelena frowned. “I remember one or two times afterward, she had bruises. On her neck and her face.” 

Natasha squeezed her eyes together, feeling sick. “Maybe it was consensual? With a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” 

Yelena shook her head. “These were not…safe experiences.” 

Natasha swallowed around a lump in her throat, nodding to indicate she understood. “How long?” 

Yelena pursed her lips, thinking. “Seems like it stopped a few months after we met. That spring she started tutoring more students in our class, then got a job as a TA. But I don’t know how long it was going on before then.” 

Natasha sighed. She had figured there would be skeletons in your closet—everyone had them, even people who weren’t estranged heirs to infamous criminal syndicates. But she hadn’t counted on how painful it would be to hear these details, how difficult she would find it to process. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Natasha said, approaching her sister and laying a hand on her shoulder. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’re protecting her in the long run.” 

Yelena ducked her head. “I should have protected her then.” 

“Hey,” Natasha said, brows furrowing at the pain radiating off Yelena. She pulled her sister into a fierce hug. After a second, she felt her relax, leaning in, accepting the comfort. 

“I knew something was going on,” she said, voice rough with emotion. “I should have—“

“You did plenty,” Natasha interrupted firmly. “She said it herself, you were a friend when she had nobody.” 

Natasha gave her sister a little shake to emphasize the words, hoping to banish any regrets she might have. Yelena gave a last shuddering breath before stepping back and wiping her eyes.

“If that’s all, I better go,” she said. “Cupid will be getting antsy downstairs.” 

Natasha gave her one last searching look before nodding. 

“Tell him I said hey. And enjoy your time in the spotlight, Auntie ‘Lena,” Natasha teased. “Because when this is over, I’m coming to the farm…and I’ll be bearing gifts.” 

“Bribes,” Yelena sniffed, looking imperious.

Natasha hummed. “You say tomato…”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Natasha made updates to other case files, but her mind kept drifting back to you, picturing the stubborn set of your jaw, the stormy look in your eyes; remembering the way Wanda had calmed you last night, coaxing the dark, violent shadows of your past out into the open.

And now, she saw flashes of what her sister had shared—you, numbing your pain, disappearing into the night with men willing to hurt you, reappearing in the morning with bruises on your pretty face and neck. She shook her head, as if she could banish the mental image from her mind’s eye. 

Maybe bringing you home had been a mistake. Natasha could feel herself slipping past the line of strict professionalism, tilting toward something protective, possessive, personal. And there was no mistaking Wanda’s dark expression at the dinner table. Like she’d burn the world down before she let anyone hurt you again. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. 

“Come in,” she called. 

Pepper walked into the office, looking immaculate as always, and carrying a brown paper bag. 

“Hey, stranger,” the blonde said, her face shifting into a bright smile that Natasha couldn’t help but return. “Figured you probably forgot to eat lunch today.”

Natasha glanced at her watch, surprised to see how late it had gotten. Before she could respond, her stomach growled and the other woman chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Pepper regarded Natasha carefully as she unpacked and plated the food. “Tough case?” 

Natasha leaned back, running a hand through her hair. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Pepper nodded politely, as if this response was expected. “Tony said you were being evasive.” 

Natasha snorted. “I’m not being—“

The other woman pinned her with a dubious expression—a signature look of piercing disbelief that she usually reserved for the courtroom—and Natasha stilled. 

“There’s a girl,” she admitted. “A witness who approached me, ready to offer testimony that could damage some very bad people.” 

“But?” Pepper prompted, delicately slicing her filet. 

“I don’t think her testimony will matter unless we continue investigating, collect a bit more evidence.” 

“Is she willing to help you build the case?” Pepper chewed thoughtfully, and Natasha nodded. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s dangerous,” Natasha said, the words sounding lame even to her own ears.

“Hate to break it to you, Nat,” Pepper said, quirking an eyebrow. “But if that bothers you, you might be in the wrong business.”

Natasha paused, worried she had said too much. Pepper regarded her for a moment, then she smiled. 

“Uh-oh,” she said, knowing glint in her eye. “You like her.” 

Natasha took a bite of food, figuring it wouldn’t do any good to try and deny it. Not when Pepper was so perceptive. 

“Well,” the other woman continued. “If you think you have a case, you have to pursue it. My advice? Keep the investigative team small, only work with people you trust implicitly. We have contacts in the police department if you need recommendations.”

“Not necessary,” Natasha smirked. “I know a guy.” 

Pepper wiped her mouth delicately with a paper napkin. “That’s good. And I understand it’s early days, but don’t keep Tony and me in the dark longer than you have to. As your partners, we’re here to provide support.”

Natasha opened her mouth to explain. 

“I know you’re used to operating on your own,” Pepper interrupted, as if reading the other woman’s mind. “But you’re not alone here. We work better as a team.” 

Natasha nodded. “It’s nothing personal,” she said with a note of apology. “I’m just playing this one close to the vest until we have hard evidence. It’s…sensitive.” 

Pepper nodded, finishing the last bites of her lunch. Then she reached over and patted Natasha’s knee affectionately.

“We trust you,” she said. “It’s why we made you partner.” 

Natasha nodded, the knot of anxiety in her chest tightening slightly as she watched the other woman stand. 

“And Nat?” Pepper paused the doorway, a sympathetic look on her face. “Try not to get too attached.” 

Natasha waited until Pepper had disappeared around the corner. Then she leaned forward, burying her head in her hands with a groan. “Too late,” she sighed. 

______________

Wanda was curled on the sofa with a book when Natasha finally walked in the front door of the house later that evening. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, lighting up at the sight of the other woman. 

“Detka,” Natasha breathed the word, feeling some of the tension instantly leave her shoulders. 

“What’s wrong?” Wanda frowned, clocking the cloud that seemed to be hanging over her wife. 

Natasha shrugged. “Just a long day.” 

Wanda waved her arms. “Let me hold you.” 

Natasha placed her bags on the floor and kicked her shoes off before complying, walking into the room and sinking into Wanda’s embrace. She smelled like vanilla and something woody, spicy. For several long moments they laid together like that; breathing slowly, heartbeats syncing up, each grounding the other. 

“Where’s our girl?” Natasha’s tired question was slightly muffled against her wife’s neck. 

“Our girl, huh?” Wanda purred. “I like the sound of that.” 

Natasha shifted so she could look at her directly. “Me too.” 

They let their mutual admissions hang in the air, the idea of you blooming between them. Wanda smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind Nat’s ear. 

“She’s out in the garage.”

Natasha nodded and pushed herself off the sofa, wandering through the kitchen and toward a small side entrance. 

She heard you before she saw you—the sound of fists hitting canvas. Your back was to the door and you didn’t notice Natasha enter the room. She took the opportunity to watch how you moved. Each step was light. You circled the bag like a coiled spring, fists darting out in clean patterns, your stance comfortable. For a moment, she wondered if this could be the explanation for the bruises Yelena had seen, entertaining the thought with no small amount of hopeful desperation. But then she remembered her sister’s words. These were not safe experiences. 

“Hey,” you called, finally noticing Natasha. You ran an arm across your forehead. The sweat was beading and dripping down your face, your shoulders, your chest. “You’re home.” 

Natasha smiled, walking across the room and taking a position on the opposite side of the bag. “How was your day, slugger?” 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, stubbornly ignoring the flutter of affection it stirred in your chest. 

“I think I’m driving Wanda crazy,” you confessed. 

“Join the club,” Natasha laughed. “What happened?” 

“Nothing, exactly,” you said. “I guess I was pacing, fidgeting. She finally sent me out here to ‘burn off some energy’, like some sort of manic border collie.” 

You took a few light jabs at the bag, and Natasha was again reminded of an angsty teen. 

“Well, come on,” she said, angling a lopsided smile at you. “Show me what ya got.” 

You circled the bag, considering her challenge. You moved with a natural boxer’s rhythm—heels slightly raised, shoulders loose.

“So,” you huffed, firing a double jab and then a right cross. “Did you talk to your cop friend?” 

“Shift your weight more on the cross,” Natasha replied. “You’re leaving it in the air.” 

You raised your eyebrows at her briefly, then reset and threw the combination again, snapping your hips through the hook. Natasha grunted softly, absorbing the impact. You had the sudden thought that you wouldn’t mind hearing her make that noise in a different context, and Jesus Christ, you really needed to get laid. 

“Better.”  

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said, trying not to let her praise go to your head. 

Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose, like she had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether. You noticed for the first time that she seemed tired, drained, and you felt a fresh wave of guilt. Your presence here obviously wasn’t making things any easier on her. You were just another burden, another problem for her to solve.  

“I got in touch with him today,” she said.  

You nodded. “And?”

Natasha was only half-listening, running an appraising eye over your form. 

“Think of the hook like turning a doorknob,” she said. “Tight, not wild.” 

Your first instinct would usually have been to argue, push back. But something about Natasha’s tired eyes and low voice knocked the resistance right out of you. So you swallowed back your initial frustration and followed her instructions. Your fist smacked the leather with a short, powerful turn. 

“Very good,” Natasha murmured, and this time you couldn’t ignore the way her words washed over you, landing squarely in your chest, filling you up with something warm and peaceful.

You kept going for a bit longer, circling the bag together, the rest of the world falling away. Neither of you noticed Wanda appear at the door, intending to announce that dinner was almost ready. But the words died on her lips as soon as she caught sight of you both.

You were wearing sweatpants and a sports bra, your entire body glistening from the exertion, muscles flexing along your shoulders and back. Natasha had pulled her jacket off and rolled her shirtsleeves up. A light sheen of sweat had gathered on her brow, at her temples, and a barely noticeable smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth, a telltale sign that she was really enjoying herself. She heard Natasha’s low voice say something about follow-through, describing a technique, and Wanda was gripped by sudden inspiration.

“Show her what you mean, detka.”

Natasha’s head snapped up, and she regarded Wanda through hooded eyes. You glanced between the two women, holding your breath, trying to interpret the electricity that seemed to ripple in the air. For a moment, Wanda thought her headstrong wife might refuse to play along, that Natasha would cut the tension with a joke or a self-deprecating laugh and the moment would be forgotten.

Then Wanda felt her mouth go dry as she watched her wife step away from the bag, moving behind you smoothly. Her fingers only hesitated for a moment before darting forward and gripping your hips. She pulled you close, so that your back was pressed against her front. Then she ran her hands down your arms until they settled around your wrists. Once she had you firmly in her grasp, she rotated, guiding you through an uppercut twist. 

“Feel that?” She asked, voice slightly hoarse. “How you have more control?” 

You nodded, not sure you could speak.

“Again,” Wanda commanded softly, and it was suddenly crystal clear who wielded the control in this room. 

Natasha stilled, deliberating. You could feel her posture stiffening, the desire to resist flickering to life again; but you could also feel the way her breathing became slightly uneven, the shudder that went through her shoulders as she wrestled with the urge to give in, to submit. 

You turned your head slightly, making eye contact with Wanda for the first time since she’d entered the garage. She had a slightly dazed look on her face, like she couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. But there was something playful and challenging there, too—like she was pushing Natasha in a familiar game and she fully expected to win. 

From this angle, Wanda could see a flush rising in your throat that had nothing to do with the workout and everything to do with the intimate demonstration. Natasha finally caved, manipulating your body again, the motion gentle but firm. Wanda’s eyes met yours, and she arched an eyebrow.

“Relax,” she instructed. “Let her lead.”

You exhaled, long and slow, then leaned back, letting your muscles go slack with surrender. Nat took your weight easily, bracing on her back foot, supporting you. The feel of her, so solid and warm, was overwhelming. You wanted to sink into it, to disappear in the warm caress of her hands, her voice, her safety. 

“I’ve got you,” she murmured in your ear, causing a shiver to ripple up your back. 

You glanced back at Natasha, uncharacteristically shy, and your chest ached when she smiled. Wanda crossed the room until she was standing toe-to-toe with you. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“My good girls,” she said tenderly, her eyes shining with pride. And suddenly, it hit you. You were right where you belonged. Cocooned between the steady, protective weight of Natasha’s embrace and the unflinching affection of Wanda’s gaze. It took your breath away, how these women who were still practically strangers somehow managed to see you in a way no one else ever had, to know you better than you knew yourself. As if she could follow your thoughts, Natasha squeezed you closer, resting her face against your neck for a brief moment. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Wanda said, voice gentle. “Go get cleaned up, dinner’s almost ready.” 

It was like Wanda had released you both from a spell, something which had just moments before been impossibly charged and all-consuming. The air seemed to come back in the room, and the energy between the three of you suddenly shifted, became easy and domestic again. Natasha released her hold on you, ruffling your hair playfully. You ducked out from under her hand, bounding toward the house with a spring in your step despite the pleasant ache in your legs and arms. 

“I’m getting a shower,” you said.

“Don’t use all the hot water,” Natasha groused, wrapping her arms around Wanda. 

You chuckled. “Okay, dad.” 

You meant it as a joke, but noticed the way Natasha stilled,  the way Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she leaned toward her wife. 

“Guess that makes me mommy,” Wanda murmured. 

Her voice was so soft that you weren’t sure she had intended you to overhear. But there was no mistaking the comment. And you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forget the way she licked her lips right after she spoke, the way Natasha’s fists clenched reflexively at the pet name, making the veins in her arms and hands even more prominent. As you hurried upstairs a few moments later, her words still echoing in your ears, you realized you’d have to make this shower an extra cold one.  

Taglist: @wandanatlov3r @ciaoooooo111 @milflovers4

——————-

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[sjywh0re]

ʚNext Doorɞ

ꨄ︎Song Mingiꨄ︎

Mingi and Y/n are enemies in high school, living in neighboring houses. Mingi secretly watches her from his window. What starts as rivalry slowly turns into an unexpected attraction, and Mingi realizes he feels more for her than he thought.

Pairing: Highschool Enemy!Mingi Ateez x Fem!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Highschool, Enemies to Lovers, Coming of Age

Wc: 1064

Song Rec: Ballin' - Partynextdoor

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡

Mingi hated her. That was the line he stuck to. His truth. His mantra.

She was loud. Too clever. Always had something to say. Always knew how to get under his skin. And worst of all she was everywhere. School, the bus, the local convenience store. There was no escape. And to top it off, she lived next door. Not just in the same street, not a few houses down—no. Right next door. Their bedroom windows almost lined up perfectly, just across the narrow gap between the two homes. If he stood by his window and tilted the curtain just slightly, he could see straight into hers.

That had been his mistake.

The first time was an accident.

The second time, curiosity.

The third, routine.

After that, it became a problem.

It was always at night. The world would be quiet, everyone else in the house asleep, and he’d be lying in bed, thinking too much. That’s when her light would flick on across the gap. Every time, like clockwork.

Sometimes she danced. Carefree, spinning with her headphones in, mouthing lyrics he couldn’t hear. Other times, she was just sitting at her desk, scribbling in a notebook, or laying on her bed with her phone glowing dimly against her face. But there were other moments too quieter ones. He’d catch her staring out the window, her chin in her hand, looking at the moon like it had answers. Once, he saw her crying.

That one hit differently.

He wasn’t sure why he kept watching. Maybe it was the mystery of it getting to see the parts of her that no one else at school saw. Because during the day, she was impossible. She’d roll her eyes the second he spoke. She was quick with her insults, always ready with a clever comeback. Their classmates joked about how they couldn’t be in the same room without arguing. And they were right.

But at night, when she didn’t know anyone was watching… she looked real. Human. Soft. Not a rival. Not a problem.

He told himself it didn’t mean anything. That he didn’t like her. That he just… noticed things. That it was a harmless habit.

Until one night, she noticed him back.

It was a stupid mistake. He’d forgotten to turn off his own light. He was leaning on his elbow, head resting against the wall, eyes lazily watching her as she danced across her room in a hoodie and socks, arms above her head. He smiled, just a little.

Then she froze.

She turned her head. Looked straight at him.

Their eyes met through the glass. His breath caught in his throat.

For a second, they just stared at each other. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

And then, slowly, she smirked.

He panicked, diving out of view like a deer caught in headlights. His heart thudded in his ears. Had she known this whole time?

The next morning at school, she acted like nothing had happened. Not at first. But during chemistry, when the teacher paired them up for the upcoming project, he saw her reaction: one raised eyebrow, one slow smirk.

“Lucky me,” she said as she slid into the seat beside him.

He didn’t respond.

“Sleep well last night?” she added, voice low enough that only he could hear.

He flinched. “Seriously?”

She leaned closer, chin propped on her hand. “You really should keep your lights off when you spy on people. Kind of rookie behavior.”

“I wasn’t—” he began, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine,” she said casually, flipping open her notebook. “Honestly? I’m kind of flattered.”

That shut him up. His ears were burning.

She glanced at him sideways. “You’re not as subtle as you think, you know.”

He didn’t have a comeback. And she didn’t push it.

For the rest of the class, they actually worked. For the first time in maybe ever, they didn’t argue. She was focused, sharp. And he found himself annoyingly impressed.

That night, her curtain was half-closed. But her light was on. He didn’t look.

The next day, she showed up at his front door.

“My Wi-Fi’s dead,” she said when his mom answered. “And we have that project. Can I come up?”

Mingi nearly dropped his phone when he saw her step into the hallway.

She made herself at home, flopping onto the floor of his room like it was hers. She kicked off her shoes and opened her notes like it was the most normal thing in the world. And Mingi, completely unsure how to behave, just sat down beside her.

For two hours, they worked. Then they argued about formatting. Then they laughed about how their teacher couldn’t pronounce any of their names. Then they worked again.

At one point, she got up and wandered toward his window.

“So this is the famous view,” she said. “The one that kept you entertained all semester.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Are you seriously never going to let that go?”

“Nope.” She leaned her forehead lightly against the glass. “It’s kind of weird, though. When you’re standing here, it doesn’t feel like spying. It just feels… close.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure at first. Then I thought it was kind of funny. Then it stopped feeling funny.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess… I got used to it. Like, knowing someone was there. Watching. It didn’t feel creepy, just… like someone saw me. When no one else did.”

He didn’t say anything.

She turned to face him. “And for what it’s worth? I didn’t hate it.”

Mingi felt something twist in his chest. A tension he didn’t realize he’d been carrying.

“I didn’t hate it either,” he said quietly.

There was a silence between them. Not awkward. Just full.

He took a step closer. “I didn’t hate… you.”

Her eyes met his. “Even when we fought?”

“Especially then,” he said, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

She smiled back, a little softer this time. “Maybe we were never really enemies.”

“Maybe not.”

They stood there, inches apart, the air between them fragile and electric. And in that moment, with the sky darkening outside and the soft hum of life moving on around them, Mingi leaned in.

He didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But he wanted to.

[n0t-evenhere]

Welp, my dear people. We are on the second to last chapter of the series. “The Star at night.” The finale is going to be soon. Probably this week. I will admit, I did t have an idea of what to draw this time for the story. It’s also a lot shorter this time. I hope you enjoy the read all the same.

⚠️ warning ⚠️ death, gore, bones, knives, unusual death.

“The star at night”

Part 4 “you before me”

Ray pov

How sad, the anguish in the poor face of (you). Ray knew she was going to run, the woman named Carol saw it in her mind. There were many things that he saw in Carol's mind in a few different times he read her mind. He knew Carol would try to sacrifice you to him. Even before she actually went through with it. Carol had been out for herself since he showed up, she planned to leave you and everyone else behind. He almost felt bad for you. Almost.

He dragged you by your arm down the hall, even as you resisted. “Please! Please just let us go! We’ll leave a-and we won’t come back I swear!” You pleaded in his arms. Pleaded for your life and who else remained. Ray sighed, no…you get mercy. None of you deserve it. Not after what you unknowingly started. Was it petty? Sure, but Ray had every right in his mind. Trying to steal Steel sheriffs mask. The man who had tormented him day in and day out for too many years of his liking.

Suddenly he yanked you off your feet, not even your feet roughed the ground. “Let you go?” He inquired. “Promising you won’t come back.” Ray feigned consideration before her look you dead in the face. “No.” Venom dripping in his words. A hate rooted so deep, he wasn’t even sure it dealt entirely with any of the people here. “That’s not good enough. I see you dead.”

(You)

Your heart sank at his words, this was doomed from the start. In that moment, looking into binary Star’s eyes, you saw a deep seated hare. An anger that felt consuming, but it felt different. Wasn’t directly at you or anyone here specifically. It’s a hate that marinated over time, or had been sitting deep down until it erupted without warning. Maybe there was hope? Maybe you could reason with him. You want to reason with him, you didn’t get that chance though before the locker room door opened.

When the door opened, you felt your body suddenly fly through the air before colliding with another body knocking the wind out of you. “AH!” Carol cried out, both you on the floor laughing and heaving in pain. There wasn’t a chance to try and get up before being grabbed by the ankle and dragged back. “No! No!” You try and fruitlessly grab and hold onto anything. Anything that could give you leverage. Nothing. Just nothing to hold on to. “Let’s begin our little chat hm? I think we need a little heart to heart. As I said before.” A pressure on your back kept you in place on the floor. No doubt his foot resting on your mid back. Even with little pressure, your failure and effort to get away was useless; he held fast as if your own strength meant nothing.

Binary Star let out a little chuckle. “No, you aren’t going anywhere. As for our Carol here, I have to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere either.” He hummed, thinking. “How should I ever do that? “Ah, I have it. I know exactly what to do.” Just as Carol got to her feet, she suddenly began to rise into the air for a moment before being slammed against the wall, in the next moment crashed to the floor with a gasp. A nearby locker began to groan as it tipped forward before slamming onto Carol’s knees with a nasty crunch. Carol's screams of agony made you cry out for her. You so desperately wished to save her. Even if she meant to lean you behind. Even if she really didn’t care for you at all…it’s hard giving up a love that you have for so long.

The absolute pain etched into her features made your heart ache deeply. “So, let’s start with a bit of truth, seems fair right?” Binary Star pressed his foot a bit more into your back, emphasizing his words, making you whimper a little. “So, Carol. Let’s start with you, yes? I did a little digging if you will. From the moment (you) mentioned the locker room exit, what was the plan, I mean, your plan?” Binary Star asked, an air of arrogance to his question. Carol shook her head, “I don’t- I don’t know what you are talking about.” Binary Star nodded. “So close.” He smiled. “Wrong.”

The locker rose off of her, Carol's knee caps on full bloody display. Torn flesh, exposed bone. Enough to make anyone gag. That’s not what you were worried about right now though. “Stop! Please Stop! Stop! Don’t-“ you screams on protests went unheard as the locker inched up before slamming down on Carol's hips with another sickening crack, Carol shrieked in agony. Binary star crouched down to you. Grabbing a fist full of hair pulling you head back as far as he could manage, just so he could look at you. “I’m doing this for you. You know. My actions aren’t motivated only by anger. I’m exposing more than one crime here. I want to expose as many things as possible, as they come of course.” Binary Star regarded you before standing up again.

He turned his attention to Carol. “Ah, Carol, I haven’t forgotten you. Promise. Let’s try again, yes? I’ll give you a second chance because I am just that nice. When you learned about the locker room. What was your plan?” Carol looked at you, tear filled eyes and guilt. “There it is. That’s what I’m looking for. Knowing and admitting.” Binary Star said quietly above you. “I- I was going to leave.” Carol confessed, Binary Star gasped audibly. “Leave?” He grabbed you by the hair, taking his foot off of you. Lifting you up. His fingers come up to squeeze your cheeks. “But, how could you do that to someone you love?” He asked with fake shock.

He looked at you, he seemed almost…kindly curious. “How could you be so stupid? Loving someone who doesn’t love you? Not for the right reasons. I’ve seen a lot in my life, more than I’d like to admit. I know when people are just using you. These people,” he shook his head. “There’s no real love for you. Only for what you have.” Carol cried out, “that’s not true! I-I love you (you). I love you like your own daughter!” Binary Star’s face dropped into an annoyed look. His attention turned to Carol. “I’ve been in your mind Carol. The minute you learned about that locker room. All you could think about is escaping and going to the beach. Retirement. Lying isnt a good look for you Carol, so shut the fuck up.”

You lip curled,”Don't talk to her that way.” You hissed at him, the anger prevalent in your tone. He laughed, a laugh from down deep. “Are you any place to be making demands sweetie? I don’t think so, why would you care anyway? Hm? She was just leaving you to die.” Your eyes look to Carol, who is still in pain on the floor. “Because I love her. Even if it’s true. I love her. She’s human, she’s scared.” He looked at you, pity. “You naive little thing. No wonder you were so easily exploited.”

A locker closer to Carol's head began to tremble. “No, no, no! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything please!” You knew where this was going. He didn’t even look at you. “No amount of begging will make her live. The best thing you can do? I accept it. No one’s going home. Not tonight.” The locker leaned forward before it slammed down, a wet crunching sound echoing in the room, blood and brain splattering from under the locker on impact. You could help but gag and throw up at the sight.

Suddenly there was a new sound in the sudden quiet, Binary Star’s grip loosened on you, looking to the right, you see it, a knife stabbed into his triceps brachii. “That’s for my wife you sonofabitch.” Joe…it was Joe! He was alive! Joe took the moment to grab your arm pulling you away from Binary star, he pulled you along out of the locker room. You could help but look back. Binary star didn’t scream pain, in fact it’s as if he felt nothing at all. Didn’t even seem bothered. Removed the knife letting it clatter to the floor. That’s all you saw before he was out of view.

“Joe! Joe, you are alive.” You cried tears of relief. “I thought I lost you. I’m-I’m, we lost everyone. I’m so sorry, I tried to-“ Joe stopped you from continuing, strain on his own voice. “I know. Just- let’s just focus on getting out of here.” The front door was down the hall up ahead. Joe who was ahead of you suddenly fell to the floor with a cry of pain, your hand slipping from his. Causing you to screech to halt. Turning back, the knife he used to stab the hero was now lodged into his calf. “Joe!” You rush to his side, taking him under his arms to drag him. “No, we're almost there! Come on!”

The knife pulled from his leg stabbing him in the back causing him to cry out. You look up, Binary Star making his way to you. No, no, no, no. Not Joe. If you could save just one. Only one. “Stop!” You scream at the hero, anger and helplessness. The knife lifted again, you took a hold of it to try and stop it, but it plunged down again, into Joe’s side. Tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. Joe, even face down, took your hand. The knife is still pinging in and out of his body. “Go, you can’t stay.” feverently you shake your head. “No,” you choke out. Joe gave your hand a squeeze. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you.” You chant, it’s as if you lost it. You repeat the phrase over and over as if it gives you comfort.

Joe’s POV

(You)…the young one he helped so long ago. Help give a new life to. One where you would be comfortable. Wouldn’t work like a dog. Sure, at first it was all business. As time went on though, he could help but fall in love with you like his daughter. When his own daughter, Carmilla, left, You filled that hole in his chest. Carol was set on Carmilla, and wouldn’t settle for anything else. Not that Joe settled, he just…he loved you like his own. He ignored the pain that radiated through his body.

Joe slid his hand up to your cheek with a wheeze, “It’s the end of the line, (you). You gotta go. Let me go. Run. Don’t look back.” With one look, one glance into your eyes Joe knew. He knew you wouldn’t run. Didn’t want to leave his side. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind. You had seen so much tonight. He knew that much. He took a deep wheezing breath. “Just close your eyes kiddo.” He said softly. Joe didn’t want you to see him die. He also knew you were next, maybe Binary star would give him the mercy of giving you a painless death. Quick. The world started to go to black. You had your eyes closed as he began to fade. “I…love…you…s-so…much.” Tears pricked his eyes. “Don’t you…for-get it…”

You POV

His words were choppy, dying. His hand slowly slipped from your grip. You didn't have to open your eyes to know he was gone. Everyone was gone. There was only a beat of silence before you let out a wail of emotional agony. All morning you didn’t get the time to do. It all just exploded, here and now in this moment. You grab Joe and pull him close. Cradling his body to you. He was heavy, still warm. .

[ranchracoon]

Dirty Little Secret

Bela Dimitrescu x G!P Reader

Requested by: StrangerJump

*NSFW*

*blow job, smut*

Bela Dimitrescu: Oldest daughter of the renown Lady Dimitrescu, heiress to a fortune, respected and feared by all those below her, if only they knew. It was no secret that the daughters played around with the staff, it was a certain death sentence especially with Bela or Cassandra, they always killed their lovers shortly after. You on the other hand, you peaked Bela's curiosity when she saw you barking orders around to some incompetent maids caught slacking. You weren't well liked because you were a stickler for following orders, she assumed you simply didn't want to die. She ordered you to her chambers one night, allowed you to see her in all her naked splendor. She didn't want to kill you, but she couldn't have the staff knowing her secret; she loved to be submissive. All day she's in charge, ordering around maidens, keeping her sisters in line, and making sure the castle stays afloat. When she wants pleasure, she wants all the focus on her, to have someone else take charge and tell her what to do. 

She pulled you into her bedroom, locking the door and sealing your fate as she unbuttoned your blouse. You didn't want to though, it confused her, why wouldn't someone want to be with her? Is she not pretty enough? Maybe you're too scared. No you have a little secret of your own. Bela pinned you on the wall, when she felt it, the harden poke through your pants. You broke out into a nervous sweat, surely she would kill you for finding out, but instead she now has leverage on you as well. 

"Please don't tell anyone" you begged. 

"I won't, on one condition: you become my pet. Service me whenever I want, wherever I want, and if you tell anyone about our relationship I'll cut it off" she threatened. 

From there it flowered, you got bolder when you found out that big, bad, Bela likes to be handled like a fuck toy. You start making demands during your playtime and she loves every second of it, panting, and begging under your touch. What you didn't plan on is how insatiable she is, or how bratty. It starts with her groping you under the table during breakfast, rubbing you through your pants and making you sweat. What if her mother saw? She knows about your relationship with her eldest daughter, but she doesn't want to see it. Then Bela leaves you and you have to find a way to work with a semi hard erection until it passes. As soon as it does she's on you again, pushing you against the nearest wall, pressing her whole body into you. Her nails on your neck as she kisses you and leaves her lipstick staining the collar of your shirt. She won't get away that easily. 

You take you by her hips and pull her into a nearby room, it's storage with a few miscellaneous chairs, a table, and some furniture covered in sheets. This'll do. She giggles softly as you hold her tightly, innocently looking at you. 

"What's the matter? Something bothering you?" She asks innocently. 

"Nothing my love, I just need to relieve some pent up energy. You wouldn't mind would you?" You say coyly. 

"Hmmm what if I say yes I do mind?"

"Then I guess I'll have to find someone else."

Bela growls loudly and pulls you by the neck to her lips, kissing you possessively. She knows you wouldn't dare stray, but the threat still riles her up as you lock your arms around her waist and pull her into you. As much as you would love to stand there and make out with her, you have chores to get done, and a deadline. You break the kiss and as you pull away she bites on your lower lip gently pulling it until she releases. She knows every trick to turning you on. Her hand finds it way between your legs, rubbing your crotch firmly as she uses her fingers to feel you through the fabric. 

"Mm someone's excited."

"Yes, and you're going to fix it."

You release her waist and push her down by the shoulders, she knows she could easily swarm away but she loves the way you push and pull her around. The motion makes her nipples hard through her dress as she bites her lip looking up. You undo your buckle and pull down your pants and underwear enough for your semi hard cock to spring free, she starts to purr lowly as her eyes drift back down to it. Yet she doesn't open her mouth, instead she keeps her bottom lip between her teeth so you grab her by the jaw and squeeze until she gasps, opening her mouth for you to slide on in. She wraps her plump lips around your cock, looking up at you as her teeth gently grind down onto the skin, a threatening message that she could easily bite down if she wished. She won't, you know she won't, and she knows she won't, but she still loves the tension that forms in your body every time. You release her jaw and lean back using your hands for support as she adjusts herself on her knees.

She takes your cock down her throat, sucking it as it hardens in her mouth and she releases up to the tip, licking your slit which sends shivers over your legs. Bela bobs her head and rests her hands on her thighs, letting her mouth fully consume you and do all the hard work. You tilt your head back and groan softly, loving the way her tongue adds pressure. She loves feeling your veins pop, how your cock pulsates and warms her mouth from the rushing blood. Drool forms in the corner of her mouth and dribbles down her chin as she deep throats you, gagging slightly which makes you grunt. Then her bratty attitude comes out again. She released her cock and starts licking it chastely, licking from the base to the tip and teasingly kissing your throbbing tip. You look down at her and lean forward, grabbing her hair forcibly and shoving your cock back into her mouth. 

She gags from the intrusion but relaxes her mouth and her throat as you begin thrusting your hips. Your cock reaches down her throat, making her choker impossibly tighter as a bulge in her throat forms where your cock is. She moans and supports herself on your thighs, as you continue to fuck her throat she obediently kneels there and takes it. You groan loudly as your cock pulsates and you shove it in one last time, cumming hard as she swallows every last bit. When you pull out saliva dribbles from her mouth and a string connects her mouth with the tip of you cock, which she licks the last remnants of cum off. You pull her up by her hair and release it, grabbing her waist once more and spinning her around, pushing her over onto a nearby covered table. You pull her dress up and find her soaking panties awaiting you, impatiently you pull them down to her knees letting her dripping cunt shiver from the cold air. 

With a firm slap against her ass cheek she moans and jerks forward, you bring down your hand a few more times until her ass is bright red. Bela shakes her hips, her swollen cunt begging for you as it glistens with her slick. You line yourself up and thrust in easily, she moans hotly and rests her forehead against the table but you quickly grab her hair again and pull back. She squeals excitedly and arches her back up as you firmly hold her hair  then begin thrusting. You thrust inside her deeply and hard, your hips slapping against her ass and adding to the redness. With every lewd smack of your hips Bela lets out a broken moan, gasping in between. Your cock reaches inside her deeply, hitting her gspot every time and she loves the way her walls stretch around you. You are relentless, picking up speed but continuing your hard thrusts. You're addicted to being inside her, she feels so good wrapped around your cock, and the way her body gives into you as if she was born for it. 

Bela's walls start tightening around you, her legs tense up and she barely can get out a coherent word before she gasps loudly. One of her hands shoots back to you, grabbing onto your shirt as her entire body pulsates and shivers. The clenching of her walls around you sends you over the edge as you thrust in one last time to cum inside her. You let go of her hair and support yourself by grabbing her hips, your legs shaking as you pump a few times to make sure every last drop makes it. Bela gasps and slowly relaxes, her muscles disengaging as she quivers from the lingering sensations. As you pull out she lets out another moan, and you bring her underwear up from her knees and put it back on her before giving her ass another light tap.

Master Post

[sparklestheunicorn]

I can see you is so pen and kelsea coded