#( the chapter that just came out is SO GOOD?? )

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 9

paige x azzi

word count: 7.3k

A/N: I don’t even know. I’m real iffy about this (i hate it) but a lot of people wanted it so here we are lol. This is honestly a random ass chapter and it’s a little all over the place. There’s at least a common theme throughout the chapter which is good I guess! Let me know what you think :)

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Paige has been chronically offline since the accident. Of course she still scrolls on her accounts but her social media presence was almost nonexistent—just a collection of sponsored ads and the occasional basketball dump that, knowingly to fans, was usually Azzi’s doing these days. If it weren’t for her teammates tagging her in posts, some people joked they’d forget she even had social media.

Because Paige was so inactive online, fans paid extra attention to her whenever she did show up. Every glimpse of her—whether it was a blurry background appearance in someone’s TikTok or a split-second cameo in an Instagram story—became something to dissect. It wasn’t just about what she was doing, but who she was always with.

Azzi wasn’t much better when it came to social media. She posted more than Paige, but that wasn’t saying much. Her feed was mostly basketball, occasional glimpses into her workouts, and sometimes a rare photo dump. But what fans noticed most was that, when she did post anything remotely fun or glimpses of her life, Paige was often in the videos.

It started subtly—Azzi posting TikTok trends with the team, Paige reluctantly included but always standing closest to Azzi. Then, she’d randomly post duets of them. Ones where Paige didn’t even try to hide her smile when Azzi pulled her into frame, or where she’d roll her eyes but still play along, because it was Azzi. Fans ate it up, stitching their videos with captions like Azzi is the only one who can make Paige do anything.

Then there were the off-the-court moments. Paige and Azzi getting caught whispering on the bench regardless of who was sitting in between them. The way Azzi’s hand would linger on Paige’s arm after huddles, or how Paige always seemed to turn to Azzi first when she was talking.

None of it was concrete. But to fans who had been paying attention, it was enough to start putting the pieces together.

The suspicion grew more on a random night after a game. KK, Aubrey, and Ice were piled in one of the team suites, Ice’s phone was propped up on live. They weren’t talking about anything in specific—just answering questions, talking about the game, and laughing about something they were trying to explain they saw from the bench.

In the background, Paige was in her own world, sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t even know the live was happening. Which wasn’t unusual. Paige was rarely the one front and center in these kinds of things, and the fans knew it.

But that didn’t stop them from trying.

The comments flooding in.

Pls get Paige in the camera!

Can Paige come say hi???

Ice glanced over her shoulder. “Yo, they’re asking for you,” she told Paige, shifting the camera slightly to show the fans her reaction.

Paige didn’t even look up from her phone. She just shook her head, laughing. “Nah, I’m good.”

The comments started flying in:

SHE LAUGHED OMG

She always does this 😭

Why is Paige allergic to cameras but will be in every single Azzi TikTok?

KK snickered, reading the comments in her head but not saying anything out loud. She, Ice, and Aubrey went back to talking about what happened on the bench during the game, reenacting the moment that had them in tears. The chat kept moving at full speed, fans still begging for Paige to come into frame, but the three ignored it, too caught up in their conversation.

After about 15 minutes the door to the suite opened, and Azzi walked in with Jana.

When they stepped in, Ice perked up. “Look who it is!” she said, grinning.

“Come say hi to the live real quick,” KK said, motioning for them to get in frame.

Jana, always down, strolled right over and leaned into the camera. “What are y’all doing?” she said, reading some of the comments as they flooded in.

Azzi, on the other hand, didn’t fully step in. She just popped her head into frame, flashing a quick smile. “Hey, guys,” she said casually before popping back out.

With the addition of Jana, the energy in the room picked up again. Ice, KK, and Aubrey focused on interacting with fans. The chat was flying, a mix of people laughing along and still—relentlessly—begging for Paige to get in the camera.

KK was the first to notice. She shook her head and nudged Aubrey, who glanced at what KK was pointing at and laughing. Jana and Ice caught on next, and within a few seconds, the four of them silently reached an agreement.

They all turned toward Paige simultaneously, eyes wide, lips jutted out in exaggerated pouts.

Paige, still lounging on the couch, didn’t even have to look up to know something was off. They had gotten way too quiet. With a small sigh, she lifted her head—only to be met with four identical, pleading expressions staring directly at her.

She blinked. “That looks like a scene from a horror movie.”

KK snorted, but no one broke character.

Paige let out a long sigh before pushing herself off the couch. “Alright, alright, chill,” she mumbled, as she walked toward them.

The live chat exploded:

NO WAY SHE ACTUALLY GOT UP THE POWER THEY HAVE

We finally won 😭

She stepped into the frame and forced a tight smile. “Hello,” she said simply.

She looks like she’s being held hostage 💀

Someone check if she blinked twice

Paige glanced down at the screen, reading through a few of them which were definitely inappropriate and shook her head. “Y’all are crazy,” she mumbled.

Then, her attention shifted slightly—just past the camera.

Her lips curled into a small grin, subtle at first, but it grew when her ears tinged a faint shade of red. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. Her voice was softer, more familiar, like she had completely forgotten they were on live.

The chat instantly reacted.

WHO IS SHE TALKING TO??

Wait, what’s happening?

Y’all saw that shift in energy?? HELLO???

Just then, another voice mumbled something from behind the camera. "You look cute when you’re all shy like that."

Paige’s smile deepened as she shook her head, a small huff escaping her lips. “Did I say I was shy?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

WHO JUST SAID THAT??

Was that Azzi???

NAH WHOEVER THAT IS HAS HER FLUSTERED

Paige is actually blushing. I’m sick, it's not me.

Azzi’s voice came again, a little clearer this time, but still low enough that it wasn’t obvious who was speaking. "You don’t have to say it. I can see it."

Paige bit her lip, eyes flickering downward for a second before shaking her head again. “Mhm,” she hummed, her amusement clear. “That’s crazy.”

Now the fans were in full meltdown mode, scrambling to piece it together.

HELLO???

WHAT IS HAPPENING.

WHO IS SHE TALKING TO??

KK glanced down at the comments, but she hadn’t been following the chaos leading up to them. All she saw was "Who’s behind the camera?"

“Oh,” she said, reaching for the phone. “It’s just Azzi Fudd Fudd.”

She turned the camera toward Azzi, who barely had time to blink before being on the live. Azzi gave a small smile, waving before KK propped the phone back in its original spot.

OH. MY. GOD.

IT WAS AZZI LMAOOO

THE WAY SHE WAS JUST STANDING THERE?? HELLO??

Paige, babe, be so real with us right now. Like be fr.

Paige, for her part, had already retreated back to the couch, stretching out with an arm over the backrest.

Eventually, Azzi wandered over, standing in front of Paige, who tilted her head up to look at her. The fans couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter because Paige had that goofy grin on her face—the one she only ever gave Azzi.

Paige picked up her phone, holding it out in front of her as she showed something to Azzi. Azzi took it, leaning down just a little closer, her eyebrows furrowing as she examined the screen. The fans could see her jaw drop in mock disbelief.

“Absolutely not,” Azzi said, shaking her head with a playful, incredulous tone.

Paige looked shocked. “Wait, what?” she asked, but before Azzi responded, she was turning to walk off frame, clearly trying to hide a grin.

Paige jumped up from the couch to follow her. The camera caught her moving quickly, her hand still holding her phone as she trailed behind Azzi, just as the two disappeared off-camera.

A moment later, a playful squeal is heard, followed by Azzi’s laughter. “Paige, stop!” she yells through her laugh.

There’s a bit of shuffling—movement that suggests a playful struggle—before Paige’s voice comes through. “You act like you don’t like it.”

After that there was a soft thud, like someone bumping into furniture, then the distant click of a door shutting.

KK glances toward the door before turning back to the screen, eyebrows raised.

As time passed and Paige and Azzi still hadn’t returned, the live became chaotic, with Ice and KK taking over, entertaining fans the best way they knew how—by arguing.

“Bro, you literally just said the opposite like five minutes ago,” Ice argued, pointing at KK.

“Girl boo. No, I didn’t,” KK shot back.

“Oh my God bro yes you did,” Ice insisted, shaking her head. “Somebody roll the tape.”

Then, someone finally asked:

Where did Paige and Azzi go???

KK glanced at the chat. “Prolly with they boyfriends.”

Ice turned her head, eyes widening before she let out a snicker, barely holding back her laugh.

GIRL BE SO FR RIGHT NOW.

WITH WHO???? NAME NAMES.

ICE LAUGHING CAUSE SHE KNOWS.

Paige and Azzi somewhere laughing at us rn.

KK YOU’RE NOT FUNNY (yes you are but still).

After that live, it seemed like the fans were watching their every move. It wasn’t like Paige and Azzi were hiding anything—it was more that they weren’t about to make any official announcements, nor were they ever planning on doing anything overt in front of the cameras.

Still, the speculation never stopped. Fans were divided—some adamantly claimed the two of them weren’t even gay, others argued they were just best friends, while a small group swore up and down that something was definitely happening between them. Despite all the chatter, Paige and Azzi never commented on it. And that, in itself, said enough.

There were no denials, no confirmations, just the two of them continuing on with their lives, the bond between them only becoming more obvious with time. It was clear to anyone who paid close enough attention that Paige and Azzi were something more than just teammates, more than just friends. But until they decided otherwise, everyone would have to keep guessing.

…

The podcast started, and the two of them were settled in front of the mics, the cameras already rolling. Paige looked a little stiff at first, clearly still not quite used to the whole “podcast” thing, while Azzi was a little more relaxed.

The Overtime WBB manager gave them a thumbs up, signaling for them to just start talking, telling them they’d chime in if they needed anything..

Azzi leaned into the mic first. "Hi, I’m Azzi Fudd."

Paige raised a hand, half-waving at the camera. "Paige Bueckers."

Azzi flashed a grin. "Um so, we’re partnering with Overtime WBB for a few podcast episodes, and honestly, it’s just gonna be a yap session. Nothing too serious. Just us talking and they’re going to clip whichever parts they like."

Paige chuckled at that. "Yap session? That’s one way to put it."

Azzi turned to her with her grin still in place. "Basically what it is. And yes, you have to participate."

Paige huffed as she leaned back in her chair. "I don’t know why I got picked for this.”

"You know exactly why you got picked for this."

Paige just shakes her head, picking up some of the cards they had in front of her, flipping through them absentmindedly. She wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cards in Paige’s hands. "So, how do you wanna do this?"

Paige looked up, smiling softly. "You can start."

Azzi leaned forward, giving Paige a look. "Just so you know I’m not running this whole thing. I’ll let you sit there being mysterious for a little bit though."

Paige laughed. "I’m not tryna be mysterious. I’m just… tryna figure out how to talk into a mic without sounding awkward."

Azzi laughed softly. "Just act like we're on the phone or FaceTime or something."

Paige gave her a look—one silently saying, you definitely don’t want us doing that.

Azzi caught the look and rolled her eyes slightly, laughing again. "Okay, maybe let’s not do that."

Paige nodded with a grin on her face. "Exactly."

Azzi shook her head, picking up the cards in front of her. She scanned through a few trying to find one that she knew would relax Paige a little bit. After a second she turned back to Paige with a grin. “Who's the best shooter on the team?"

Paige snorted. "Me."

Azzi raised an eyebrow "So, we're starting off the first episode with lying, huh?"

"Azzi, I’m a better shooter than you."

"Really? Do we wanna tell everybody what happened yesterday after practice?"

Paige sat up in her chair as she squinted her eyes at Azzi. "You mean when you cheated and threw your ball in the air on my last shot?"

Azzi grinned. "You still missed. Meaning you lost."

Paige shook her head. "You cheated.

Azzi’s grin only grew as she shrugged nonchalantly. "You're just a sore loser."

Paige shot her a glare. "I’m a sore loser? You still can't admit I beat you in a one-on-one."

"Because you didn’t win."

Paige threw her hands up. "Bro, I was up 18-17!"

Azzi’s grin only grew when she saw Paige getting riled up. "Exactly. It was win by two. So, no, you didn’t win."

Paige let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. "Whatever."

Azzi laughed, leaning back in her chair. "I’ll let you be delusional today but we both know what's good."

Paige smirked a little at this but didn't say anything back. Just raised her eyebrows at Azzi before she looked down at her cards. After a moment, she picked one out and glanced up at Azzi.

"Would you rather be stuck in a room with me or Coach for 24 hours?"

Azzi snorted, her face lighting up with amusement. She pretended to think for a moment, tapping her chin dramatically before glancing at Paige with a grin. "I don’t know man...that’s a tough one...you’d get a little annoying after like hour ten."

Paige dropped her jaw in disbelief, looking at Azzi like she’d just been betrayed. "Wowww."

Azzi's eyes sparkled as she looked back at Paige. "Still…I’d rather be stuck in a room with you, Paige."

The way she said it and the way she looked at Paige as she tilted her head slightly, made the words hang in the air for a moment. There was a beat of silence, the slight tension between them clear to everyone in the room. Paige held Azzi’s gaze, and for just a second, neither of them said anything—too caught up in the weight of the moment.

Paige’s smile faded slightly, her heartbeat a little louder in her ears. Azzi blinked, breaking the spell, and leaned back casually in her chair, her grin returning like nothing had happened.

Azzi flipped to the next card, reading it over before glancing at Paige with a curious expression. “Who's the hardest player to guard in college basketball?”

Paige barely hesitated before answering, her voice smooth in the mic. “You.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard for a split second before a slow smirk spread across her face. “Oh?” she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Go on.”

Paige rolled her eyes at Azzi’s reaction but continued. “You’re shifty, your release time is basically nonexistent, you can get to the rim, and you never stop moving. It’s annoying.”

Azzi grinned, clearly pleased. “Annoying, huh?”

Paige nodded. “Very.”

“So what I’m hearing is, I give you problems.”

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Alright I never said allat.”

Azzi turned to the camera, her smile still present. “You hear that, everybody? Paige Bueckers just admitted that I’m the toughest player she’s had to guard. Basically said she can’t guard me.”

Paige groaned, rubbing her temples. “See, this is why I don’t say nice things. Your head gets bigger than it already is.”

Azzi laughed, clearly enjoying every second of Paige’s frustration, before turning back to the camera. "I swear she’s a lot nicer to me when she isn’t in front of a camera."

Paige scoffed, tilting her head slightly. "That’s funny, ’cause I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Azzi smirked. "Oh yeah?"

Paige nodded, her eyes locked on Azzi. "Mhm. You act all innocent in front of people, but when it’s just us? Whole different person."

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "What kinda different we talkin'?"

Paige leaned forward, a smile forming on her face. "The kinda different when you’re all over me."

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. "You’re wild for saying that on camera."

Paige shrugged, her smile growing. "What? It’s not like I’m lying."

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to consider if she was going to play into this with Paige. "You’re the one who gets all soft when we’re alone. Acting like you don’t melt the second I touch you."

Paige let out a soft laugh. "I don’t melt."

Azzi smirked. "You do."

Paige and Azzi exchanged a look before breaking into quiet laughter, clearly amused by how quickly their conversation had derailed.

"Now look who's flirting on camera," Paige teased.

Azzi shook her head, feigning innocence. "They can cut it out."

Both of them instinctively glanced to the side where the Overtime WBB crew stood, watching. One of the staff members, who had been jotting down notes, simply nodded. "Say no more," she mumbled, scribbling something down—probably making a note to edit out that part.

The staff member finished jotting down notes and looked up at them. "Alright, we’re going to do a speed round of questions to see how well you two know each other which should give us enough to wrap it up for today."

Paige and Azzi both nodded, settling in. Paige glanced at the paper, huffing out a laugh when she saw the question. "What’s my go-to order?"

Azzi snorted. "Chicken tenders and fries."

Paige grinned, satisfied with the answer, but Azzi wasn’t done as she adds, "She eats like a toddler."

Paige gasped. "No, I don’t! They’ve just never failed me. Gotta stick with ole-reliable when I go to new places."

Azzi shook her head, laughing, before reading the next question. "What’s my pregame ritual?"

"You always have to poop right before the game."

"This is true."

Paige continued easily, describing Azzi’s pregame routine as if she had been Azzi’s teammate for years. "But other than that, we both listen to the playlist I made, you tie your shoes a certain way, right first then left, and then you stretch longer than everybody else so you can pretend like—"

Azzi cut her off, eyes widening. "Alright, alright, let’s not spill all my secrets!"

Paige chuckled saying, “What you got opps?”

Azzi mumbles out, “Probably.”

Paige just laughed, shaking her head. She glanced down at her paper again. "What’s one of my pet peeves?"

Azzi didn’t hesitate. "When people chew too loud."

Paige pointed at her. "Facts."

Azzi looked slightly toward the camera before turning back to Paige. "Any time somebody chews loudly, she physically looks like she’s in pain. She’s too nice to say anything, though."

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she moved on. "Alright, what’s something I always say on the court?"

Azzi laughed instantly. "‘That’s off’—you used to only do it when you shot and knew it was about to miss but you’ve started doing it when I shoot now too."

Paige laughed. "Cause you gotta rebound more so I’m tryna help you out."

"Yeah whatever."

Paige gestured for Azzi to go next.

Azzi glanced down at the paper in front of her, skimming a few of them before asking, "What’s my guilty pleasure TV show?"

Paige leaned back in her chair confidently. "Any Bachelor or Love Island spinoff. You swear you don’t care, but then you get way too invested every time."

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes but grinned. "Okay, fair."

Paige wasn’t done. "Then you force me to watch it with you every night and start asking questions like, ‘Why did he pick her over the other girl?’"

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. "Alright you’re just adding all the extra details to these questions. "

Paige gave her Azzi smile and shrugged. "That’s the game, right?"

Azzi exhaled, looking down to hide her blush before picking her next question. "What’s something random I love?"

Paige didn’t even blink. "The smell of fresh laundry. You always say it’s one of the best smells in the world."

Azzi raised an impressed eyebrow. "I’m surprised you got that one so quick."

Paige shrugged like it was obvious. "That’s because every time you do laundry, you take a deep breath and say, ‘That’s elite’ before you make me fold em."

Azzi covered her face laughing. "Okay, stop exposing me!"

Paige just grinned before asking the next question. "What’s something that instantly annoys me?"

Azzi hummed. "When people take too long to tell a story."

Paige pointed at her again. "Oh my god bro! If you have a five-minute story, please don’t take twenty minutes to tell it."

Azzi shook her head, smiling. "She gets so impatient when people don’t get to the point. I can literally see it on her face. Then she starts fidgeting around like a child."

Paige let out a dramatic sigh. "Because why are you dragging it? Just get to the point!"

Azzi laughed, nodding before glancing at her next question. "What’s one of my biggest fears?"

Paige’s smirk faded slightly as she answered the question softly. "Not reaching your full potential."

Azzi blinked, the playful air between them shifting just for a moment. Paige held her gaze, the answer coming too naturally—reflecting the long conversations and late nights the two of them shared talking about things like that.

Azzi nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said softly before clearing her throat and forcing a smirk. "That and spiders."

Paige let the moment pass and grinned. "Yeah, those too. You basically crawled up my back when there was a spider in my bathroom once"

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, next question."

Paige smirked. It was clear she was enjoying herself. "What’s something I do when I’m overthinking?"

Azzi exhaled, already knowing the answer. "You play with your ring on your finger and if you’re trying to not be too obvious because I’m around you bite the inside of your cheek."

Paige stared at her for a moment before grinning because of course Azzi had picked up on the second one "Okay, stalker."

"I just pay attention to you."

Paige didn’t say anything for a second, just held her gaze with that small smirk of hers.

After a beat of silence—just the two of them smiling at each other—the staff member cleared her throat. "Alright guys thank you. I think that’s good for today."

Azzi turned toward them, flashing a polite smile. "Sounds good, thank you."

Paige, however, was still looking at her, that smirk lingering like she knew something Azzi didn’t.

Azzi stood up, stretching her arms above her head before mumbling under her breath, "Stop staring at me creep."

Paige leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms—eyes never leaving Azzi. "Not my fault you’re in my line of sight."

Azzi rolled her eyes but glanced over her shoulder, seeing which staff members were still lingering around. After a second, she seemed satisfied with what she saw and then turned her attention back to Paige.

She moved closer, standing between Paige’s legs, her presence drawing Paige's gaze upward. The smirk on Paige’s face never faltered.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, a glint in her eyes as she reached out to take Paige’s hand, fingers casually playing with hers. "What?" she asked.

Paige tugged gently at Azzi’s hand, pulling her down into her lap. "I like your hair like that," she said softly, her fingers playing with the ends of Azzi's curls as she settled her more comfortably.

Paige glanced up at Azzi, smiling up at her softly. "This okay pretty?"

Azzi looked around again, checking the room before her gaze returned to Paige. She nodded, her voice quiet. "Yeah," she replied, settling into Paige's lap.

As soon as she got confirmation Paige pulled Azzi into a kiss by her jaw. Azzi’s hand instinctively found its way to Paige's cheek, her fingers tracing her face as she kissed back, both of them losing themselves in the moment for a while.

When they broke apart, Azzi whispered softly, her breath still warm against Paige’s lips, "You did well. I’m proud of you baby."

Paige chuckled, her smirk returning as she leaned back slightly. "Thank you."

Azzi raised an eyebrow at Paige’s demeanor, her tone teasing as she asked, "Did you like it?"

Paige, still with that same smirk, shook her head playfully. "Nope."

Azzi laughed, her fingers gently running through Paige's hair as she leaned in again, clearly enjoying the playful tension between them. "You're cute," she mumbled affectionately, her lips brushing Paige's temple.

Azzi’s fingers gently continued to play with Paige’s hair, a soft rhythm as they both relaxed into the moment. Paige let her head fall back against the chair completely, closing her eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over her. The warmth of Azzi’s presence beside her always felt grounding.

Azzi, always attuned to Paige’s needs, let her take the brief moment of quiet. She shifted slightly, resting her head against Paige's shoulder, her hand still lightly grazing Paige’s hair as she hummed softly when she smelt Paige’s cologne, content to simply be there.

But the stillness didn’t last for long. A soft voice broke the moment. "Hey, sorry to bother you guys."

Azzi blinked, her eyes opening to see a staff member standing nearby. She straightened up, offering a polite smile, though there was still a relaxed air about her. "No problem," Azzi said.

The staff member looked at both of them. "Just wanted to check in to see if there's anything else from the podcast you want to be taken out, besides that one portion we already talked about?"

Paige opened her eyes, glancing over at Azzi showing she fully expected her to answer it for them.

"I think we're good," Azzi said, giving Paige a quick look to silently confirm. "Just that one part...everything else should be fine."

Paige simply nodded in agreement before closing her eyes again.

The staff member made a quick note on her clipboard. "Alright, cool. Just wanted to check in before we wrap up. You can just message us if anything else comes up."

As the staff member walked off, Azzi shifted back into a more relaxed position, her fingers resuming their movements through Paige’s hair. She mumbled, "Kinda crazy how we spent our off day working."

Paige mumbled in response—her eyes still shut. "Tell me about it."

Azzi huffed out a soft laugh, amused by Paige’s tired tone. She leaned in and kissed Paige’s neck gently, the brief contact making Paige grin.

Pulling away just enough, Azzi sat up, looking down at Paige with a small smile. "Let’s get you back to the room before you pass out sleepyhead," she said softly as she helped Paige sit up.

Paige stretched slowly, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she finally met Azzi’s eyes, still smiling. "I’m not sleepy… just...happy I don’t have to talk."

Azzi grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever you say," she replied. Her eyes softened when she noticed the way Paige’s eyes were starting to droop. "You’re gonna pass out the second we get back to the room, aren’t you?"

Paige didn’t answer right away, but the lazy smile on her face and the way she leaned slightly on Azzi as they began to walk was enough of an answer. Azzi shook her head in amusement, offering her a gentle nudge as she led the way toward the door. "I knew it," she mumbled with a grin.

Once small clips of the podcast were released, the attention on Paige and Azzi only grew. The fans were watching more closely if possible, dissecting every interaction, every glance, every touch.

The two of them didn’t mind. Paige who was still reacclimating to the overwhelming attention, was more reserved around fans in general. But one thing she never did was change how she acted with Azzi. Whether cameras were on them or not, Azzi remained within reach—adjusting Paige’s hoodie strings, fixing her chain, brushing something off her sleeve. Small gestures that didn’t go unnoticed because there was no one else on the team doing them.

It was ironic, really. Fans remembered Paige playfully yelling at Ice during a livestream, claiming she hated being touched after Ice bear hugged her. Yet, with Azzi, she never seemed to mind.

Some of the more in-tune fans noticed subtle shifts in their demeanor when they were in public versus when they were on lives or behind the scenes. Paige was usually the protective one—shooting glares at the team when they bothered Azzi, draping an arm around her when she was pouring about something. But when they were at games or events, surrounded by fans, the roles seemed to reverse. Azzi subtly became the protective one.

She was the one gently guiding Paige away from crowded situations, standing just slightly in front of her when fans ran over to them too quickly, placing a hand on her lower back when the attention became too much. People other than just fans were starting to notice.

"Have y’all realized that Paige acts all big and bad with the team but the second they’re in public, Azzi’s the one protecting her???"

"No, let's talk about it bc Azzi is always making sure Paige is comfortable in crowded spaces and I think I’m gonna cry."

…

The event was supposed to be simple—meet fans, take pictures, sign a few autographs. And if this had been two years ago, it probably would have been much calmer. But things had changed.

With the rise in popularity, the number of fans crowding the venue had grown, completely filling the space with excited chatter and eager energy. People called out players' names, some holding jerseys and posters, others just wanting a quick interaction. Paige, despite being a transfer, had been welcomed with open arms. And if there was any doubt before the event, it was clear now—these fans completely adored her.

Azzi was caught up in conversation, taking pictures, signing things, flashing smiles when she needed to, but every so often, her eyes drifted toward Paige.

At first, it was just out of habit—glancing over to check in, to get a quick glimpse of her girlfriend.

But then, the crowd around Paige continued to grow.

Azzi’s stomach tensed as she watched more people press in, everyone trying to get a moment of her attention. At first, Paige didn’t seem to mind. She was still smiling, still quietly answering questions.

But Azzi knew better.

She remembered one night, months ago, when Paige had admitted, almost offhandedly, “Since the accident I get really claustrophobic sometimes. Not all the time, but when too many people are around me, and I can’t move the way I want or go where I want, it just…gets to me I guess.”

Azzi hadn’t forgotten.

Which was why she kept glancing over now, watching the way Paige’s shoulders stiffened just slightly, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. The way she was playing with the ring on her finger was always a clear sign of discomfort.

Azzi didn’t hesitate to make her way towards her after that. She didn’t rush, didn’t make it obvious—just started subtly making her way toward the crowd, offering a few more smiles, taking a couple more pictures along the way.

Azzi was nearly there when she saw Paige tensing as a fan wrapped an arm around her waist for a picture. It might have looked normal to anyone else, just a casual pose for the picture but the fan's arm was pressed securely around Paige’s torso, right where her scar was.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just offered a tight smile, her fingers still idly twisting the ring on her finger relentlessly.

Sliding smoothly into the group, Azzi greeted the fans with her usual warmth, her voice light. “Hey guys, how’s it going?”

The distraction was enough. The fan instinctively loosened her hold as she turned toward her, and in that split second, Azzi slid in. “Mind if I hop in for one?” she asked, flashing her grin. Before the fan could fully process it, Azzi gently moved their arm away from Paige, positioning herself in the middle instead. The way she did it was subtle—done so effortlessly that no one would think twice about it.

The picture was taken, and Azzi smiled at the fan before signing something for her.

After that she turned toward the group smiling as she said, “Sorry, guys, I need to steal her for a second,” already reaching for Paige’s hand to tug her away from the group.

Azzi guided Paige toward the exit, her hand resting lightly on Paige’s back as they weaved through the maze of people. As they neared the door, Azzi caught CD’s questioning look from nearby. With a simple glance, CD silently asked where they were going.

Azzi mouthed, Just taking a quick break.

CD gave a small nod of approval, trusting them both, before turning back to the chaos of the event.

Azzi led Paige toward the team's coach bus, still parked out front. The cool air was a welcome contrast to the heat of the packed venue, and the moment they stepped onto the empty bus, Paige exhaled deeply. They slid into a random seat, and as soon as she was sitting, Paige dragged her hands down her face, finally letting herself breathe.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She knew Paige needed a moment to gather herself. Instead, she just sat beside her, letting the quietness settle between them.

But when she noticed Paige starting to zone out, her eyes becoming unfocused, her fingers idly twisting the ring on her hand again, Azzi reached over and gently took her hand.

“What’s going on in that pretty head?” she asked her softly.

Paige let out a quiet breath, giving Azzi a small, appreciative smile before shaking her head. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she admitted, “I don’t know if I can do this, Az.”

Azzi’s brows knitted together as she turned toward Paige. “What do you mean?”

Paige let out a slow exhale, her fingers still playing with the ring on her finger. "I don’t know how to do this whole public figure thing anymore," she admitted, her voice quiet. "Before the accident, it was easier. Even though it was hectic, I could handle it—I loved it. But now… everything’s just harder. Social media, interactions, all of it."

Azzi frowned slightly, wanting to ease her worries. "You don’t need to be a public figure to be a basketball player P."

Paige simply gave her a look—one that silently told Azzi they both knew that wasn’t true.

Paige took a deep breath before continuing, her tone filled with frustration. "How am I supposed to be a face of a league team when I can’t even handle a crowd at a damn bowling alley?"

Azzi sighed softly before adjusting, hooking her arm through Paige’s and leaning her head against her shoulder. She reached down, replacing Paige’s hand with her own as she began absentmindedly playing with the ring on Paige’s finger, both of them staring ahead in silence for a moment.

Then, after gathering her thoughts, Azzi finally spoke. "You’re going to be perfectly fine, baby."

She paused, knowing she needed to explain why in a way that made sense to Paige. After a brief moment, she continued, her head still resting against Paige’s shoulder. "You’re so easy for people to love, to root for, to gravitate to."

Azzi lifted her head slightly, glancing at Paige before leaning down and continuing. "The moment you announced you were transferring to UConn, your name was everywhere. Every sports outlet, every social media page—everyone was talking about the return of Paige Bueckers." She paused, her fingers still gently twisting the ring. "You didn’t even have a social media presence and brands still threw the craziest deals at you."

Paige listened quietly, her chest rising and falling steadily as she took in Azzi’s words.

"You went from not being mentioned on draft boards to jumping into the first round after what…four games?" Azzi tilted her head slightly before laughing at herself. "I started rambling and kinda lost my train of thought."

Paige chuckled softly, the sound warm as she kissed Azzi’s head before leaning her own against Azzi’s.

Azzi smiled before letting out a quiet breath. "I guess my point was, I’m saying all of this to remind you that despite everything you went through, despite how much it still weighs on you. How much you still want to work on…you’re a light for everyone else. You’re a genuine person, you have the sweetest soul of anyone I’ve ever met. You’re talented, honest, and just…” Azzi pauses to gather her thoughts, silently thanking the universe for giving her someone like Paige. She continues saying, “You’re just an amazing human baby. And people don’t see that a lot in public figures these days."

Paige closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle.

"You could never post on social media again, you could hire a social media manager to handle everything, and people would still love you," Azzi continued. "They love you even when you don’t interact with them. Just being in the same room as you is enough for some of them. Just getting a glimpse of you—I don’t know if I’m cut out to make the decisions but if I was a GM that sounds like a damn great person to build my team around.”

Paige swallowed, her fingers curling around Azzi’s. She didn’t say anything right away, but the tension in her shoulders slowly began to ease.

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand gently, grounding her before she continued. "No, you might not be the same Paige from high school—the one who filmed TikToks with kids after games and didn’t mind when hundreds of people waited for her and warmed her." She glanced up, making sure Paige was listening. "But this version of you? This perfect version of you that I love more than anything in this world. You still find time to make people’s day, even when you don’t realize it."

Paige exhaled softly, her body relaxing against Azzi.

"It’s gonna take time to get used to it again," Azzi admitted. "And that’s perfectly fine. Until then, just doing it in small bursts is enough." She played with the ring on Paige’s finger again. "And just so we’re clear—you are not obligated to give your time to anyone."

Paige let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking her head slightly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a smile forming. "What?"

Paige turned to her, her blue eyes soft and filled with something Azzi recognized instantly. "I just love you," she whispered. "And I’m so thankful that God brought you into my life."

While Paige was saying this, Azzi's brown eyes were locked onto Paige’s blue ones the entire time. Her heart swelled, a slow smile forming as she whispered, "I love you too beautiful."

Azzi held Paige’s gaze for a moment before suddenly perking up. “One sec,” she said, standing up before Paige could question her.

Paige watched in confusion as Azzi walked toward her actual seat on the bus, rummaging through her bag. “What are you doing?” she said, brows furrowing.

“Hold on,” Azzi replied, focused as she finally pulled something out. She turned back, making her way toward Paige again, a small box now in her hand.

When she reached her, she held it out. “Here,” she said. “Open it.”

Paige looked at the box, then back at Azzi, suspicion flickering across her features. “Azzi…”

Azzi groaned, already anticipating the resistance. “Don’t be difficult.”

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head before finally lifting the lid. Her breath hitched when she saw the delicate silver necklace inside, a heart-shaped locket resting in the center. She blinked, stunned, before looking back up at Azzi, who was watching her with a soft smile.

“Open the locket,” Azzi said gently.

Paige carefully lifted the necklace from the box, her fingers grazing the cool metal as she unclasped the locket. Inside there was a small picture staring back at her—one of the first pictures they’d taken together. The memory was still so clear even though it seemed like two different versions of them.

A lump formed in Paige’s throat as her fingers trembled slightly, tracing the edge of the locket. No one had ever given her something like this before—something so thoughtful.

Azzi shifted beside her, watching her reaction closely. “You always say I make crowds and things like that easier,” she rambled. “So, I wanted to give you that—so you know I’m always there, even when I can’t be physically next to you.”

Paige took a long exhale, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Slowly, she looked back up at Azzi, her blue eyes glistening.

“Baby…this is beautiful,” she whispered, her voice almost lost in the empty bus.

Azzi smiled and reached for the locket. “Here, let me put it on.”

Paige turned slightly, pulling her hair to the side as Azzi unclasped the necklace and carefully fastened it around her neck. Her fingers lingered for a moment, rubbing the back of Paige’s neck gently which only made her chest fill with more warmth.

When Paige let her hair fall back into place, her fingers found the locket resting against her shirt. She held it lightly, rubbing her thumb over the surface. “I love it,” she admitted, her voice softer than before, more vulnerable. “I love you.”

Azzi grinned, nudging Paige’s knee with her own. “I know.”

Paige rolled her eyes, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Bro you’re annoying.”

Azzi laughed, nudging her one more time. “I love you too, big head.”

They sat there for a moment in comfortable silence, both knowing they needed to head back inside. With a shared sigh, they stood, their fingers brushing briefly before Azzi stepped toward the door.

Just before they stepped off the bus, Paige gently grabbed Azzi’s wrist, stopping her in place. Azzi turned, a silent question in her eyes, but before she could say anything, Paige tugged her in, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips.

Azzi, of course, kissed her back, her hand resting on Paige’s hip, rubbing a few circles against her skin before she pulled away slightly. “You ready to go back to the chaos?”

Paige huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “Not really,” she admitted.

Azzi grinned. “Too bad. I gotta go be the people’s princess.” With that, she grabbed Paige’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before pulling her off the bus. As they neared the entrance, they made sure to drop their hands, slipping seamlessly back into the world that was waiting for them.

This time, though, Paige felt much better about everything.

[natsaffection]

Redline. Pt 4 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver! Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), sexual tension, intentional crash

Word count: 10,3k

A/N: Okay…just 2 more chapters to go! Today, we’re focusing more on the dynamics between everyone. Aaand..don’t come at me for the ending!🧎🏻‍♀️

Part 3

The heat from the track still lingered in the air as you walked beside your father, the gravel crunching under your boots with every slow step. Neither of you spoke at first. The pit lane was behind you now, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unspoken.

Your hands were shoved deep into your fire suit pockets, your pulse still uneven from the confrontation with Natasha, her words, her touch, her smirk still lingering like a brand on your skin. You glanced at your father, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on the track ahead, the smooth asphalt, the sharp curves, the very place that had nearly taken you away from him once. “I wanted to see you race.”

Your chest tightened. “Dad-”

“Your test race was good.”

That stopped you. Your brows furrowed slightly, your steps faltering. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t it. You turned to him, your voice careful. “You think so?”

His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, Romanoff-like in his control. Then, after a moment, he nodded. “Very good.” The words should have made you feel proud. But there was something else beneath them. Something heavier. Something hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. “But?” His sigh was slow. Controlled. Measured. “But I still have doubts.”

The honesty stung more than it should have. You swallowed, looking back at the track, your fingers curling inside your pockets. “You don’t think I should be here.” It wasn’t a question. Because you already knew the answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you. “It’s not about what I think, Y/n. It’s about what this does to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying you, seeing through you like he always did. “Can you?” The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Because even after everything, even after clawing your way back, after surviving the rehab, after proving to the world that you were still here, there was still that one small part of you that wasn’t sure.

You blinked hard, looking away before he could see it. “Mom doesn’t think I can, does she?” His jaw tensed. That was all the confirmation you needed. “She hates it.” The words sat between you, heavy and unmoving. You exhaled sharply, your fingers flexing at your sides. “Of course, she does.”

He sighed. “Y/n-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice came out flat, bitter. “She spent a year watching me relearn how to fucking walk. She spent a year seeing me break down because I couldn’t even lift my own body weight anymore. She was there when the doctors told me that my career was over.” You swallowed hard, the memory of it clawing at the back of your mind. “So yeah. I get it.”

Your father sighed, stopping in his steps. You followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the track ahead, refusing to let him see the way your hands were shaking. “She was scared.” His voice was softer now, edged with something tired. “She still is.”

“So are you.” He didn’t deny it. That said enough. Another long silence stretched between you, the weight of everything unspoken pressing hard against your ribs. Then, his voice changed. “Romanoff.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What about her?” His gaze was unreadable again, calculating. “She’s difficult.” You huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Is she treating you right?” The question made your breath hitch. Not because it was strange. But because it was the first time he had acknowledged Natasha at all.

You looked away, exhaling slowly. “She’s…” You hesitated. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain Natasha? The woman who pushed you to your limits. The woman who made you want to scream and fight and prove her wrong every second you were on the track. The woman who, despite everything, had kept you here. “She’s tough.”

“Tough isn’t the same as fair.”

You clenched your jaw, voice quiet. “She’s fair enough.” Your father hummed slightly, unconvinced. Then, he exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Be careful with her.”

Something in your chest tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about racing anymore. You knew that. And so did he. Looking back at the track, at the curve ahead, the stretch of asphalt that had nearly ended you once. Then, you exhaled, forcing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “I will.”

——

The moment the call came, you didn’t hesitate. You were in Natasha’s office within seconds. Not a second early. Not a second late. You weren’t going to give her another reason to tear into you.

The confrontation from the track still burned in your mind, the fire in her eyes, the way she had dragged you out of the car, ripped into you with the kind of rage only Natasha Romanoff could wield. You had pushed back. But she had pushed harder. And now? Now, you weren’t about to give her another excuse to throw you around like a chess piece.

You knocked once and firm, “Come in.” came through the heavy wood. Stepping inside, you braced yourself for another heated lecture, another round of Natasha pushing you to the brink. Instead, you stopped. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the sleek leather couch, where a row of carefully curated outfits lay waiting. Dresses. Suits. Something in between. Sleek. Expensive. And entirely unexpected.

Natasha stood behind her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction. You exhaled, tilting your head. “Are we throwing a fashion show now?”

She didn’t blink. “Try them on.”

It wasn’t a request. Your lips parted slightly, but before you could ask, her expression hardened, not angry, not quite daring, just expecting. So, you swallowed down the million questions burning at the tip of your tongue and moved toward the outfits. You weren’t stupid. You did what you were told.

The first outfit was too stiff. The second? Too formal. The third? Too boring. But the fourth? That one was perfect. Sleek black fabric hugged your form in all the right ways, polished, sharp, clean. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a dress. It was somewhere in between. Powerful. Something that made you feel like you could stand next to anyone and not be overshadowed. You turned toward the mirror, adjusting the sleeves slightly before stepping back into the office.

Natasha was still at her desk, eyes scanning through a document. But the second she looked up, she stood. Green eyes flickered over you, sharp and unreadable, the weight of her gaze making your skin prickle.

“Can I touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly at the way she said it.. low, direct, careful. Your fingers twitched at your side. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, movements effortless, controlled. One hand lifted, fingers barely grazing the fabric at your shoulder, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. Then, she tugged the hem slightly, adjusting the fit. Her touch was warm, steady. Not rough like before. Not burning with frustration or anger. Just precise. Her fingers brushed along the edge of your sleeve, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

You swallowed, voice quieter than intended. “What’s this about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, walked back to her desk, slipped her pen into place with slow precision, then met your gaze again. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Your stomach twisted. “Leaving?”

“Family dinner.”

The words settled heavily between you. You blinked, processing, feeling your pulse tick up slightly. The Romanoffs?? Everyone knew them. They weren’t just a wealthy family, they were a dynasty, a legacy built on power, wealth, and absolute control. And now, you were about to walk into their world. Natasha watched your reaction closely, smirk deepening slightly. “You know them.”

It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, keeping your voice careful. “Everyone does.”

Her head tilted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. “Are you a fangirl?”

Your jaw locked. “No.”

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. “Hesitation says otherwise.” You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep steady. “Should I be worried?” Natasha considered that for a moment, then smiled. “That depends.”

You swallowed, hating the way she always made you feel like she had all the cards, like she had been three steps ahead of you since the moment you walked in. She picked up her phone, already moving toward the door, already in control of the next move. Then, just before stepping out, she glanced back at you, something dangerously amused in her eyes.

“Don’t be late.” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want Mommy to think you don’t belong.” Your breath hitched. She saw it and she loved it. Then, she was gone. Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering in your ears, knowing full well that this wasn’t just dinner.

The car ride was tense, but not in the usual way. This wasn’t the quiet before a storm, the steady focus before a race. This was heavier and charged with something deeper, something unspoken.

You sat in the back of one of Natasha’s luxury cars, the engine purring smoothly as it cut through the night. The interior smelled of leather and something distinctly hers. She sat beside you, legs crossed, posture straight, eyes fixed on her phone, the soft glow illuminating her features. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city, only issuing short, clipped commands to the driver.

Across from you, Yelena was the only one who seemed completely unbothered. She stretched out in her seat, arms folded behind her head, feet casually propped up against the console like this was just another errand. But it wasn’t. You were on your way to meet the Romanoffs. Not just Natasha. Not just Yelena. The whole dynasty.

Their empire stretched across industries that mattered. Finance. Defense. Technology. Racing. There wasn’t a single major sector that didn’t have a Romanoff signature buried somewhere in its foundation. And Natasha? She wasn’t just part of it. She was born into it.

You exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against your knee. Yelena caught the movement instantly, smirking. “Nervous?”

You met her gaze, forcing a casual shrug. “A little..”

She let out a short laugh. “If you screw up, they might not let you leave.”

Your stomach dipped. Natasha didn’t react, not outwardly. But the corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was holding back amusement. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself, but before she could respond, Natasha finally spoke. “Enough.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t push further. The car continued its smooth ascent, winding up the private road leading to the estate. The further you drove, the more surreal it became. The Romanoff property was massive, gated, guarded, the kind of wealth that didn’t just sit pretty but protected itself. Pristine landscaping stretched for miles, leading up to the mansion itself. A fortress of glass and steel, sleek and modern, an architectural masterpiece.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, the doors were already open. Natasha moved first, stepping out smoothly, slipping her phone into her pocket as she approached the woman waiting at the entrance. Melina. Natasha’s mother.

You had seen pictures of her before, but seeing her in person was different. She was graceful, poised, elegant, but there was something colder beneath it. Something sharp. A woman who had built herself into something untouchable. She spoke to Natasha first, her voice low, unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to you.

For a second, she said nothing. Just studied you. Her eyes swept over you like she was calculating something, measuring. Then, a smile. Melina’s lips curved slightly, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Ah. So you’re the one who’s been giving my daughter so much trouble.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Natasha exhaled quietly, a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement. Before you could scramble for a response, another voice cut in “Ah! There she is!”

You barely had time to react before a broad, shouldered man emerged from the house, grinning widely. Alexei. Natasha and Yelena’s father. You recognized him instantly, not just from pictures, but from history. A legend in his time. Ex-Racer. A force in the business world. A man who had built part of the Romanoff empire with nothing but sheer, stubborn will.

And yet, this was not the intimidating powerhouse you expected. Because the man was smiling. A full, wide, beaming smile. Like he had been waiting all day to meet you. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “So! You’re the one who thinks she can handle my Natasha!”

Natasha’s exhale was louder this time. Melina took a long sip of her wine. Yelena, standing beside you, was grinning like a damn idiot. You scrambled for words. “I..uh-”

Alexei clapped a massive hand against your shoulder, nearly making you stumble forward. “She is small, but she looks tough! I like her!” You blinked. Natasha muttered something in Russian under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Melina sighed, already turning toward the dining room. “Come, before Alexei scares her off.”

The dining table was massive, stretching across the length of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers above. The entire setting felt surreal, like stepping into a world you weren’t meant to belong to, but here you were.

Seated between Natasha and Yelena, you could feel the weight of the Romanoff name pressing in from all sides. Melina sat at the head of the table, poised, watching. Across from you, Alexei cut into his steak with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove.

“So,” Alexei started, taking a massive bite, speaking around it like it was just another casual topic, “the championship race is coming up. You’re up against Walker, yes?”

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Melina sipped her wine, tilting her head slightly. “Dreykov will be watching closely.” Natasha didn’t even look up. “Let him.”

Yelena smirked, leaning on her elbow. “I heard Walker’s already pissed about the competition.”

Alexei snorted. “Good! He should be worried.” Then, his sharp eyes flicked toward you. “Do you think you can beat him?”

The table went silent. Your pulse ticked up. Everyone was watching you. You met Alexei’s gaze head-on, steady, unwavering. “I know I can.”

Silence stretched, thick and expectant. Then, Alexei grinned. “Good answer.”

Natasha, beside you, didn’t react. But you felt her shift slightly. Like she had just gotten her answer too. Melina set her wine down with quiet precision. “You do realize this race isn’t just about you.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.” She studied you, expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Alexei leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “If you win, Dreykov loses control of the narrative. If you lose? He buries you.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “She’s not losing.”

Melina remained still, unreadable. “You’re in a unique position, Y/n. Most drivers only fight for themselves. You? You’re carrying a legacy that isn’t even yours.” Your fingers curled around your napkin. “Then I’ll make it mine.”

Silence. Natasha finally looked at you. Really looked. Like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Like she might have just decided something. Like she saw something shift in you, something she wasn’t sure was there before.

The weight of her gaze settled deep, assessing, considering, then she leaned back, just slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing. And she smirked. Not just amusement. Not just approval. Something more. Something like certainty. Like she was finally seeing what she needed to see.

As the meal continued, you found yourself answering Alexei’s now more benign questions, he asked about your hometown, clearly trying to be friendly. It was awkward, but well-meaning. In return, you posed a timid question or two of your own, asking Melina how long they had owned the estate. Her answer involved a brief, fascinating tale of an old friend from the KGB days. With each exchange, the initial fear in your chest uncoiled a bit more.

Natasha eventually rejoined the conversation, albeit in a mild way. When you complimented the stew, saying it was delicious, she interjected quietly, “It’s Melina’s special recipe. We had it a lot when I was young.”

You glanced over, surprised to hear Natasha offer personal information so easily. Her lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile, perhaps at a memory. Melina tilted her head, giving Natasha a fond look. “Natasha used to help me chop vegetables for it.” she added.

To your astonishment, Natasha didn’t scowl or roll her eyes. Instead, she let out a small huff that might have been a very reluctant laugh. “Only because you made me.” she protested under her breath, but there was no real heat in it. The tension that had clouded her features had ebbed away, replaced by something almost approachable.

You witnessed this shift with quiet amazement. The dinner that had begun with your stomach in knots was slowly turning into something you never expected: an insight into Natasha’s world, into a family that was far more complex than the intimidating facade they projected.

They aren’t all like Natasha. In fact, Natasha herself wasn’t even always like the stone-cold version of her you had seen out in the field, not here, not with her parents tempering her.

Melina caught your eye once more and gave you a nod paired with that small, reassuring smile. It silently said, you’re doing fine. In that moment, you felt a rush of gratitude and something almost like belonging. You straightened up a bit, no longer curled in on yourself, and even dared to genuinely smile back.

Finally, as plates emptied and the evening air settled coolly around you, the dinner came to a close. Alexei pushed back his chair, satiated and in high spirits from the meal and conversation. Melina began stacking a couple of plates, and you automatically stood. “Oh, let me help with that.” you offered, ever polite, eager to show you weren’t just a burden.

Melina shoed you away gently. “Nonsense, you’re our guest!” she insisted, but her tone was kind. Natasha stood as well, collecting the remaining glasses with efficient movements. “I’ll help.” she said, giving you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either. Something more neutral. Maybe even respectful.

Alexei chortled. “I’ll escort our guest to the sitting room.” He looped an arm (carefully) around your shoulder to guide you out, treating you now like a comrade rather than a suspect.

As you left the dining room, you glanced back over your shoulder. At the end of the table, Natasha and Melina stood quietly stacking dishes, mother and daughter in a rare moment of stillness. Melina leaned in, saying something low to Natasha. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw Natasha roll her eyes, and then smile. An actual smile. Small, fleeting, but real.

Melina chuckled softly in response, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Natasha’s. The sight stayed with you: Natasha Romanoff, so cold and fierce in the field, standing there allowing herself a moment of lightness with her mother.

You turned forward again as Alexei led you down the hall, a multitude of new impressions swirling in your mind. I was wrong about them, you thought with a mixture of relief and wonder. The Romanoffs aren’t an unbreakable wall of ice; they’re a family, with warmth sparking in unexpected places.

The drive back to Natasha’s track was silent, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a storm cloud. The Romanoff estate faded into the night behind you, the dark road ahead stretching endlessly. Eight days. Eight days until the first real race, the one that would determine your starting position for the championship. The thought settled uneasily in your chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Yelena hummed along to some song playing softly on the radio, seemingly unbothered by the tension lingering in the air. Natasha sat in the passenger seat, silent as ever, fingers scrolling across her phone, but you knew she wasn’t distracted. She never was. She was thinking, calculating, already planning your next move before you even took your next breath.

The faint glow of the track’s floodlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the car pulled into the lot. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs felt. The test race still lingered in your muscles, your body stiff with the memory of every sharp turn, every acceleration, every mistake. The second the car came to a stop, you reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air, for movement-

“Not so fast.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unwavering. You froze mid-step, turning to see her already out of the car, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you with that same unrelenting intensity. The air around her was different now. Heavier. You straightened instinctively. “What?”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.”

Your jaw tensed. “Tomorrow?”

Her brow lifted. “Did you think you were getting a break?” Exhaling through your nose, you clenched your fists at your sides. “No.”

A quiet hum. Head tilting slightly, Natasha’s expression remained unreadable. “Good. Because you don’t get one.”

There was something about the way she said it, like a warning and a promise all at once. Eight days until the race. And Natasha wasn’t wasting a single second. She turned on her heel, already walking toward the garage, leaving you standing there, pulse thrumming in your ears. Yelena strolled past, patting your shoulder with a smirk. “You should probably set an alarm.”

Day One: 5:59 a.m.

The alarm had barely registered before a hard knock echoed through your door. “Training started a minute ago.” Natasha’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Move.”

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. You threw on your gear, barely pulling your shoes on before being dragged into the gym. It wasn’t just a warm-up. It wasn’t just conditioning. It was a full-throttle, no-mercy assault on your body.

Natasha stood in front of you, arms crossed, while one of the team’s personal trainers pushed you through a relentless circuit, strength, endurance, core. Every time you thought you could catch a breath, her voice sliced through the haze.

“Too slow.”

“Your reaction time is pathetic.”

“You think you can keep up with Walker like this?”

By the time you collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face, Natasha crouched beside you, looking far too composed for someone who had just watched you suffer. “You’ve got seven days left.” she murmured, eyes dark. “If you want to survive, stop acting like a rookie.”

Day Two:

Six a.m., and you were thrown onto the simulator. Split-second decision-making drilled into you until your reflexes burned. By noon, you were out on the track, repeating the same sector over and over. Every mistake? Restart. Every hesitation? Restart. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio like a blade. “You missed the apex.”

“Too aggressive, back off.”

“Again.”

Again.

Again.

Your body moved on autopilot, muscles screaming, exhaustion creeping in. When she finally called you back in, you pulled into the pit, stepping out of the car, legs trembling. Natasha barely glanced up from her tablet. “Get some sleep.” Even. Unmoved. “You’ll need it.”

Day Three:

The training room was dim, the only light coming from the massive screen flickering with images of drivers. Dreykov’s team. Rivals. Threats. Natasha stood in front, hands on the table, voice measured. “Know them. Study them. Every habit, every weakness, every mistake they’ve ever made. Learn their tells. If you don’t, they’ll rip you apart.”

She turned, gaze flicking toward you. “You want to be better than Walker?” Her voice dipped lower, deadlier. “Then you don’t just beat him on track. You get inside his head. Make him doubt. Make him hesitate.” You swallowed hard, nodding. Natasha’s lips curled, just barely.

Day Four:

Tires screamed against the asphalt as you pushed through another lap, the track lights blurring into streaks of color. Natasha stood on the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed. Watching. Tracking every movement, every sector time. She saw it now. The shift. The way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate anymore.

The radio crackled. “Better.”

Not praise. Not exactly. But something. And from Natasha? That was enough.

Day Five:

A miscalculation. A slight overcorrection. One second, you were flying through the straight, next, the car twitched. The back end stepped out. The world tilted. Your breath hitched, flashes of your past crash slammed into your skull. You hesitated. And that was your mistake.

The car skidded onto the run-off area, tires screeching. You caught it, but by then, it was too late. Lap ruined.

“Get back in the pit.”

You swallowed, bringing the car in, already bracing yourself. The second you stepped out, Natasha was there. She wasn’t yelling. That was worse. “You hesitated.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Do that in the race, and you’re done.” Her voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost…dangerous. “Fix it.”

Hours later, your body felt like lead as you walked back to your room, exhaustion sinking into your bones after another brutal day of training. Every drill, every lap, every order had been pushed to the extreme by Natasha, like she was determined to break you. And now? You could barely move. You had one thought in mind, collapse into bed and sleep for the next century. But before you could open the door, her voice cut through the silence.

“Be ready by nine.”

You stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. Natasha stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, looking completely unaffected by the relentless day she had put you through. “For what?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Photoshoot.”

You blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I joke?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Please tell me this is just a few shots for the team.” Her lips twitched. That was never a good sign. “FIA. Sponsors. Press. Magazine covers.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back. “I can barely stand, Natasha. How do you expect me to pose for a camera?” She stepped forward, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could feel her heat. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing, calculating.

“You’ll manage.” And with that, she turned, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, completely and utterly trapped.

Day six:

The next morning, you found yourself in a massive, high-end studio. Bright lights. White backdrops. Rows of expensive cameras and flashing bulbs. Everything screamed control. And in the middle of it all, Natasha, commanding the entire room. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching every single detail.

Every movement, every adjustment, every pose, she dictated all of it. When the crew hesitated, she fixed it. When the angles weren’t perfect, she adjusted them. Her presence was everywhere, in everything. And you hadn’t even stepped in front of the camera yet. This wasn’t just a photoshoot. This was a fucking mission.

Your first set was classic, controlled. You stood against the sleek backdrop in your race suit, arms crossed, chin high. The photographer and Natasha called out instructions.

“Look strong. Confident. Eyes sharp.”

“Fix your posture.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Your jaw tightened. She was standing just off-camera, her gaze laser-focused on you.

“Shoulders squared.”

You adjusted. “Chin up.” You exhaled slowly, adjusting again. “Now hold it.”

You held it. The cameras flashed, one after another, capturing every angle. You could feel her watching you. Not just monitoring. Not just observing. Watching. Studying.

Next came the full team shots. You stood in the center, surrounded by the entire Romanoff Racing crew, mechanics, engineers, strategists. A wall of power. A force. The Romanoff insignia blazed behind you. The photographer adjusted his lens.

“Closer together. Stronger stance.”

You stepped forward, shoulders squared. The flashes erupted, capturing everything. You could feel the weight of it. The responsibility. The legacy you were now a part of.

Now, it was Natasha's turn and Jesus Christ. She stepped onto the set, a black suit, tailored to absolute perfection. She didn’t pose. Didn’t adjust. She just existed. And the entire room bent to her. The camera didn’t just capture her, it obeyed her. Her stance was effortless, natural, lethal. Her eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a look of absolute control.

And when she leaned against the car, one hand resting on the frame, the other tucked into her pocket, expression unreadable, you had to look away. Because holy shit..

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, you weren’t breathing right. You forced yourself to focus on something, anything else. The camera flashes. The set crew. But your eyes kept drifting back.

And then, she turned her head. And caught you. Your breath hitched. For one unbearable second, neither of you moved. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just looked. And then, she moved on. Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Then came the part you weren’t prepared for. You. And Natasha. Together. The photographer waved you forward. “Alright, side by side. Look strong, look dominant.”

You took your place beside her. And immediately, something was off. “Closer.” the photographer instructed.

Natasha shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Your breath caught. Your muscles tensed. The camera clicked. Natasha glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Break. Ten minutes.” The team scattered. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to move. Before you could step away, Natasha’s voice stopped you. “What’s wrong?”

You froze. Your back was still to her, but you knew she was watching and waiting. You rolled your shoulders, forcing a casual shrug. “Nothing..” you muttered. “Just exhausted.”

Lie. Natasha wasn’t stupid. She saw right through you. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. You knew you were caught. So you wiggled your shoulder slightly, brushing it off.

Natasha’s lips pressed together. She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t push. She just watched and something in her expression..something unreadable, something almost amused, made your stomach twist.

The photographer called you both back onto set, your stomach tightened again. “Alright, last round of shots. This time, we go for dominance!” the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting. You swallowed hard. Natasha stepped up beside you. Close. Not too close. But close enough. “Cross your arms.” the photographer said.

You did. Natasha did too. Side by side. Like two weapons, locked and loaded. Another click. Another flash. “Now turn toward each other slightly.”

You’re kidding..You hesitated, just for a second. But Natasha didn’t. She shifted, her posture unwavering. Her sharp green eyes locked onto you, steady and unreadable. You mirrored her. Straightened your spine. Tilted your head slightly. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, I want something more intense. Y/n, look straight at the camera. Natasha, glance at her.” Your pulse jumped. But you did it. Held your stance. Held your breath. Just a few more minutes..! You were sweating at this point.

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to follow the instruction. The way her gaze landed on you, like she was assessing. Calculating. Waiting for you to break.

The shutter clicked. The camera caught it. And suddenly, you felt it too. This wasn’t just a team photo. This was a power move. A statement. The air between you was too charged. You could see it now. And so could everyone else in the room.

The photographer stepped back. “That’s the one.”The crew murmured in agreement. You exhaled slowly. “Alright.” Natasha said, stepping away first. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crew started packing up, cameras shutting down, the studio buzzing with movement. Natasha, as always, was already ahead of everyone. She stood at the monitors, scrolling through the raw images with the lead photographer.

You were halfway through unzipping your race suit when you heard her voice. “Y/n, come here.”

You hesitated. Took a breath. Then walked over. The screen displayed a row of thumbnails, hundreds of photos from the shoot. The first few were standard. You in your race suit, alone. The team standing beside you. You adjusting your helmet. You leaning against the car.

Then came Natasha’s. The black suit. The sharp gaze. The effortless power. You looked away but when Natasha clicked on the last image. The one with both of you. Your stomach tightened. It was..intimidating. You stood tall, shoulders squared, your expression unreadable. And Natasha? She was beside you, turned slightly, looking at you instead of the camera.

It wasn’t a casual glance. It was calculated. Deliberate. Like she was analyzing every move, every breath, every inch of control you had. It looked… powerful. More than that, it looked like something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. Natasha didn’t look at you. She just studied the screen, tapping her fingers against the console. “This one.” she said simply.

Your voice was quieter than you intended. “…Yeah.”Natasha finally turned her head, just slightly. Your eyes met. And for a moment..just a moment, it was too much. Then she smirked. “Good.”

She clicked the screen off. And just like that, it was over. But the image? It stayed with you. Long after the photoshoot ended. Long after the cameras shut down.

And long after you left the studio. The car was quiet. Too quiet. The low hum of the engine was the only sound filling the space, but you barely heard it. Your mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck on the photoshoot. On the way the camera had captured everything, the power, the intensity, the control. On the way Natasha had looked at you in that last shot. It wasn’t just a glance.

You stared out the window, barely blinking, your thoughts spiraling as the scenery blurred past. Natasha was speaking. Something about the schedule for tomorrow, about things you should have been listening to.. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Your chest still felt too tight, your breath too shallow. “Y/N.” Your name snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, turning your head.

Natasha was watching you. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, her gaze sharp even in the dim light of the car. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You opened your mouth, closed it and Natasha sighed. “Alright. We’re done for today.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You’re off until tomorrow. Go rest. Clear your head.” You blinked again, trying to process her words. You were so used to the pressure, to the relentless push, to her orders keeping you on edge. But this? This was unexpected.

“Don’t look so surprised.” she muttered. “You earned it.” Her words settled in your chest, but you didn’t know what to do with them. So you just nodded. And for the rest of the ride, you sat in silence, still thinking, still feeling, still stuck in that moment.

Day 7:

Every drill was brutal. Every lap was ruthless. Natasha barely spoke, except to push you harder. Every limit you thought you had? She crushed it. By the time night fell, you thought she was done with you. Thought you could finally sleep. But Natasha found you later.

Fast asleep on the team’s lounge couch, still in your fireproofs, completely knocked out from exhaustion. She had stood there for a moment, watching. Then, without a word, she grabbed a blanket from the other side of the room and tossed it over you before leaving.

Day 8:

Final day. Final test. One last session to prove you were ready. The team stood by the pit wall. The car hummed beneath you, waiting. You took a breath. Natasha’s voice came through the comms.

“Last chance. Show me what you’ve got.”

And then, you drove. Fast, precise and unforgiving. You felt it. The shift. The control. The instinct overriding doubt. And when you pulled in, stepping out, Natasha was waiting. This time, she didn’t criticize. She just gave you one long look.

“You’re ready.”

——

The paddock was electric, alive with tension and expectation. Mechanics moved like clockwork, final checks being done, engineers poring over data, and drivers locked into their pre-race rituals. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on the entire grid.. this wasn’t just another qualifying session. This was the moment that decided who would start at the front. The moment that separated the contenders from the pretenders.

You sat in the cockpit, fireproofs clinging to your skin, harness so tight across your chest it felt like it was crushing your ribs. The scent of burned rubber and fuel lingered in the air, the familiar hum of engines warming up in the background. Your fingers flexed over the wheel, every part of your body wired, ready.

Across the pit wall, Natasha stood with arms crossed, headset secured, her green eyes locked on the track, calculating every possible scenario before the race had even started. She hadn’t spoken much that morning, not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she was watching. Waiting for the moment to set the tone. Now, as you sat on the grid, the lights glowing red above you, her voice crackled through the radio.

“Listen to me.” Everything else fell away. “Today, you stop thinking like a rookie. Today, you stop waiting for opportunities to come to you. You take them. You fight for them. You rip them from their hands, and when they push back, you push harder. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing slowed. Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Understood.”

“Good. Because no one is going to move aside for you. Least of all Walker. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold that front row. Don’t let him.”

Your jaw locked at the mention of Walker. Natasha’s voice sharpened. “And if he tries anything, you make sure he regrets it.”

There it was. That edge. That lethal promise in her voice. The engineers gave the final signal. Time to go. You pulled onto the track, engine roaring as you weaved left and right, warming the tires, feeling out the car. The formation lap passed in a blur.

Lined up. Heart pounding. The lights above flickered on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Green.

You launched off the grid, every fiber of your being focused, locked in. The tires gripped, the engine screamed, and the car shot forward. Walker was already moving to cover the inside line, expecting you to challenge immediately. You didn’t. Not yet. The first few corners were chaos, cars battling, elbows out, everyone jostling for position. You stayed aggressive, ruthless, refusing to back down when the space got tight.

P6. P5.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice was controlled but firm. “You’re faster. Stop waiting. Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The next car ahead made the mistake of defending too early into Turn Seven. You sold the dummy, flicked the wheel the other way, and sent the car down the inside, clean, fast, brutal.

P4.

Natasha’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good.” P3 came soon after, the overtake executed so smoothly it almost felt effortless. But nothing about this was effortless. Because now, you had Walker in your sights. And he knew it.

Walker had picked up the pace, trying to pull away, but you were there, suffocating him. Every time he took a defensive line, you mirrored his movements, staying just inside his blind spot, making him feel the pressure.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp and knowing. “He’s breaking. Give him a reason to make a mistake.”

Turn Nine. Walker braked late, too late. His tires locked for a split second, and that was all you needed. Inside line. Full send. You were alongside him. Natasha’s voice held its breath. Next corner was yours.

You braced..then impact. Walker clipped your rear tire, sending your car into a violent snap-spin. The world tilted. Gravel exploded around you as the car skidded through the runoff, the steering kicking back violently in your hands. Natasha stood up, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, blood boiling as she watched your car skidding through the dirt. The pit crew held their breath. The race officials didn’t say a word. The safety car was on standby, waiting to see if you’d move.

Then, your car jerked forward. The engine roared back to life. Natasha froze. Then, sharp—“Y/n, report.” A beat of static. Then, your voice, steady but burning. “Still here.”

She exhaled sharply. “Get back on track. Now.” You were back. But you were P8 now. Too far back. Too much time lost. Your hands gripped the wheel. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Then, slower. “What idea?” You exhaled.

“It’s risky..”

“Everything in this sport is risky. Talk.” Your breathing was sharp, pulse hammering, your grip locked onto the wheel so tight your knuckles ached.

“If I overtake three cars before Turn Ten, I can keep it flat through sector two and make up time. But I need to go off-line in Turn Six.”

The moment you said it, the radio went dead. It was only for a second, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Natasha wasn’t answering. Not immediately.

You could picture her in the pit wall, headset tight around her head, eyes narrowed at the screens, jaw locked, fingers gripping the radio as she weighed the calculation in her mind. If you missed the move by an inch, if the grip wasn’t there, if the car snapped on you at that speed, race over.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Lap 15

Turn Six approached like a wall, a barrier you either broke through or crashed into. You didn’t lift. You went wide, off the racing line, into the part of the track where no one dared to find grip. The car trembled beneath you, the tires barely holding, but they held.

The move was insane. The pit wall erupted. The commentators lost their minds. The entire grandstand stood up. You didn’t hear any of it. Because the second you pulled off the move, the radio clicked. Natasha’s voice cracked through, lower now, almost breathless. “…You’re insane.”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips. “Told you.”

P5. P4. P3.

The radio clicked again. Natasha was fully locked in now. No hesitation. No restraint. She was with you. “Walker is 1.8 seconds ahead. Three laps left. Close it.” And you did.

Final Lap

Walker was right there and desperate. His lines getting messier, his defense more aggressive. He knew you were coming, knew you were faster. But you knew something else..He was afraid.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “If he tries to block, don’t lift.”

Turn 12. Walker braked early, too early. He was trying to bait you, to force a mistake. But you weren’t falling for it. You threw the car inside, right on the limit, the tires barely holding, but it was enough. Walker tried to squeeze you off, but it was too late. You were gone.

P1.

The checkered flag waved. The radio was silent. For a long, long moment..nothing. “Now that…” A pause. “Was a fucking statement.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling hard, body vibrating from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the everything. You had done it. You had won. And Natasha..Natasha had trusted you. You barely heard her, too overwhelmed by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding against your ribs, the raw rush of adrenaline and exhaustion making your body tremble against the seat. The realization hit all at once.

Pole position.

You had fought for it, clawed your way from the gravel, risked everything, and won. The car slowed on the cool-down lap, but your hands were still shaking, your breathing still uneven. The reality of what just happened was sinking in, and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

Pride. A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips as you finally spoke into the radio, breathless but grinning. “P1, huh?”

A small pause. Then, Natasha’s voice, quieter now, something different in it. “P1.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the weight of it settle in. “Ha!!”

Natasha didn’t respond, but you could sense her smirk, even through the static. She let you have this moment. She didn’t cut it down, didn’t make a comment about how it was just qualifying, that the real race was still ahead. No, she let you feel it.

Because you had earned it. Natasha was already pulling off her headset, stepping away from the pit wall as the team erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic celebrations. She had done her job. Now it was yours. And she wanted to see it. She moved through the chaos, eyes locked on the car rolling in. The mechanics were already lined up, waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, they swarmed. Shouts, cheers, hands grabbing at you, pulling you into crushing embraces. You did it. You laughed, breathless, still high from the race, from the moment, from everything. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet, ruffling your hair before clapping you hard on the back. Someone else was already holding up the pit board. P1.

You looked at it, at the reality of it, and your chest swelled with something powerful. You turned, scanning the pit wall, searching. And then, you saw her.

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, just watching. She hadn’t rushed into the celebration, hadn’t thrown herself into the crowd of mechanics. No, she was just there, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in something unreadable. For a split second, you thought she was going to walk away.

Then, finally, she nodded. A small movement, barely there. But you saw it. And fuck..it meant everything.

——

The energy of the paddock still buzzed behind you as the car pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the celebrations, the flashing cameras, and the press that would no doubt be dissecting every second of today’s session.

The atmosphere in the car was… different. Not tense. Not suffocating like usual. Lighter. For once, Natasha wasn’t drilling into you, wasn’t immediately picking apart every turn, every sector time, every moment that could have been improved. She wasn’t reminding you that qualifying was just the beginning, that the real fight was still ahead.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you sank into the leather, exhaustion finally settling in. Your body was still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles sore, heart still beating in the aftershock of what just happened. But this was the first moment you had to actually process it.

You had pole position.

You unlocked your phone, fingers instinctively scrolling through the flood of notifications. News articles. Tweets. Posts.

“Y/N Y/L/N Takes Stunning Pole After Dramatic Comeback.”

“Against All Odds—Romanoff’s New Signing Sends a Warning to the Grid.”

“Walker Struggles Under Pressure as Y/L/N Dominates Qualifying.”

That one made you grin. You scrolled further, seeing clips of your overtakes, of the moment you took pole, of the radio call with Natasha. People were already analyzing it, already picking apart the dynamic between you and her.

“Romanoff’s reaction to Y/L/N’s pole position is so telling.”

One clip showed Natasha standing on the pit wall, her face blank, except for the small, almost imperceptible nod.

The comments were relentless.

“That’s the highest form of Romanoff praise. If you know, you know..”

“She’s pleased. Trust me. She won’t say it, but she is.”

You had spent so long trying to prove you deserved to be back. Fighting against the doubts, the whispers, the endless questioning of whether you were still capable.

And today? Today, you gave them their answer.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Natasha in the driver’s seat. She hadn’t said a word the entire drive, hadn’t given you that usual look like she was waiting to correct something. She was just driving. Calm. Focused. She caught you looking and raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re being…nice.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she kept her eyes on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched. “No?”

“Not a chance.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tension that had always sat between you and her finally settling, not disappearing, but shifting into something else. Something you weren’t sure how to name yet.

Then, Natasha’s voice cut through the silence again, lower this time, like a warning. “Enjoy today.” A beat. “Because tomorrow?”

She glanced at you, and for a second, the warmth was gone, replaced by something else entirely. “The real war starts.”

The first race of the season.

You sat in the passenger seat as the team drove toward the circuit, headphones in, music drowning out everything else. The low hum of bass vibrated through your ears, steady, grounding. The world outside blurred past, flashes of the approaching grandstands, the towering banners, the overwhelming storm of people already waiting for the main event.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against your thigh, muscles tense beneath your race suit. This was the moment you had spent years clawing your way back to. And today, you had one job.

The second you stepped out of the car, the onslaught began. Flashes. Cameras. The swarm of media surged forward, microphones shoved in your direction before you even had the chance to breathe.

“Y/N, a quick word before the race!?”

“How are you handling the pressure of pole position?”

“Walker says you don’t have what it takes to hold first place, any response?”

The voices came all at once, words overlapping, the chaos pressing in around you. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the air tightening-

“That’s enough!” Natasha stepped in front of you in an instant, her presence slamming into the conversation like a force of nature, sharp green eyes locking onto the nearest journalist, unflinching. The words cut through the noise like a whip crack. Then, she turned to you,

“Go. Get ready. I’ll handle them.” You hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping away and heading toward the paddock entrance, leaving the storm behind.

The garage was alive with controlled chaos, engineers running final checks, the steady hum of the team speaking through headsets, the unmistakable scent of fuel and anticipation thick in the air.

You exhaled slowly, rolling out your shoulders as you made your way toward your race suit stand, where one of the crew members was already waiting with your gloves. “Helmet’s prepped.” another said, handing it to you.

You took it, fingers grazing the visor, feeling the familiar weight settle into your grip. Another mechanic helped with your strap devices, securing it into place while you adjusted your gloves, making sure every strap, every fastening, was locked in. The tension in your chest coiled tighter with every second.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled once, pressing the comms button on your wheel. “Loud and clear.”

Natasha’s voice followed instantly, sharp and precise. “Copy. Comms are stable. Crew, confirm status.”

One by one, the voices of your engineers came through, confirming everything was set. The team was ready. The car was ready. You were ready.

The pit lane outside was roaring with noise, the grandstands full, the grid already lined up with cars rolling into position. And you were about to join them. This was it. The pre-race ceremony had begun, but you barely processed it. The national anthem played, the teams stood by their cars, the broadcast captured the entire starting lineup.

Pole position. Your car, first on the grid. It wasn’t the final step. It wasn’t the win. But it was the beginning of something.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t turn your head, just listened. Then, smooth, like she already knew what the answer would be- “You ready to fight?” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your chest morph into fire. “Always.”

The engine roared beneath you, a low, guttural vibration that thrummed through your bones. The grandstands blurred into a sea of colors, the sound of thousands of fans mixing with the distant hum of commentary and static-filled radio chatter.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was the real fight. You focused on the lights above you, glowing red, lined up like a countdown to war.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Lights out.

Your tires gripped hard, the acceleration pinning you into the seat as you launched off the line. Walker was already alongside you, his front wing barely inches from your rear tire, trying to force you wide into Turn One.

Not a chance. You braked late, hugging the inside, refusing to give an inch. The car behind you lunged forward, but you held firm, forcing Walker to the outside.

“Good start, Y/n. Hold the inside.”

Natasha’s voice was clear, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Turn One, clean. Turn Two: Walker tried again, but you covered it, forcing him back. By the time you hit Turn Three, you had defended your position.

P1.

Walker was relentless. He stayed glued to your rear wing, waiting for an opening, a mistake, anything. Your heart pounded, every nerve in your body locked onto every sound, every movement, every vibration of the car beneath you.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice, calm, but watchful. “Don’t let him push you. Control the pace. Make him react to you.”

You adjusted, shifting your lines slightly, feeling out the car, forcing Walker to mirror your every move. Turn Eight and he went for it. He dove inside, too deep, too aggressive. You saw it coming before he even committed. A quick switch-back, flicking the car to the outside as he overshot the apex, and just like that- He was behind you again. The pit wall cheered, but Natasha? She only said, “Nice. Now keep your head down.”

Lap 12

The degradation was kicking in. Your tires were screaming through the high-speed corners, the grip beginning to fade, every lap getting harder to hold. The radio crackled. Natasha again. “Box this lap. We’re switching to mediums.”

Your fingers flexed over the wheel. “Copy.”

Coming out of Turn 14, you peeled off the racing line, diving into the pit lane, the speed limiter engaging as you barreled toward the box. The team was already waiting. You rolled in perfectly, stopping on the mark. Four tires. Fresh set. 2.3 seconds. Fast

You slammed the throttle the second you were released, shooting back onto the track, merging just as a car flew past.

P5.

Natasha’s voice was back in your ear. “You’ll regain track position when they stop. Just keep your pace up.”

Lap 18

The car felt lighter, the grip returning, your confidence growing. P3. P2.

Walker was right there again. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. “He’s losing grip. He’ll defend aggressively. Watch for a late move.”

Turn 11 and walker went defensive. You faked the inside, forcing him to commit, then switched lines instantly, diving outside instead.

Your tires barely held, the car sliding on the edge of control and you were through. P1 again. The radio erupted with team cheers, but Natasha’s voice was the only one you focused on. “Good. Now put some distance between you.”

Lap after lap, you could feel Walker’s presence behind you like a shadow, clinging too close, pushing the limits of what was allowed. You knew him, knew the way he played the game, but this? This was different…

Something about the way he moved, the way he positioned himself right at your rear wing now, sent a flicker of unease through your chest. You gritted your teeth, forcing the feeling down as you powered through another turn, your car gliding over the asphalt like second nature.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter as you closed in on him, calculating your every move, your breath steady despite the heat in your chest. But Walker? He was too close. Too aggressive, as usual. You could feel him right on your rearview, waiting for a moment to overtake, but you wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not today.

Then, in a blink, he made his move. You saw him inching forward, his car too close for comfort, and that was when the panic flashed across your mind. Why was he doing this? What was his game? You didn’t have time to think about it long before your tires lost traction, and you could feel the weight of the car shift.

“What the hell is he doing!?” Your voice was sharp through the radio, frustration rising as you saw him get closer, too close for comfort. But there was nothing you could do. Before you could react, before you could even process it, he hit you.

The force was hard. You didn’t even have time to brace. It came from behind you, the rear tires suddenly lifted off the track as your car was jerked sideways. You fought for control, your hands desperately working the wheel to correct it, but the back end of your car was already out of your control. The track seemed to tilt beneath you. The wall loomed ahead, too close, too fast.

Your breath hitched. No, no, no, you thought, your heart racing. “N-NO!” The impact was swift. Your car slammed into the wall with such force that it felt like your body was being thrown against the harness. The crash sent a sharp shockwave through your entire body, and the world went blank.

The sound of your desperate voice on the radio hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She was already watching, tracking Walker’s every move, every inch of the track. But nothing, nothing could prepare her for the moment she heard you. The raw fear in your voice was unlike anything she had ever heard from you before.

Her body reacted before her mind could process the fear in her chest. She shot to her feet, the chair behind her crashing to the floor as if it didn’t exist. She grabbed the radio, her hands trembling as she slammed the button down.

“Y/n, come in!” She was breathless, her voice tight with panic.

Nothing.

“Y/N! Answer me!” She tried again, but the radio crackled with silence. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She saw the monitors flicker, showing the image of your car crashing hard into the wall. The feedback from the telemetry was dead, and all she could hear was the commentators’ panicked voices.

“That was a huge impact! No response from Y/N!”

Her hands clenched around the radio, the sensation of fear crawling up her spine. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching the wreckage unfold in real time, but her heart was somewhere else..in the car with you.

Her team tried to speak, but Natasha didn’t hear them. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, the sound of your voice echoing in her mind, and the image of you, helpless and not responding. She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The safety car was already on its way, and before she could even consider what she was doing, Natasha was already moving.

-

-

-

-

🏷️ Taglist: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin

[beuxwhoyouare]

Never Wanted Kids

Brooklyn looked up at her boyfriends domineering stature. A cold look remained on Louis’ face…except it wasn’t Louis giving Brooklyn the cold shoulder.

“I don’t know why you followed me to the gym BROOKLYN. You’re pregnant and can’t do shit. You’re just holding me back from getting a good pump. Kinda like that night we got you knocked up.” Louis taunted the pregnant woman sitting on the bench in front of him.

“Brook…you don’t have to be like this. I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson…just please give me my body back.” The docile women replied quietly not trying to give away their truth out loud to avoid looking absolute insane.

The pair had been dating for years and Brooklyn always made it clear she never wanted kids, but that never stopped Louis from finding ways to go in unprotected. When that wasn’t enough he switched out her birth control until one day he got what he wanted. Brooklyn was devastated and rightfully felt violated. Something snapped that day for her.

He wanted a kid so badly then she was gonna give it him. Days turned to weeks turned to months of research before she finally found the pieces to exact her revenge. One night she prepare the ritual while Louis slept, while the results weren’t immediately apparent Brooklyn went to sleep that night hopeful the next day would be the response to the nights’ magical ceremony.

That brings us to today. The woman 7 months pregnant woke up with none of the aching back pains she’d been feeling but instead an aggressive sexual vigor. As she swung her feet off the bed she was propelled up by a foreign strength.

She didn’t need a mirror to confirm the new truth she lived. She grimaced with satisfaction knowing she was done with the misery. She went to the restroom to go examine the body she long observed but now could fully take advantage of. As she callously took off any clothing she was wearing she stood in front of the master bedroom en suite mirror and began stroking the very thing that impregnated her.

She knew the show would be in eye line for “Brooklyn” when she woke up. Adding grunts and moans to put on an even more primal display of the swap that just occurred. She could feel a climax coming when a scream came from her side. The realization that her boyfriend was aware of his situation and what was going on in front of her was enough to do the trick.

Rope after rope coated the mirror and nearby sink. She got some on her finger and satisfactorily walked out of the restroom nude to greet her new baby momma. As a shocked Louis tried to question what Brooklyn did she silenced him with the finger she wiped the mirror with. Like he forced her to do what he wanted she channeled that energy now.

“Lick it clean.” Brooklyn demanded.

As Louis tried to protest and move away, Brooklyn used all his former strength to keep her in place. He was stuck and he knew it. Resigned to his current situation he obliged.

Louis continued to beg and plead with her to give him back his body but that didn’t stop Brooklyn from going to the gym and test her new body. If he wanted a kid he could have it but that doesn’t mean she was going to sacrifice the life she wanted to have. Freedom, youth, and now….it may be different but so much sex. She may not have the same equipment but she still have things anyone can work with. Looks like she’s going to make ‘Louis’ bisexual now. She wasn’t going to let the limits of one abusive man stop her. She thought as she gallivanted across the gym restroom half naked after her post-workout shower.

All the energy spent crying and pleading forced Louis to crash once the couple returned home. Plenty of time for Brooklyn to pack a go bag and leave this chapter behind. Being ripped away from her life sucked but not as much as having that kid wouldn’t have.

[rgwriteshockey]

side by side w/ quinn hughes ⇒

quinn hughes x gf!reader

summary: quinn hughes gets named captain of the vancouver canucks, and his girlfriend of five years, y/n, is right there with him. from the hype of the announcement to the pressures of being captain, she’s his rock. as quinn steps into the role, he juggles the weight of leadership and the challenges of the season, but with y/n’s support, he stays grounded. they continue to grow together, face tough moments, and celebrate the good ones. through it all, they prove that they’re stronger together—both on the ice and off.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mild language, happy relationship

a/n: fic #2!! hope yall enjoy and don't forget to like!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

quinn hughes had always rolled with the changes. from the days he spent watching hockey games from the sidelines, dreaming of being in the nhl, to getting drafted by the vancouver canucks, and now, stepping into the role of team captain. it felt like all those late nights, tough games, and moments of doubt had led him to this point.

but the one thing that made all of this feel even more meaningful? you being there right beside him.

you and quinn had been together for five years, through all the ups and downs that came with being in a relationship with someone who lived such a high-profile life. you’d been there for his breakout moments, when he nailed an insane assist or made a game-saving play. but you’d also been there when things didn’t go right—when the team wasn’t performing well, when he got hurt, or when the pressure of living up to expectations seemed like it might break him.

through all of it, you’d been the person he could lean on. and now, as he stood at the threshold of a new chapter—becoming captain of the canucks—it felt surreal, but it also felt like something he truly deserved.

────────────────────────────────────────────

it was a crisp morning when quinn was officially named captain of the vancouver canucks. the press conference was packed with reporters, cameras flashing, and everyone eager to hear what quinn had to say. the excitement in the air was contagious, but you could tell that quinn was feeling a bit of the pressure too. he stood there, looking calm on the outside, but you could see the nerves in his eyes. this was a big moment.

you sat in the front row, next to his family. jack, his brother, had flown in to support him, and you could see the pride in his eyes every time he looked at quinn. you weren’t the only one who was proud—everyone in the room could feel the weight of this moment. but even so, quinn’s demeanor was humble as ever. he didn’t seem to let the spotlight rattle him.

"thank you all for being here," the canucks' gm said from the podium. "it’s an honor to introduce the new captain of the vancouver canucks: quinn hughes."

the room erupted in applause. quinn gave a modest nod as he stepped up to the microphone. you could see how much this meant to him, but he kept his composure as always. he adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and started speaking.

“it’s an honor to be here today,” quinn said, his voice strong, but there was a bit of a nervous edge to it. “being part of this organization has been incredible, and it means the world to me to have the chance to lead this team. but none of this happens without the people who’ve been there for me along the way—my teammates, my coaches, my family, and, of course, my girlfriend, y/n.”

your heart skipped a beat as quinn’s eyes found you in the crowd. the moment felt surreal, as all the eyes in the room turned to you. it wasn’t something you expected—being called out like that. but there he was, giving you that soft smile, the one you loved so much, as if to say, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

you quickly wiped a tear from your eye, feeling all sorts of emotions hit at once. quinn wasn’t just a hockey player to you—he was your partner, your best friend, the person who made all the long nights worth it.

“y/n has been there for me through everything,” quinn continued. “She’s been my biggest supporter, my rock. I’m proud to share this moment with her.”

the room erupted in applause again, and you felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. it was overwhelming, but in the best way. quinn’s words made everything feel like it was meant to be.

after the press conference ended, reporters started to trickle out, but quinn didn’t rush. he made his way to you, his family following behind, and you met him halfway.

"hey," quinn said, his voice low, as he wrapped you in a hug. "thank you for always being here. for everything."

you hugged him tight, your heart full. “you deserve this, quinn. I’m so proud of you.”

he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

you both stood there for a moment, away from the chaos, just the two of you. no words were needed. you both knew this was just the beginning of something huge.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of excitement and adjustment. quinn was officially the captain now, and it came with a lot more responsibility. he was taking on extra meetings, spending more time at the rink, and handling pressure that he’d never had to before. but through it all, he kept his calm. he took the responsibility seriously, but he didn’t let it consume him.

you saw the subtle changes in him—he was more focused, more aware of how his actions affected the team. he was always the first one on the ice, pushing the younger players to work hard. but he also made sure to check in with everyone, making sure the guys knew they had his back. he wasn’t just the captain on paper—he was earning the respect of his teammates every day.

at home, it wasn’t much different. after a tough game, where the canucks had lost in overtime, you found quinn sitting on the couch, staring out the window. the city lights below twinkled, but he seemed lost in thought.

“rough game?” you asked, walking over and sitting beside him.

quinn let out a long breath, rubbing his temples. “yeah, we just couldn’t get it together. I made that last pass, and I messed it up.”

you gently squeezed his hand. “you can’t win them all, quinn. you’ve been killing it all season. one mistake doesn’t change that.”

he gave you a small smile, but you could tell he was still frustrated. “I just hate feeling like I let everyone down. I’m supposed to be the leader.”

“you’re doing great,” you reassured him. “nobody expects you to be perfect. your team knows you’re doing everything you can, and they look up to you for it.”

quinn looked at you, his eyes softening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n. you make everything easier.”

you grinned and gave his hand a soft squeeze. “I’m always gonna be here, quinn. don’t ever forget that.”

he pulled you into a tight hug, and for a while, that was all you needed. just to be there together, away from everything. the world outside could wait.

────────────────────────────────────────────

as the season wore on, quinn settled into the role of captain. the canucks started clicking as a team, and with quinn leading the charge, their play was getting better and better. he seemed to grow more comfortable with each game, more confident in his leadership abilities. but despite the growing success, he stayed grounded. he was still the same quinn you’d known from the beginning—humble, hardworking, and always ready to laugh at the little things.

one night, after a huge win, quinn and the team went out to celebrate. you stood at the back of the room, watching him interact with his teammates, joking around and laughing. he looked like a natural leader, fitting perfectly into this new role. but it was when his eyes found yours across the room that your heart skipped a beat. you could see the pride in his gaze, the quiet appreciation that you were there, supporting him every step of the way.

later that night, when most of the team had left, quinn pulled you aside in the quiet of the hallway. he looked at you with a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

“you’ve been with me through everything,” he said quietly, taking both your hands in his. “I couldn’t have done this without you. I’m so thankful for you, y/n.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m proud of you, quinn. you’ve earned this.”

quinn stepped closer and pulled you into a kiss—gentle, full of meaning, and everything you’d ever needed. the world outside seemed to disappear as he kissed you, and for a few moments, it was just the two of you. the pressure, the expectations, the challenges—they didn’t matter. you were together, and that was enough.

and as the season continued, you both knew that this was only the beginning. quinn’s leadership was just taking shape, and with you by his side, there was nothing he couldn’t face. the road ahead was full of possibilities, and you’d be there with him every step of the way.

[keyaho]

summary > Blaire is sick and Terry takes care of her. chapter warnings > fluff, mentions of pregnancy,

'Meet The Richmonds' takes place in between A Different World & Melanin Prep. It's a small series detailing the first 7 years of their marriage and what actually happened in Rebel Ridge.

Terry stepped into the house and toed off his boots by the door. His keys were tossed in the little bowl on the table by the door. The house was warmer than he had left it and that meant one thing. Coupled with Aaron calling him about Blaire passing out during their class field trip, he hauled ass to get off work and home. Noah was in the hands of his grandmother and Angela told him he'd watch him for a few days. They all knew Blaire didn't just get sick. Sighing, Terry rounded the corner into the living room and into the kitchen. Her appetite was probably shit, so he placed an order for takeout and asked Aaron to swing by and pick it up. He could drop it off and just leave it in the kitchen. 

He entered their bedroom and walked to the side of the bed. Blaire was buried beneath the sheets, her hair wild, curled into a ball. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a photo. 

"Dushi,' Terry whispered, sitting on the edge while peeling back the damp layers of sheets. 

He touched her forehead and pulled back, very concerned. She was burning hot. He knew how she felt about hospitals and opted to try and break her fever himself. Terry left her side for a moment, turning on the shower in their bathroom and closed the door so it could build steam. He found her some warm clothes to change into after running her a bath. 

When he came back to the bed, she was sitting up. 

"How's my baby doing,' he asked softly, pushing her hair out of the way so he could see her face. 

"Tired,' she cried in a rush as if she was using the very last of her breath to speak. "My baby,' she suddenly tried getting up. 

Terry realized she remembered what time it was and he grabbed her as she almost fell off the bed. 

"Angela is going to watch him for a few days, baby. Noah is fine. You're not." 

Blaire leaned into Terry, her head falling to his chest. "I don't feel good." She croaked, throat burning as she tried to speak. He reached between them and unbuttoned the silk shirt she was wearing. His hand flattened against her stomach and she placed her hand on top of his. 

"Your morning sickness is getting worse,' he murmured. 

Carrying their second, they hadn't told anyone yet, had Blaire struggling to keep the secret, especially when she was sick, but she had done a good job until now. As soon as Blaire's doctor confirmed her pregnancy, Terry had been all over her and overbearing. He had done the same when she was pregnant with Noah, but this time because she was sicker, Terry was all in her space. 

“It’s time we tell everyone.” He said. 

There was a gleam in his eye. He was more excited for their new addition than Blaire. He already started transforming one of the guest rooms into a nursery. Each time he talked about the baby or did something for the baby, he had the biggest grin on his face. Out of the two of them he was the one that wanted children the most and he wanted a lot of them. So when Blaire gave him he greenlight on baby number two, he put in overtime. No ovulation period went unfucked over the past three months. 

"Tomorrow. I can make soup." She sniffled, sneezed, and let out a tired breath. 

Wrapping his arms around her, Terry lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the bathroom. He sat her on the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. He noticed none of the medicine had been opened. 

"I will make you soup and we will do a video call." He bends his knees so he can look her in the eyes. "Okay?" 

Blaire knew it wasn't safe for everyone to pile in the house while she was sick. She much rather see their faces in person, but conceded. 

"Okay." 

Helping her out of the silk pajamas, he guided her into the tub. He pulled her hair up into a bun so it didn't get wet. He'd seen her wash day routine and knew she was in no condition to do it herself. He'd do it tomorrow because there was no way she was making it to work until the end of the week at least. The studio had already been informed and her assistants would be taking over her classes. 

The water felt soothing on her skin and the added eucalyptus and lavender oils began to clear her mind and ease some pressure she was feeling. She looked up at her husband as he leaned against the sink. His thick arms folded across his chest and she furrowed her brow. 

"What is wrong, Terrence?" 

"Nothing, baby, nothing." He smiled. "You just look so miserable." 

She didn't have the energy to go back and forth with him in light banter. She instead shrugged. 

"Can you come get in the tub with me?" 

"I haven't showered from work." 

"We will shower after." 

Terry rubbed a hand over the back of his head. She was more clingy when she was sick. She leaned into letting him take care of her like he had promised years ago. He knew she loved to teach dance but all he wanted was her home at a reasonable time and her attention on taking care of their children. He'd give his wife whatever she wanted. So Terry nodded and began undressing, watching a smile come to her tired face. Blaire leaned forward as he got in the tub behind her. She instantly made herself comfortable in his arms. He wrapped them around her body and kissed the side of her neck. 

Able to see her small rounding belly, Terry placed on hand on it and rubbed back and forth gently. 

"How's my son doing," he asked, a coy smile on his lips. 

It was faint, but Blaire kissed her teeth. "You made a girl." She corrected. "And she is doing fine." 

They didn't know the gender of the baby and planned to keep it that way until birth. This time Blaire was sure it was a girl, while Terry made sure to tell her he only made boys. Blaire placed her hand on top of his and relaxed as she closed her eyes. 

"Thank you." He said suddenly. 

"What did I do?" She asked. 

"For giving me another child." 

Blaire turned her head and looked up at him. "You wanted a lot of children." 

"But I told you that it's up to you when and how many." He rubs her stomach and rests his hands just under it. "So thank you for this one and Noah." 

They could have stopped at Noah and he would be thankful. He knew Blaire considered his son, Terrence Jr. her son as well, but it was a little different being his wife but having his second child. Her therapist had helped her through that during her pregnancy. It wasn’t a case of infidelity. It was before Blaire made it to Hillman to even reconnect with Terrence. Their sporadic run ins didn’t make them a couple. 

“You are welcome.” 

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair 

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch @zillasvilla @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Chapter II: “Dancing with fabric (and glances).”

WARNING: Panic attack

Masterlist

I was on a stage, too big to be a normal one or at least that was my perspective. I was wearing my suit, with the fans in my hands as the fabric touched the floor.

There was no one by my side, I was alone.

There was no one in the seats in the audience either, not a single person to watch me dance at that moment.

I let out a sigh. I started dancing.

The music in my head started playing but now it also started to be heard on the stage. slowly. Little by little. The music continued to grow.

I moved with the fabric of the fans that slowly became longer and longer.

I reached a point where I could no longer appreciate what was in front of me, I could no longer feel the cold floor of the theater.

But the lights. They were getting brighter as the music came to an end.

They wrapped me up in such a soft way, it was so suffocating.

I always wanted to be in the spotlight, to be the leader, to be the one leading the dance.

Why does it feel so different now?

I fell to my knees at the same time that the music slowly stopped along with that voice that made me remember that everything was a dream.

I hadn't realized how big the fan fabric was now, so long that it reached to the ends of the stage, The skirt also grew now it was so long and big that I couldn't stand up because of the weight of the fabric on my waist.

It shouldn't have been heavy, but it was.

It's too big for me.

When the fan fabric stopped, I fixed my gaze on the audience.

The only lights were above me, they moved where I was going but never where I wanted.

I couldn't shine light on them. I wanted to shine light on them to see their faces.

What expressions will they have? Are they waiting for me to keep dancing? Even though I can't get up, they want me to continue with the show?

Just talk, say it.

I will, just please...

Stop

Looking

at me.

[Name] immediately gets up from her bed feeling her heart beating quickly and painfully, her feet were numb as were her arms.

While she was sitting in her bed, she tried to relax. Is this what people call "lucid dreaming"?

When she finally felt her legs and arms move just a little to get used to it, it felt like a million ants were walking on her limbs.

She sighed and then tried to get up, she managed it but a little wobbly.

She grabbed a towel along with a set of clothes to go to the bathroom.

She loved her new room, I think it would be more accurate to call it her fiveteenth room.

Compared to the previous one, which was already starting to be quite small for her and too childish, in an attempt to free up her room a bit as she ran out of space.

She found a not so small door in the ceiling, she could barely open it and saw the enormous space that had moved to that hidden part of the mansion.

But obviously being a attic, it didn't have a bathroom, that was the only thing [Name] regretted.

Once she could feel her arms and feet much better she opened the attic door and carefully went down the stairs.

"What are you doing up there, little one?"

[Name] almost fell down the stairs from the fright, she immediately looked back even though she was on the stairs to...

"First with the child...and now with the hypocrite." [Name] thought, trying not to frown, well, not so much.

"Dick, you scared me!" She did her best to fake that squeaky voice she remembers.

And thank goodness it worked. Except for one small detail.

Dick frowned.

"Dick?"

"Did something happen? Or why that face?" She finally came down from the stairs and with a little force, she pushed the stairs up and in turn closed the attic door with a small 'click'.

"What face?"

"Well, you know, that confused face..." She smiled slightly, but inside her head she was analyzing him, exactly his expression.

Dick genuinely had a face of confusion hidden, he was smiling and using his body to express otherwise.

But his eyes narrowed for a few moments before she asked about his expression.

"Oh! Don't worry little one, It's just that I've never seen that attic, and with good reason."

Dick walked past [Name] and checked the entrance to the attic better, either tensely or intentionally the entrance was very well camouflaged.

[Name] nodded. "I thought you'd be in Bludhaven by now."

"I decided to stay a few days, mostly to rest." [Name] nodded again, keeping that small smile. "And you didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

Dick laughed at her confusion.

"What were you doing up there?"

[Name] opened her mouth slightly and then closed it instantly, What the hell could she say?

"Umm, well, I was looking for some things for my dance classes!"

"Your dance classes?"

"Yep! When I found that place I started using it as a place to store some clothes or supplies that they sometimes ask us for in class." This time the tone was a little shriller, it was a mix between the voice she was faking and the nervousness of being caught.

Dick only looked at her for a few moments before instantly lowering the attic door without breaking his gaze.

"First, it's bad to lie to your brother and second, you're a very bad liar, little one." Dick smiled before carefully climbing the stairs, frowning at the unsteady ladder.

[Name] just sighed in frustration. "Let's see, how the fuck did Dick fucking Grayson know I'd be here?" She didn't say anything, nothing came out of her mouth.

Dick on the other hand was greatly surprised by what was inside, two mattresses one on top of the other, a nightstand, two not so large trunks accompanied by drawers to store clothes.

There were some hand-painted colorful bottles hanging in the higher parts of the attic, surely her creations.

The only lights illuminating the place were the skylight, a row of light bulbs, and the lamp on the nightstand.

It was a room.

Why would his sister sleep here?

Why didn't he know this?

Why...she didn't tell him about this?

"[Name]" He called her but there was no answer.

He turned around and with a leap landed in the hallway of the mansion, leaving the attic.

Only to realize she was gone.

"Shit..." He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up a bit. "Was this always her room?.."

Of course not.

And that was what was causing him an uncomfortable stomach ache.

He glanced at the attic that was still open, his curiosity got the better of him again, he went back in.

But this time he looked more closely at the "room."

The lights were off leaving only the skylight as a light source, it felt quite comfortable actually.

The orange and yellow light of dawn began to stream even further through the skylight, starting to flood some parts of the room with its light.

But the moment the light reached a certain angle of the room, everything lit up with colors, distracting Dick a little.

The lights from the bottles illuminated the rest of the room, which was still dark.

Now the whole room was illuminated without even a single artificial light switch on. Dick stood admiring for several long minutes the little light show his sister had created.

That admiration turned into something else when he noticed that on top of one of the trunks was a medium-sized box.

He walked over slowly, grabbed the box and sat down on the makeshift bed.

A long skirt and a very long fabric was the first thing she saw, but what caught her attention was the only colored fabric that was in that box.

Two fans with gradients of warm colors, yellow, orange and red. Red was what remained the most on both fans.

"This is what Alfred gave you...I don't think it's suitable for a girl of your age-"

Wait.

"How old are you?."

[Name] arrived at the bathroom tired from running, well, now she has to get away from Dick, how ironic.

"Oh. My. GOD." She immediately leaned against the bathroom wall and slowly lowered herself until she ended up sitting.

She brought her hands to her hair, ruffling it quite a bit.

"Will this affect anything? I mean, technically do I travel back in time, or am I reincarnated? IT DOESN'T MATTER." She jumped back up and began pacing back and forth.

"Actions have consequences, allowing Dick into my room will surely change something..." [Name] stopped instantly.

"In fact... he, no, no one, found that place, at no time during my childhood until I left...What did I do?-"

Her breathing gradually began to become more agitated than before.

She felt her palms getting sweatier than before, she felt like she had been punched in the stomach and all the air she had been knocked out of her but she couldn't get it back no matter how hard she tried.

Gradually her legs as well as her hands began to shake, she didn't feel it because she was so lost in her head until she fell to the floor.

Her legs gave out as she trembled and she brought her hands to her chest. She felt dizzy.

Ten minutes passed, she still felt the trembling in her hands but her legs stopped shaking, she was still kneeling on the floor.

The dizziness disappeared but the result was a sharp headache.

"Shit...and I have to go to school." She muttered as she tried to stand up with the help of the sink. "Please, just for today, no more surprises."

"Whoever is behind this, leave me the surprises when I find a way to get back and leave here..."

If there is any way. Safe.

NOTES: Heyyyyy guess who's back? Well I genuinely hope you all like it.

You know, if you want to ask questions, ask them, and if you want to be on the taglist, let me know in the comments.

In the end! I love you muak muak muak💋

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist @thegothamsiren @lilithskywalker @gmwtsw @deathbynarcisstick @wizzerreblogs @mariadvorak @stardustnightfall @cristy-101

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 6

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You start off your criminal career and you and Eddie talk about alignments

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 3.9k words

Master List

This was not a good idea. Well, Stacy thought it was a good idea. You were unsure, even though it was your stupid idea. 

“It’s a store. You’ve been in a store before.” Stacy sighed as you stared at the small game shop that the two of you were parked in front of. 

“Yeah, but not this store.” you pointed out. “This is so stupid. Let’s just go do something else.” 

“Oh no, you begged me to bring you here and so you’re going to do this. It’s a store. They sell things. You want to buy things.” She opened up her door and stepped out of the car and marched to the front of the building and waited there for you. 

You had begged her, and that was the most embarrassing thing. In your euphoria of having Eddie talk to you about Dungeons and Dragons you had asked Stacy to take you to the game store in town to pick up your own copy of the game manual to learn. It seemed so simple in the heat of the moment; get the manual, learn the rules, impress Eddie by playing his game and then he falls in love with you. 

And Stacy, being the good friend that she is, agreed to the plan after laughing her ass off. 

You got out of the car, seeing no other choice but to commit to this plan. She held the door open for you as you both entered the store. It was small, and there was a slight musky scent to the room. There were a few guys hanging around the back, huddled over some sort of card game and you were met with some odd looks. That didn’t really surprise you though, you didn’t think that many girls came in here, especially not ones that looked like Stacy with her perfect perm and lipgloss smile. 

The shopkeep looked unimpressed as you made your way to the counter. 

“Makeup shop is down the street.” he said, looking back down at the comic he was reading on the counter. He had messy dishwater blond hair, and his crooked name tag read CHRIS.

Any nerves you had suddenly vanished, as now you were just pissed. What the fuck was that comment about?

“Actually, I’m here to pick up a copy of the Dungeons and Dragons manual.” you said, stepping up to the counter. The cashier didn’t move his head, but his eyes flicked up at you. 

“Original or advanced?” he asked. 

“Advanced.” You said confidently, not knowing the difference or that there was more than one version but advanced had to be more impressive, right? 

The cashier rolled his eyes and pointed vaguely in the direction of a rack on the far wall, and you saw that Stacy was already looking at the different items. You made your way over and scanned the shelves until you found the manual for Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. There was a lot more in the section than you had thought. There were several books filled with what looked like stories about the game, but you didn’t have much to go off of what you remembered Eddie talking about. You held the manual as you scanned the other books, your eyes landing on something called The Tomb of Horrors. You picked it up and flipped through it for a moment, figuring out that it was some sort of companion to the game. Were all players supposed to have these? 

“The art’s cool at least.” Stacy said, looking over your shoulder. “Lot of numbers though.”

“You literally tutor me in math, I don’t wanna hear it.” You countered.

“You won’t find any princess fairytale in that.” A voice said, and you turned to see the cashier, as well as the rest of the store staring at the two of you. 

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“I’m just saying it’s a fantasy game but it’s serious business,” he said. “I’m sure if you go to another store there are games that are more your speed.” 

“Excuse me?” you repeated yourself, your cheeks now burning. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, it’s cute that you come in here all dolled up but this is a serious store so if you’re just here to look at pictures you’re gonna have to leave.” 

You really didn’t like the way he was looking at Stacy, and it made your blood boil. “Dude, what the hell is your problem? I’m here to buy something, do you want my money or not?!”

One arm or not, you were fighting the urge to deck this guy in the face. 

“Okay, I see we aren’t wanted here.” Stacy said quickly, pushing you towards the door. You stared at her, as she flipped her hair and gave the cashier a look that baffled you. “I’m, like, so sorry to bother you all. I was just so curious about the game my cousin was so obsessed with.”

The cashier faltered for a second, and if you weren’t so pissed you’d find it funny how quickly his brain seemed to have turned to mush. 

“Well uh- if you really wanted to know about the game I’d be more than happy to teach you. Maybe set up a little one on one-”

Oh, gross. You quickly turned heel and walked out of the shop to Stacy’s car feeling all sorts of bogus feelings. 

Stacy was right behind you thirty seconds later. “Car. Now.” she said, and you wasted no time getting in as she sped off before you could even put on your seatbelt. 

“You owe me.” she said firmly. “What a creep! Ugh, you’re lucky you’re my best friend.” 

“This was such a stupid idea.” you said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that the store would be... that.” 

“Whatever, buy me a milkshake and we’ll call it even. You better have that book memorized next time you see Eddie.”

What book-

“Oh fuck, I didn’t pay for these!” you stared at the two books in your hand. 

“Duh, as if I’d let you spend money in there.” Stacy said. 

“Stacy!” you gasped. 

“Yes?” 

“The only reason my parents let me hang out with you is because they think you’re a good influence.” 

“Their problem. Anyway, I actually really like the makeup store in that plaza and now I’ll have to avoid it for at least a few weeks so make it three milkshakes.” 

Your little grand theft nerd book probably saved you about fifteen bucks, so yeah, you owed Stacy big time for this. 

“And fries.” you agreed. 

“That goes without saying.”

The weekend passed by with no further petty crime, unless you counted the backstory that you created for a thief character. You still weren’t very certain that you did all the math correctly, but you tried. 

The manual was the most helpful, and you recognized terms that Eddie had used that had flown right over your head when he had talked so passionately about the game. The Tomb of Horrors was more interesting but you had a feeling that you weren’t supposed to be reading this. It was a module, something that only the Dungeon Master would use to guide the players through the game. Reading it felt like cheating, even if you weren’t in Hellfire. 

It didn’t stop you from reading it all in one sitting, though. 

Monday rolled around, and you had spent so much time learning a game that you had forgotten to study for your English test.  

No. You didn’t forget. It was painfully in the back of your mind the whole time you were messing with paper and dice. But the louder that knowledge was, the more you focused on reading the books instead. 

You did the best that you could on Ms. Benson’s test and, not wanting to be the first one to turn it in, you spent the rest of the time staring at the back of Eddie’s head like some lovelorn teenager. Which you were. 

Eddie spent more time on his test than you, and you watched as he would write something, then erase, and write again. Occasionally he’d tap his pencil and stare up at the clock. You wondered if DIO was any good. Maybe if you were any kind of artist you’d been sketching the lines of his shoulders and the way he’d run his fingers through his wavy hair. You thought that his jacket and the denim vest made his form look older, more filled out maybe. It could also be that Eddie was a year older than you, and thus 2 years older than most of the seniors. 

After half the class turned in their tests, you walked up to turn yours in as well. You considered ‘accidentally’ brushing against his arm as you passed him but that felt too desperate. 

God, you had it bad. This felt pathetic. You didn’t give a shit about how anyone else here felt about you, but your IQ dropped into the single digits at any sight of Eddie.

You spent the rest of class re-reading the handbook under your desk, and stealing glances at Eddie who finally turned his test in about ten minutes before the bell rang. 

At least he tried. The thought was just as much praise for him as a jab at yourself. 

The bell rang and you got up and shoved the book in the new backpack that you had gotten permission to use to carry your books while you were still in a cast. Your wrist was twinging today, but you could ignore it for the most part. 

Eddie didn’t even look at you as he left the classroom. Why would he? A small conversation last week didn’t exactly make you friends but you wanted to try. 

In the time between arriving at school, and taking Benson’s test, Eddie had managed to study for a solid twenty minutes, which was about twenty minutes more than he had with most tests. It was better than nothing, and at least he could tell Wayne that he had tried. 

He doodled on the margins of the paper, hoping that Benson would be amused enough to maybe pass him a few bonus points. It had worked only once last year in science, but that didn’t stop him from doodling on every test since. 

The rest of the day passed by without much to report, it was only when Eddie was sitting in his van, getting ready to get the hell off Hawkin’s High property that he remembered that he had to report back to his parole officer (Benson) with his fellow inmate (you) to break some rocks (call random businesses in town). 

You were already in the classroom, staring at the binder with the notes you all had taken last week. 

“I’m grading tests today. Use the lounge again to make calls.” Ms. Benson said, grabbing a stack of papers from her desk. 

And those were all the marching orders the two of you received before making your way back to the teachers lounge. Eddie didn’t get why you two were still doing this. Last week the two of you had called pretty much everyone in the rolodex and had handed in all of the quotes given. 

“Is there anyone who we didn’t call last week?” Eddie asked, grabbing two chairs and dragging them over to the phone. You were already holding the binder and rolodex one handed. He could at least pretend to be a gentleman for now. 

“Some didn’t bother answering so maybe we call them again?” you suggested, plopping yourself down in the chair. 

Of the seven numbers left, you got 4 to answer and only one of them left any sort of helpful information. 

“Did Ms. Benson ever say how long we were supposed to be helping with this?” You asked, messing with the phone chord. The two of you were done, but neither of you had made a move to go back to the classroom. 

“Few weeks. Sounded like she was going to have us single handedly take care of Spring Day.” Eddie sighed. 

You stared at him blankly. Then to your cast. Then back to him. And then back to your cast. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Eddie said. “Not my fault you took a nosedive off the bleachers.”

“I did not!” you protested. “I threw myself down valiantly to distract our peers from the fact that Miles shit himself.”

“You should have let him fend for himself.” Eddie said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

You paused and looked at him for a moment with that same intense expression. Maybe you really were trying to study him like a bog. 

“I... was going to talk to you that day.” You said, and Eddie didn’t miss a slight waver in your voice as if you were nervous. “It had nothing to do with Miles.” 

Eddie couldn’t mask the shock on his face. “Me?” Why the hell were you trying to talk to him that day?

“Yeah I-” your nerves were throwing him off. He had always expected you to pick a fight with him every time the two of you made eye contact. “I made that stupid joke and you heard and I wanted to come over and apologize. Then, Miles elbowed me and I tripped and.... Yeah.” 

“Really?” Eddie was usually a master of words and bullshit, but this was rendering him speechless.

“Yeah. It was a really stupid joke and you looked pissed and flipped me off and I felt bad.” You, the person who always gave him dirty looks, felt bad? And you had been trying to come to him to-

“Shit. So it’s my fault you broke your arm.” He realized. If it had been anyone else, then he probably just would have rolled his eyes that day and ignored you but he’d made a show of making sure you knew he heard you. 

“Wrist. And... what the fuck are you talking about?” There was the pissed look he was used to!

“If I hadn’t flipped you off, you wouldn’t have hurt yourself.” 

“If I hadn’t made a stupid comment I wouldn’t have needed to apologize!” 

Seeing you so worked up about this amused Eddie greatly. He felt bad that you had broken a bone on his behalf but knowing that you had done that plus saved his ass from expulsion gave you some points in his book. 

“You’re probably the one one in this hell hole to ever apologize.” He said honestly. “I doubt anyone else would have apologized and then cleared my name.”

You just stared at him for a long time, an expression on your face he found frustratingly unreadable. Your furrowed brows said that you were pissed, but your eyes... well Eddie always knew when someone was looking at him with contempt. This wasn’t it. Confusion maybe? Frustration? Maybe you were pissed that you felt bad and broke your wrist? He wasn’t going to push it, especially when you were still looking at him. 

“So... should we go see Benson since we’re done with this?” he asked after you had stared at him like this for about ten seconds longer than he was comfortable with.  

It’s not like there was anything else the two of you could do so you just nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Eddie grabbed the binder and rolodex and kicked his chair back to its rightful place. When the two of you left the lounge, you made a move to turn left, but he turned right, in the opposite direction. 

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Takin’ the scenic route.” Eddie didn’t even bother turning around as he kept walking. 

You stood there like an idiot for a moment before jogging to catch up to him. “There’s a scenic route?”

“Yup.” Eddie said. You’d either join him and he could try and figure you out, or you’d ditch and go running to Benson. By the look on your face when she mentioned grading tests, he didn’t think you’d be in a rush back to the Warden. 

Eddie led you to the end of the hallway and opened up a door that led you both outside. It was chilly out, and you wished you had grabbed your jacket from your bag but it was such a pain to put on with the cast. 

You were now playing hooky with Eddie Munson. Well, shirking your semi-detention duties which was close enough. 

Okay. You were alone with the guy you’d been pining for, and he was hanging out with you in a seemingly willing way. Just talk to him. Ask him a question. 

“Would you rather fight a horse sized duck or a duck sized horse?” you asked. If it was a good enough ice breaker for Stacy, it’s good enough for Eddie. Hopefully. 

“Duck sized horse.” Eddie said instantly, looking at you. “Every time.” 

If he thought the question was stupid, he hid it well. 

“Explain yourself.” you said. 

“A horse sized duck would be too powerful.” Eddie explained, leading you past the football field and into the woods. “Ducks are made of evil and hatred, and I’d rather punt a small horse than deal with that.” 

Okay, so that was an answer you were not expecting. “Ducks are evil...?” you asked. 

“Oh, very evil.” Eddie said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“....Chaotic, lawful, or neutral?” 

Eddie stopped walking to stare at you with wide eyes, and you felt your face heat up painfully even in the cool air. 

“Neutral.” Eddie finally said. “I’m sure there’s some duck code that I haven’t cracked, but as far as I’m concerned they’re all the same base evil across the board.” 

“I think geese would be chaotic evil.” you offered as the two of you started walking again into the woods. “I had one that would randomly attack me in my old neighborhood every time I walked down the street.”

“Most waterfowl are some flavor of evil.”

“Maybe swans are lawful?” 

The two of you sat on an old abandoned picnic table, and Eddie lit up a cigarette. 

“So, you were paying attention to my little lecture last week.” he blew the smoke away from you as he exhaled. “I figured that you would have forgotten anything I said by now.”

How could you? You’ve been replaying that moment in your mind over and over all weekend. Not that you could tell him that. 

“It was interesting.” That was putting it mildly. “It sounds like a lot of fun, honestly.”

Take the hint take the hint take the hint take the hint-

“I love it. We’re close to wrapping up this campaign, too. If they don’t royally fuck over my plans then everything should be wrapped up in a nice little bow by the end of the school year. It’s getting serious, and none of them are allowed to skip out on Hellfire unless they are actively dying.” 

The hint flew right past him, running off into the woods while carrying your hopes and dreams. Of course, trying to join this late in the year with only a few weeks left of school would be impossible. It would be like trying to join the basketball team right before the championship game. 

“You really take it seriously.” you looked over at him, taking in his profile as he took another drag of his cigarette. 

“As serious as the plague.” He exhaled. “It’s the only thing that keeps me coming back to school most days. Well, that and I promised my uncle I’d graduate.” 

“Your uncle...?”

“Yeah, I live with him.” 

You wanted to ask more, but this was the first time the two of you had really had a conversation. Would it be weird to ask more?

“Where do you guys live?” Nope, that was too weird and personal to ask but you did anyway. 

“Forest Hills.”

He didn’t say it was the trailer park, but he didn’t need to. The answers were short, and you could take the hint he didn’t want to talk about his personal life. You’d take any scrap he’d throw at you.

“Have you always been the Dungeon Master?”

And off he went again, his eyes lighting up as he regaled you with the rise of Hellfire. How his best friend Ronnie had dragged him to this weird club at someone’s house and he had been hooked ever since. When the original DM left, Eddie took over. His first campaign had been clunky, but the more he dove into this world he created the better it got. 

The more Eddie talked about the game, the worse your attraction to him got, and the more you mourned any opportunity to be part of his world. Your feelings for him aside, it really did sound like a lot of fun. 

The bell rang far too soon and you and Eddie booked it back to Ms. Benson’s class. You handed over the notes and information you gathered and she dismissed you both with a waive of her hand. 

“I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.” you said as the two of you made your way to the front of the school. 

“Tomorrow.” he corrected. “Unless you plan on Benson’s class tomorrow.”

“It’s tempting.” You wonder how quickly that failed test would get back to you. 

The two of you passed a group of cheerleaders who were giving Eddie dirty looks before they really noticed you next to him. Two of them- Chrissy and Emma- smiled and waved at you. You gave a smile and waved back, hoping that they took it as a sign that Eddie was more than welcome to be walking next to you. 

“You’re friends with everyone, huh?” Eddie asked when they were out of earshot. 

“Not really?” His question was confusing. Other than Stacy, he was the only other person who you had any consistent alone time with, and that was because he was being forced to. “I talk with some of them sometimes but we’ve never hung out. I think I just don’t offend them.”

“I didn’t think you were the cheer type.” Eddie waved his hands as if waving imaginary pompoms and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Nah, I’ve never been in with any cheer squad, unless you count the Field Day in elementary school. I twisted my ankle and was given some fake pompoms to wave while all the other kids played.” 

“Oh, so hurting yourself during sport themed activities is a hobby of yours?” Eddie asked. “There are easier and less painful ways to skip gym.”

“Oh, now you tell me!” you feigned shock. “I wish you had told me earlier.”

“Happy to be of service.” he bowed dramatically. 

Outside, you spotted Stacy standing by her car and chatting with a boy. Fresh meat. You thought to yourself. 

“It’s probably because you’re friends with her.” Eddie said, looking over at Stacy. 

“Huh?”

“I mean, she was on the team before. If one of those girls likes you, then the rest will at least tolerate you.” 

“...Stacy was a cheerleader?” you snapped your head at him. That would explain so much, but why didn’t you know this? 

“You didn’t know?” 

“I guess not.” 

“HEY! YOU NEED A RIDE OR WHAT?!” Stacy yelled from across the parking lot. The guy she was chatting with was gone and she was waving her arms. You mentally added pompoms to her hands and suppressed a laugh. 

“I guess that’s my cue.” you said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“If I don’t skip.” he winked at you and headed towards his van, so casually, as if he didn’t just make your little heart explode and your knees weak. 

For the first time ever, you were actually looking forward to school the next day.

Author Notes: Sometimes I worry that Reader and Stacy have more chemistry. Oh well. Also I had to re-write half of this fic because my dumb ass went from Eddie POV to Reader's.

Tag List:

 @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

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@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — PREVIEW.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn.

WORD COUNT. preview: 2.8k | this will be a chaptered fic. TAGLIST. open. send me an ask/dm/reply.

NOTE. this is the side effect of having a clinically insane brain that has to make a fic out of everything, including the law readings that i am subjected to every day. i have also been re-reading weak hero and i’ve projected my favorite feral dog (keum seongje/wolf keum) to the sweetest man alive (na jaemin). i’ve also based their org structure to the Union’s, just for full disclosure. meaning, a whole lot of dream 00 line (criminal) shenanigans are underway. 

this intro note has become a mouthful. anyway, hope you enjoy! 

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.” 

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams? 

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs. 

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you. 

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground. 

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries. 

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut. 

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.” 

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination. 

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh. 

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission. 

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. 

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 12

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 12

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: At the Derby, Tommy attempts to execute his plan to outmaneuver Campbell, trying to stay one step ahead. But as the pieces shift, it becomes clear that Campbell's priority might not be Tommy at all.

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

--

The air at the Epsom Derby carried the scent of fresh earth and expensive cologne, the chatter of high society mingling with the murmurs of men who had staked everything on a horse. Women in elegant dresses strutted past, their silk gloves clutching delicate purses, their laughter a sharp contrast to the tension coiled beneath the surface. The wealthy watched from their boxes, their voices light and careless.

Standing amidst the sea of well-dressed men and women, you realized that the Derby was less about the horses and more about power. This was where men like Tommy and Sabini moved their pieces across the board, where the real game was played behind the grandstands, in the back rooms of the betting house, in the glances exchanged between the powerful and the ruthless.

You kept close to Tommy’s side as you walked through the crowd, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on your ribs.

Campbell’s men would be stationed along the north entrance. Disguised as stable hands and dressed to blend in. 

The plan played over in your mind like a drumbeat, steady and unrelenting. 

But for now, you had to wait.

Tommy walked at an unhurried pace, his hands in his pockets, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the careful ease of a man who knew he was being watched. To anyone else, he looked like just another well-dressed man enjoying the races, perhaps a bookmaker, perhaps a gambler. 

The two of you weaved through the throng of spectators, the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the track in the distance mixing with the laughter of men already deep in their cups. A vendor called out, offering whiskey from a cart lined with crystal tumblers, and Tommy barely glanced at it before steering you toward the viewing stands.

"See that man in the grey suit?" Tommy asked under his breath.

You nodded slightly, eyes following his gaze. A man in his fifties stood near the betting stalls, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive coat, his gaze occasionally flicking to the track but never truly lingering there. He had the air of someone who belonged– not because he was born into this world, but because he had learned how to play in it.

Tommy exhaled a slow breath through his nose, a flicker of something amused in his expression. “That’s Richard Ellis. Used to be a bookmaker in Small Heath. Ran bets out of a pub that had a rat problem the size of fucking dogs.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Tommy nodded. “Arthur made a deal with him once– he’d handle the rats if Ellis cut us in on the bets. Didn’t tell him how he’d handle them.” A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he took a slow drag of his cigarette. “So Arthur lets a crate of cats loose in the pub one night. Place was chaos. Ellis nearly had a heart attack when he came downstairs and saw a dozen of ‘em fighting over a dead rat in the middle of the floor.”

You bit your lip to stifle your laughter. “That can’t be true.”

Tommy glanced at you, eyes glittering. “It is. Man couldn’t step foot in his own pub for a week.”

He flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching Ellis from a distance. “He still won’t look me in the eye.”

“I wonder why.” You grinned, shaking your head before glancing toward the massive clock near the entrance. Fifteen minutes to five.

As you walked past the line of vendors and stalls, something caught your eye– a small, makeshift tent set apart from the others, its fabric dark, its entrance marked by old, faded ribbons.

A woman sat behind a low wooden table, a deck of cards spread in front of her. Not for tricks or betting, but for fortune-telling.

Tommy noticed your hesitation. “You want to have a go?”

You smirked. “Didn’t take you for a superstitious man, Tommy.”

“I’m not,” he said, pulling out his cigarette case. “But you? You like answers.”

It was half a challenge, half an invitation. With a raised brow, you stepped forward, settling into the chair across from the woman. Tommy remained standing, arms crossed, watching with the quiet amusement he always carried in moments like these.

The woman studied you, her dark eyes sharp beneath her headscarf. “You wish to know your future, drabarni?”

You hesitated. You didn’t believe in things like this. But something about the way she was looking at you made your stomach turn.

She gestured to your hand. “Let me see.”

You extended your palm, fingers slightly curled. Her own were warm and calloused as she traced the lines of your skin, her expression unreadable.

Tommy shifted slightly beside you, exhaling smoke as he watched.

The woman’s eyes darkened. “As the blood moon rises, something will fall,” she murmured.

You frowned. “What?”

She didn’t look up. “The sky will turn red. Debts will be paid.”

The woman’s thumb traced the lifeline on your palm, her expression unreadable. “The blood never washes clean.”

Your stomach tightened.

Her fingers ghosting over the lines of your palm once more. “When the sky turns red, so will the hands of the men who take more than fate was willing to give.”

Tommy scoffed beside you, the sound low and unimpressed, but his silence stretched a fraction too long. The woman turned her gaze to him, as if she could see straight through the cool mask he wore.

“Even the sharpest player forgets that the house always collects in the end,” she said softly.

Tommy flicked the end of his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly before it hit the dirt. “And yet, the house still takes my bets,” he muttered.

The woman’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “For now.”

A gust of wind swept through the tent, rattling the fabric, shifting the candlelight into flickering, restless shadows.

Tommy reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table before resting a firm hand against your back. “Come on,” he murmured, guiding you away.

You followed, but the woman’s words clung to you like smoke. 

“Bunch of shit. Superstition and stories that cost a bloody shilling,” Tommy muttered, his tone flat as he steered you back into the shifting crowd.

You nodded, but the words didn’t sit right. The woman’s voice lingered in your ears, curling around your thoughts like smoke from an untended fire.

Tommy’s hand stayed firm at your back, his touch grounding, steady. But there was tension there too, coiled tight beneath his skin, tucked beneath the carefully composed mask he always wore.

“You don’t believe in that sort of thing, do you?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. “I believe in what I can see. What I can hold.” He exhaled, flicking open his cigarette case. “And what I can take.”

You swallowed, pushing away the unease settling low in your stomach.

The Derby continued around you, untouched by the conversation that had just occurred. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke curled through the air, blending with the sharp scent of fresh-cut grass and warm earth. Laughter echoed from the betting stalls, a sharp contrast to the way your chest felt tight, uneasy.

Tommy shifted beside you, the subtle roll of his shoulders, the way his posture straightened just slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the moment he moved from casual amusement to calculated control.

His gaze flicked across the crowd, and then, just once, he nodded.

To anyone else, it was meaningless. A glance. A habit. But you saw who he was nodding at.

Isiah, standing near the outer stalls, leaned against a post, idly flicking a match between his fingers. Further down, Johnny Dogs lingered by the betting house entrance, pretending to examine the odds board, waiting. They had been there all along, scattered among the crowd, blending in.

And now, they were moving to the north entrance to create a diversion. 

“Let’s go place a bet, shall we?” he said, voice light, as if the pieces of this carefully laid plan weren’t shifting into motion beneath your feet.

You gave a small nod, letting him guide you through the bustling throng of gamblers and high society. The chatter of race-day excitement swirled around you, but your focus remained razor-sharp, scanning the faces, looking for any sign of Campbell’s men.

Nothing yet.

Tommy was calm. Too calm. He moved through the crowd like a man who already knew the outcome, his gaze flicking to the large betting board as though he actually intended to place a wager. But you knew the truth– he was waiting.

The scent hit you first. Smoke. It was faint, but undeniable.

Your pulse quickened. The fire had started.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confused voices rising as men turned toward the betting house.

Then came the first shout. “Oi! Fire!”

Heads snapped toward the source of the commotion, and suddenly, the murmurs turned into shouts. You caught a glimpse of thick, dark smoke curling out from the side of the building, the flicker of flames licking at the edges of a window.

It worked.

The betting house was no longer a viable meeting place.

Tommy exhaled, a slow, measured breath, before steering you toward a quieter stretch of the stands. His grip on your waist was firm but unhurried, as if he was just another man guiding his companion through the shifting crowd.

A group of men emerged from the betting house, stepping away from the thickening smoke.

One, in particular, carried an aura of authority above the rest. He had dark, slicked-back hair and a sharp suit. A presence that made people instinctively move out of his way.

His gaze flicked through the crowd before landing on Tommy.

And then– on you.

The way he looked at you was nothing like the way men usually did. It wasn’t leering, wasn’t curious. It was slow, calculated. Measuring.

A smirk pulled at his lips.

Tommy must have felt the shift in you, because his grip at your waist became just a fraction firmer. Then the gaze slid from you to him, and the smirk sharpened into something colder.

“Well, well,” the man drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Fancy running into you here, Shelby.”

Tommy didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a race course, Sabini. Where else would I be?”

Sabini.  

He let a slow exhale through his nose, almost like a laugh, though there was no humor in his eyes.

“The betting house seems to be having some… trouble,” he mused, tilting his head slightly toward the smoke still rising behind him. His tone was casual, but the weight behind it was heavy. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?”

Tommy barely flicked a glance toward the burning building. “You think I’d set fire to the one place we all came here to do business?” He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m insulted, Sabini.”

Sabini hummed, his dark eyes studying Tommy, then, briefly, flicking back to you.

“And who do we have here?”

His gaze dragged over you, not with the leering interest of most men in his world, but with something far more unsettling– curiosity.

You refused to shift under his scrutiny, keeping your expression carefully neutral, just as Tommy had taught you. But your pulse hammered, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Tommy, ever composed, took a slow drag from his cigarette before flicking the ashes to the ground. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

Sabini smirked at that, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that right?”

You didn’t flinch, but the weight of his stare made your skin prickle. He was watching you too closely, assessing.

Tommy exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his voice light. “Let’s not pretend you give a fuck who I bring to the races, Sabini.”

Sabini’s smirk lingered for a moment before he clicked his tongue, finally breaking his gaze from you and shifting back to Tommy. “Fair enough,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “Doesn’t make much difference to me. She’s pretty, though.”

Sabini sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the burning betting house. The flames weren’t raging, but smoke still curled from the upper windows, and the growing crowd of onlookers meant that business here was well and truly finished.

“Well,” he mused, turning back, “since we’ve lost our accommodations, shall we find somewhere else?”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”

Sabini studied him for a second longer, as if trying to gauge whether Tommy had expected this change of plans. Then he turned sharply on his heel, his men falling into step beside him as he walked toward the far end of the stands.

Tommy stayed put, letting a beat pass before exhaling through his nose and turning to you.

“Alright, you remember?” he breathed. 

“The stables,” you said. 

He gave a curt nod. “Thirty minutes. Stay where people can see you.”

His eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, as if willing you to understand the weight behind his words. He had planned for this. Had accounted for Sabini’s unpredictability, for the shifting board beneath his feet. But there was still risk– there was always risk.

You inhaled sharply and nodded. “Alright.”

For a moment, he lingered, his hand brushing the side of your waist before pulling away. Then, with a final glance, he turned and walked after Sabini, disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, the noise of the Derby seemed sharper, louder.

The hum of conversation swelled, the cheers from the track struck too high, and the calls of bookies rang in your ears like a warning bell. The weight of Tommy’s presence had always been something you could feel, a quiet force at your side, solid and steady. Without him, the absence hit you all at once.

You felt exposed– vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected.

A cheer erupted from the track as the next race was called, the excitement rolling through the stands in waves. It was all so normal. So mundane. As if, just beyond this scene of wealth and leisure, the undercurrent of something dangerous wasn’t about to unfold.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. Keep moving. Keep blending in.

There was no need to rush to the stables yet. Tommy had given you thirty minutes. If you arrived too early, it would only draw attention.

So you wandered.

The weight of his absence still sat heavy in your chest as you slipped between groups of wealthy patrons, their laughter too bright, their conversations shallow. A passing waiter offered champagne from a silver tray, and you took a glass without thinking, letting the stem rest between your fingers as you drifted toward the edge of the grandstand.

Below, the track stretched out in the golden afternoon light, the next set of horses being led out by their handlers.

You focused on the rhythm of it– the way the thoroughbreds moved, their coats gleaming under the sun, their riders adjusting their reins, the hum of gamblers muttering about odds.

It was a strange, dissonant feeling, being here in the middle of it all, pretending like you were just another face in the crowd.

For a while, you let yourself play the part.

You leaned against the railing, eyes flicking lazily over the field. You took a slow sip of the champagne, letting the bubbles linger on your tongue. You even let yourself get caught up in the energy of the race for a moment, watching as the gates snapped open, the horses breaking into a powerful sprint down the track.

But then something nagged at you. At first, it was just a feeling. A vague unease curling in your chest, easily dismissed as nerves. But then your gaze drifted, pulled instinctively toward the officers standing guard, undistracted and unbothered, it hit you.

The north entrance.

That was where Tommy’s men were supposed to create a diversion– something loud enough to force Campbell’s men to shift, to keep their eyes off Tommy. A fight, a scuffle, anything.

But there was nothing.

No raised voices. No sudden movement. No sign of a disruption. 

Your stomach twisted.

The uniformed officers stationed around still stood where they had been when you first arrived, their postures easy, their focus unbroken. 

Your fingers tensed around the champagne glass.

There could be an explanation. Maybe Tommy had adjusted the plan. Maybe the fight had been handled quietly, out of sight. 

You swallowed, trying to shake the unease slithering through your veins, but it clung to you, sinking deep into your bones. The Derby continued around you, the hum of conversation and the roar of the crowd washing over you like a tide, but suddenly, it all felt unbearably distant.

You didn’t want to be here anymore.

You didn’t want to be surrounded by these people, these faceless men in fine suits, laughing over their whiskey, oblivious to the way the world could turn sharp and cruel beneath them.

You wanted Tommy.

The thought startled you, how strong the ache for his presence had become. You had been without him for less than fifteen minutes, but in that time, something had shifted, and now all you wanted was the weight of his eyes on you, the quiet steadiness of his voice.

He made you feel safe, in a way you’d grown to depend on.

The thought alone made your pulse quicken– not with fear, but with something close to longing.

You forced yourself to breathe, to think.

Waiting around wasn’t going to make the feeling go away. The minutes stretched, slow and unbearable, each one making your skin prickle with the certainty that something was watching you, even if you couldn’t see it.

You needed to move.

Decision made, you set your untouched glass of champagne down on the nearest table and turned, slipping easily into the shifting bodies of the crowd.

The stables were quieter.

Safer.

And Tommy would be there soon.

You weaved through the grandstand, careful not to rush, but your pace was quicker than before, your movements more deliberate. 

Every step closer to the far end of the Derby grounds eased a fraction of the weight in your chest, though the unease still pulsed beneath your skin.

By the time you reached the stables, the noise of the crowd had dulled to a low hum in the distance, swallowed by the vast stretch of open space between here and the main stands. The scent of hay, damp earth, and leather settled thick in the air, a stark contrast to the perfume and whiskey lingering on your coat from the crowded grandstand.

You slowed your pace, glancing around.

It was quiet.

A few stable hands moved about their work, tending to the horses, brushing them down, adjusting saddles. They paid you no mind, too focused on their own business, and for once, you were grateful for it.

You stepped further in, the wooden beams of the stable casting long shadows in the fading afternoon light.

The silence felt different here. 

You exhaled slowly and leaned against one of the empty stalls, letting the tension slip from your shoulders.

The minutes passed with little urgency, stretching long and slow, but this time, it didn’t bother you. After the noise, after the endless hum of people, the quiet felt welcome. The horses shifted in their stalls, their movements rhythmic, soothing. You focused on the sound of their breathing, the occasional rustle of hay, the soft clink of metal as one of the stable hands adjusted a bridle.

Tommy would be here soon.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean further into the stall door, fingers absently tracing the worn grain of the wood.

But then a voice, low and taunting, cut through the silence behind you.

“Waiting for someone?”

Your breath caught. Before you could move, before you could think, before you could do anything at all– something cold and unyielding pressed against the small of your back.

A gun.

Your body went rigid.

“Don’t scream,” Campbell murmured, his voice dripping with quiet amusement. “Or you’ll be dead before the sound leaves your throat.”

He was standing too close, his voice curling against your ear like a whisper of death itself. His gun pressed harder into your spine, just enough to make his point clear.

“Walk,” he ordered.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you forward as he directed you, step by step, out of the stables. The warmth of safety you had felt moments ago vanished, replaced by the cold sweat prickling at the base of your neck.

Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath tight in your chest as Campbell steered you toward the far end of the Derby grounds. The festive hum of the crowd still carried on in the distance– oblivious, detached from the reality closing in around you.

You saw a familiar shape in the sea of bodies.

John.

He stood near the vendor stalls, talking to someone, his hat tipped low against the sun.

Hope surged in your chest, desperate and sharp.

Your pulse roared in your ears as your eyes locked onto him. See me. Please, John. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body screaming for you to do something– to call out, to move, to catch his attention before it was too late. For a second, John shifted, glancing to the side– toward you.

Your breath caught. 

But then he turned back again, oblivious. 

You bit down hard on your panic, forcing yourself to keep moving. By the time you reached the parking lot, any remnants of safety were gone.

Campbell shoved a pair of handcuffs into your grasp. “Put them on,” he ordered.

Your hands trembled as the cold metal slid over your wrists, locking with a sharp click.

The truck door creaked open, and before you could react, Campbell grabbed you by the arm and hauled you inside.

The door slammed shut behind him. The truck lurched forward. And then, you were moving.

Your last glimpse of the Derby grounds was through the narrow gap in the back window– the crowd, the shifting blur of faces, and somewhere in it, Tommy, unaware.

Campbell leaned back against the wall of the truck, watching you with quiet amusement, his gun resting against his knee.

“Now,” he said, voice smooth, easy. “Let’s have a little chat.”

The road stretched ahead, leading you further and further away.

And for the first time since Tommy left your side, you knew– 

You were well and truly all alone.

…

Tommy sat across from Sabini in the dimly lit room, his expression unreadable as the conversation between them unfolded. 

Sabini was posturing, throwing out veiled threats wrapped in pleasantries, testing the edges of Tommy’s patience. But Tommy had played this game too many times before. He knew when to push and when to let a man talk himself into a corner.

Sabini smirked, swirling the drink in his hand as his dark eyes dragged over Tommy’s face.

“I have to say, Shelby,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Your face has healed up nicely since the last time we saw each other. Looks almost… respectable again.”

Tommy didn’t blink.

Sabini chuckled, tapping a finger against his glass. “Though, I think I preferred it the other way. Suited you better.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, rolling his unlit cigarette between his fingers, his jaw tight. His face was fine now– the bruises faded, the split lip long healed– but the memory of being beaten into the concrete by Sabini’s men still burned fresh.

Along with the way you had stitched him back up again. 

He kept his voice even. “It’ll take more than a few Italians to keep me down, Sabini.”

Sabini’s smirk widened. “Oh, I know. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

There was a sudden shift in the air, a subtle undercurrent beneath the usual tension, and Tommy couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Then, the door creaked open. One of Tommy’s men slipped inside, moving quickly to his side, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“The north entrance,” the man murmured. “Guards were never there.”

Tommy’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass in front of him.

Not there?

That wasn’t possible.

He kept his expression steady, barely a flicker of reaction, but he felt it– the cold realization sliding into his gut.

The north entrance was supposed to be where Campbell’s men were stationed. Where Tommy had sent his own men to create a distraction.

But they hadn’t been there.

Which meant– 

His pulse quickened, but he didn’t move. Didn’t let Sabini see the shift.

But Sabini saw something.

A smirk curled at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the drink in his hand.

“Problem, Shelby?” he mused, voice smooth. “You look… distracted.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.

Sabini knew. Maybe not everything, maybe not the details, but he knew enough.

The meeting was over.

Tommy pushed back his chair and stood, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with practiced ease.

Sabini watched him with quiet amusement, his smirk widening just slightly. “Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were just getting comfortable.”

Tommy barely spared him a glance. “I don’t get comfortable, Sabini.”

With that, he turned and strode out, his pace brisk, controlled.

But as soon as he stepped outside, the composure cracked.

His strides lengthened as he moved through the shifting crowd, the noise of the Derby grating against his ears, an unwelcome backdrop to the sudden weight settling in his chest. His pulse was steady, but his breathing sharpened, his body already anticipating something wrong.

Beside him, one of his men kept pace, his expression tight with unease. He had been the one to whisper in Tommy’s ear about the north entrance.

���What do you want me to do, Tom?” The man– Liam, asked, voice low.

“Find Arthur and John,” Tommy said without looking at him, his voice clipped, firm. “Bring them to me.”

The north entrance had been a bluff– their own distraction. 

But for what?

Liam nodded once and peeled off, disappearing into the throng of well-dressed patrons, leaving Tommy to push forward alone.

The weight in his gut grew heavier with every step. You would be at the stables. You had to be by now, it had nearly been thirty minutes… just like you said. 

But when he arrived, the place was quiet. Too quiet. The scent of hay and leather lingered, the horses shifting in their stalls, but she wasn’t there.

He waited.

Five minutes.

Then ten.

His hands curled into fists as he paced, his mind whirring. Maybe you had gotten spooked. Maybe you had wandered a little further. But the longer he stood there, the deeper the feeling of dread sank into his chest.

Tommy turned sharply on his heel, heading back into the main crowd.

He checked the vendors first, scanning the faces, his movements controlled but urgent. He stopped at the whiskey stall, the betting booths, his jaw tightening each time he came up empty.

His hand twitched at his side.

He turned away sharply, moving toward the betting booths. He scanned the men crowding the odds board, their eyes fixed on the shifting numbers, rolling cigars between their fingers as they whispered to each other about favorites and long shots.

Not there, either.

His jaw tightened.

He wove further through the throng, past vendors shouting out prices for hot meat pies and whiskey, past wealthy men in tailored suits and women in silks who paid him no mind.

Then he spotted a vendor selling cheap trinkets– a small stand with silver cigarette cases and pocket watches laid out in neat rows.

His pulse kicked up.

He knew you had a habit of idly running your fingers over things when you were waiting– coins on a counter, the rim of a glass, the buttons of your coat. Maybe you would have lingered there, just for a moment, just long enough for someone to remember.

He stepped forward.

“You seen a woman here?” he asked the vendor, keeping his voice level. “About this tall– Green dress?”

The man barely looked up as he adjusted one of the cases. “Plenty of women come through.”

Tommy’s fingers curled against his palm. “You’d remember this one.”

The vendor hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. “I dunno, mate. Sorry.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, nodding once before turning away, pushing further into the crowd.

His stride lengthened, the careful control in his posture thinning. The murmurs of the crowd blurred together, the distant sound of the next race being called barely registering.

He stopped near a bar, scanning the people lined up along the counter.

Then, “Oi. Are you Thomas Shelby?”

Tommy turned, muscles tensed, sharp eyes locking onto the man who had spoken.

He was older, dressed in a Derby official’s waistcoat, his expression bored, indifferent. Like he was delivering nothing more than a routine message.

“There’s a phone call for you,” the man said.

Tommy’s blood ran cold.

The older man turned without waiting for a response, leading Tommy away from the main thoroughfare of the Derby grounds. The noise of the crowd dulled as they stepped around the back of the vendor stalls, weaving through a narrow passage between two betting booths.

Tommy’s pulse pounded against his ribs, but his expression remained unreadable, his body moving with purpose. He kept his hands in his pockets, fingers brushing against the metal of his cigarette case, grounding himself in the feel of something solid.

The man led him to a small, makeshift office tucked between the grandstand and the betting houses. A single telephone sat on a desk, the receiver resting off the hook, the cord stretched taut.

It was waiting. Tommy stepped forward, ignoring the man behind him as he reached for the receiver and lifted it to his ear.

He didn’t speak.

Not at first.

A long silence stretched between him and whoever was on the other end of the line.

Then there was a voice. Smooth. Measured. Amused.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.

Campbell.

The sound of his voice sent a slow, simmering rage through Tommy’s veins, steady and lethal.

Campbell sighed, a mockery of disappointment. “She was quite cooperative, you know. Didn’t put up a fight. Kind of a shame– I was hoping for more excitement.”

Tommy’s stomach twisted. His breath stayed steady, but something dark flickered behind his eyes. He had heard enough men like Campbell speak to recognize the game being played.

“Where is she?” Tommy asked, his voice like a blade– sharp, cutting, controlled.

Campbell hummed. “Safe. For now.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “If you lay a finger on her–”

“Now, now,” Campbell interrupted smoothly. “Let’s not make threats, Tommy. We both know this is bigger than you and me.”

Tommy’s free hand twitched at his side. “You tell me where she is, or I’ll tear this whole fucking place apart– I’ll kill every last one of your fucking men–”

Campbell chuckled again, the sound slithering through the line.

“Oh, I do believe you would try.” A beat of silence. “But do you really think I’d leave her at the Derby, Tommy? Do you take me for a complete fool?”

Tommy’s grip on the receiver turned to iron. “What do you want?”

Campbell exhaled, slow and deliberate, like a man savoring the moment. “So self-centered, Mr. Shelby,” he mused. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Tommy’s fingers curled tighter around the receiver, his knuckles going white. “Then why the fuck are we having this conversation?”

A soft, satisfied chuckle. “Because I want you to know that this isn’t about business. This isn’t about deals, or leverage, or power.” A pause. Then, low and sharp, “This is personal.”

Tommy’s breath stayed even, but a dangerous quiet settled over him.

“I should have known sooner,” Campbell continued, his voice coated in bitter amusement. “She was always in the right place at the right time, wasn’t she? Always knew just enough to keep you one step ahead. And yet, she smiled that pretty smile at me, and played her part so well. I was growing rather fond of her company, too, you know?”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

Campbell’s voice darkened. “You made a fool of me, Shelby. And she helped you do it.”

The room was suffocating, the Derby’s distant roar a dull, meaningless hum in the background. The anger flooding his veins was ice-cold– focused, lethal.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, keeping his voice level. “You need a win, don’t you?” He let the words settle, calculating his next move. “You’ve been after the IRA for how long? The fucking crown breathin’ down your neck? You think if you bring them to heel, you’ll climb your way back up?”

Another pause.

Tommy pressed harder.

“I have names,” he continued, voice sharp now. “Contacts. Locations. Weapons routes. And I know exactly how your government wants them handled.”

Silence.

Tommy swallowed back the bitterness in his throat, knowing exactly what kind of ground he was treading. He’d worked with the IRA before. Made enemies. Made allies. He still had contacts, and Campbell knew it. He didn’t give a fuck about the government’s game, didn’t give a fuck about their wars– he only cared about you.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Tommy said, voice like steel.

The line crackled. Then, finally, he heard a soft, thoughtful hum.

“You are a resourceful man, Tommy,” Campbell murmured. “I’ll give you that.”

Tommy’s pulse hammered in his throat, but his voice stayed even. “I can give you what you need.” 

Campbell’s voice returned, measured, unreadable. “I’ve got to say, I do enjoy watching you squirm.”

A fresh wave of rage clawed its way up Tommy’s throat, but he swallowed it back, forcing himself to wait for the next words. 

“You still don’t understand, do you?” His voice was smooth, almost pitiful. “I don’t want anything from you, Tommy.”

Tommy’s grip tightened on the receiver, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Campbell exhaled, slow and deliberate. “This isn’t about information. It’s about power. About control.”

A cold realization settled in Tommy’s gut, but he refused to acknowledge it. Not yet.

Campbell chuckled, the sound slithering through the line. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself that you’re untouchable. That no matter what happens, no matter who comes for you, you’ll always be one step ahead.” A pause. “But you’re not, are you?”

Tommy swallowed, his breath steady, but his mind was already moving, already searching for the angle, the leverage– anything he could use to change the outcome.

“I want you to feel it, Tommy,” Campbell continued, voice sharp now, cutting straight to the bone. “The way I felt it, every time you made a fool of me. I want you to understand what it is to be helpless.”

Tommy’s fingers curled against the desk, white-knuckled.

“I want you to know,” Campbell said, his tone almost gentle, “that I can take something you care about… and I can hurt it–”

Tommy forced his breath to be measured, controlled. “What have you done?”

“Nothing. Yet.” A smirk laced Campbell’s tone. “But I do intend to take my time. You see, I just want you to see that you can’t stop this. Not everything is under your control, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

Campbell exhaled, pleased. “I wonder, Tommy… how long before she begs me to stop?”

The words slithered through the receiver like a blade pressed to skin, slow and deliberate.

Campbell let the silence stretch, savoring it. Then, lower, softer– crueler, he asked, “How long before she screams your name– before she realizes you can’t save her?”

Without warning, the line went dead.

Tommy stood there, frozen, the dial tone humming like a funeral bell in his ear.

Then– Crack!

His fist slammed into the wooden desk, rattling the phone, sending the ink bottle tumbling over the edge.

His breath came heavy now, sharp and measured as he forced himself back into control.

Campbell had made a mistake.

A big fucking mistake.

Tommy turned, his hands already moving, reaching into his coat for a cigarette as he stormed toward the door. He shoved it open with force, stepping into the fading afternoon light. The air outside felt sharp against his skin, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning in his chest.

Arthur, John, and the rest of the boys were already there, waiting just beyond the vendor stalls.

John spotted him first, his sharp gaze flicking over Tommy’s face, reading the tension in his shoulders. “What the fuck is going on?”

Arthur stepped forward next, his expression dark, nostrils flaring. “Tom, what was that? We saw the bloke bring you back here–” His voice cut off as he caught the look in Tommy’s eyes.

The others fell quiet, waiting.

Tommy exhaled sharply, smoke curling into the air.

“We have to get out of here,” he said finally, his voice clipped, urgent.

John frowned. “What? Why?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Tommy– where’s the Doc?”

The words landed like a gunshot.

Tommy inhaled slowly, then exhaled through his nose as he looked up. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, lethal. “Campbell has her.”

“Fuck.” John’s face twisted in fury, his hands immediately curling into fists.

Arthur took a step closer, his breath coming sharper now. “What do you mean, Campbell has her? How the fuck did that happen?”

Tommy clenched his jaw, his patience thin. “He’s been one step ahead of us this entire fucking time. He knew she was spying for me.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding it under his boot. “He knew. The whole time, he fucking knew.”

The weight of his words settled over them like a cold fog.

John swore under his breath. Johnny Dogs shifted, his jaw tight. The others exchanged glances, waiting for the next move.

Arthur exhaled harshly, rolling his shoulders back. “Right,” he said, his voice a touch calmer now– dangerously so. “So what the fuck do we do now?”

Tommy straightened, adjusting his coat.

“We find her.”

He turned, already moving, already calculating.

“And we kill that bastard before he even knows we’re coming.”

The boys didn’t hesitate.

They followed.

Because no one took from Thomas Shelby and walked away unscathed. 

[anotherworldawaitsus]

The Girl Next Door

Synopsis: A new neighbor turns Melissa’s world upside down.

Chapter: 4/10 (The Addict)

Series Warnings: Slow burn, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective Melissa, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Minor violence, mentions of drug use, homophobic slur, sibling rift, protective Melissa has arrived

—————————————-

You had purposely chosen a neighborhood far removed from the streets where you grew up, carefully avoided all your old haunts, kept your head down. But you knew you couldn’t hide forever. It was only a matter of time until the past came knocking.

Which is why, when you rounded the corner one Friday night in April, you weren’t entirely surprised to see your little brother Mikey standing outside your apartment building. His face was thinner than you remembered, but you recognized him instantly.

“Hiya, sis,” he said, a flicker of that old smile ghosting across his features as you approached. “Heard you were back in town.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Ouch,” he said, scuffing his shoe into the ground. “We ain’t seen each other in how long, and that’s the first thing you—”

“What are you doing here?” you repeated loudly. A muscle in Mikey’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth together. He hated to be interrupted.

“You gonna invite me in?” He plastered a fake smile on his face as a group of people walked by, nodding hello on their way to the bars. “Or should we just yell on the street like animals?”

You hesitated, sizing him up. He was practically a stranger to you, and you’d bet your entire paycheck that he was still spending every hour of the day getting high. But you didn’t care. Suddenly, you were eager for a fight.

“Why not?” A corrosive fury simmered in your veins as you pushed past him and unlocked the door.

“You got a nice place,” Mikey said once you were both inside. He looked around, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. His eyes were restless, hungry.

You grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and handed him one.

“How’d you find out where I live?”

Your tone was blunt, unfriendly. He looked away.

“Duncan said you had a party here last month.”

“Duncan Davies?” you laughed darkly. “That little shit stain always had a big mouth.”

“Yeah well,” he said. “Guess my invite got lost in the mail.”

You scoffed, opening your mouth to say fuck yes it did. But suddenly your phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, you saw it was Boone.

“I gotta take this,” you said. “Work.”

Mikey bobbed his head, took a sip of beer. You stepped into the kitchen and answered the call, not even bothering to say hello.

“Your surprise party is the gift that keeps on giving,” you hissed.

“What do you mean?” You heard the rustling of papers and pictured your friend sitting on his sofa, rolling a joint.

“I mean,” you said, trying to keep your voice low. “Word got back to my burnout brother, and now he’s standing in my living room.”

Boone swore softly.

“I told you I wanted to keep a low profile, but you just had to be a goddamn social butterfly.” You knew you were being unfair, that you were just amped up and looking for someone to blame.

“What does he want?”

You ran a hand through your hair. “I have no idea.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Boone said. “But you can’t exactly avoid your family forever, can you? Maybe this is a good thing.”

“Trust me,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It’s not.”

You hung up, sagging against the counter for a moment and taking a few deep breaths before you walked back into the living room.

Mikey didn’t hear you come in. He was hunched over the table by the front door, rifling through a drawer. Your wallet was in his left hand, a wad of bills in his right. Outrage licked its way up your spine, dull and painful. Of course.

“Looking for something?”

His head snapped up so fast it almost made you wince.

“I can explain,” he said. “This ain’t what it looks like.”

“No?” you laughed darkly. “Because it looks like you’re still a junkie and a thief.“

Fury clouded his features. He had been handsome once, but his face had a wasted look to it now. The hollows of his cheek were overly pronounced, almost skull-like.

“I just need something to get through the week,” he said, gripping the cash tightly in his fist.

“Where have I heard that one before?” you mocked. “Oh, right, at dad’s funeral, when you showed up loaded and begging mom for money.”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “You’re such a bitch.”

You slammed your beer down on the table hard enough that the bottle shattered. For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes glittered with malice, shame, sorrow. You remembered a time when you would have done anything for him, your baby brother with the same irresistible smile as your dad.

“Put the money down,” you growled. “And get lost.”

His lips twitched. “Make me,” he taunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before you lunged. You’d always been faster when you were kids, and you were pleased to see you could still get the drop on him. You grabbed his neck, dog-walking him toward the door with his head squeezed tightly under your armpit.

“Let me go!” he yelled, voice strangled by your chokehold. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me!”

You spilled out into the hallway together, a clumsy tangle of arms and legs and fists. You threw a rogue punch toward his midsection. Blood was pounding in your ears.

He twisted in your grip with a roar of pain and frustration, his elbow catching you square in the ribs. The impact was hard enough to knock the breath out of you, and he pushed his advantage, gripping you by the throat and throwing you against the wall. He was scrawny, but still strong. Your jaw smacked against the hard tile and you slid to the floor, winded and dazed.

“You think Dad would be ashamed of me,” he half-shouted, straightening his jacket. “Look at you, fucking psycho dyke.”

He was almost unrecognizable in that moment, towering over you with a hateful sneer on his face. He stepped closer and you scrambled backwards, unsure what he intended to do. Luckily, you never found out.

At that moment, a baseball bat swung through the air, missing Mikey’s face by inches.

“Touch her again and I’ll break your kneecaps.”

>> Read the rest of this chapter right now on my Patreon! <<

[avastrasposts]

The Exiled Heart - Chapter 2

Plot: Crashing his Razor Crest on a remote planet, Din is seriously injured and unconscious when he's found by a local woman. This story explores a few months of Din's life before he meets Grogu and started on the path we know.

Din Djarin x Female reader

Author Note & Warnings: Explicit - smut, fluff, angst, serious injury, blood, poor Din has an existential crisis...

This is set pre-Grogu and before season 1 of The Mandalorian and explores a few months of Din's life. The first chapters contain blood and descriptions of serious injuries.

The latter chapters will be filled with angst. I don't want to spoil the story by listing too many warnings, but if you don't know me, I write tooth aching fluff and smut and then I throw heart breaking angst into the mix and that's exactly what I've done here.

Please enjoy! *evil laugh*

The afternoon passed as the morning had, you checked in on the man at one point and found him sleeping, the broken helmet next to him on the bed. He slept through the night, Gearz standing watch outside the bedroom door again, while you slept a second night on the couch. The next morning Gearz woke you with his soft beep. 

“He is awake,” the droid said as you got up. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you went to the bedroom and gently tapped on the door before pushing it open. The man was standing up, examining the wound on his abdomen, but again, his eyes flew to you as entered the room, but quickly flicked down to the container holding his armor. 

“Where am I?” he demanded. The tone of his voice much more commanding this morning, the unsteady uncertainty of the past two days gone and replaced by a dark baritone that matched the height and width of him now that you saw him standing up for the first time. 

“Shinu,” you replied, “Just outside the Ryloth system, we’re about as far out as you can get.” 

“Where are my clothes?” came the next question. 

“I had to cut away your flight suit and undershirt, but I have a couple of spare shirts I can give you,” you replied and went to the cupboard by the door. It held all your clothes, and some of your father’s old ones. Taking out one of his shirts, you handed it to the man. He pulled it over his head, still not meeting your eyes, and grunted as the movement pulled at the stitching in his side. 

“My ship, my weapons,” he said, and again, there was no question mark, just a statement but you guessed what he meant. 

“The ship is a few hundred meters away, in the forest. The droid couldn’t find your weapons,” you lied, hoping he didn’t catch it. 

“Take me to it.” 

“Take you to it? You’ve just woken up after sustaining multiple serious injuries, you’re not fit to go anywhere,” you protested as he tried to bend over to pick up one of the vambraces. He groaned and stumbled at the effort, and you rushed forward to catch him before he fell. Both your arms went around his middle, holding him up as he suddenly leaned heavily on you, gasping out a sharp breath. 

“Stupid, stubborn man,” you grumbled, “You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had, never seen anyone so kriffing eager to undo my work.” 

The man groaned as you helped him lie back down and you lifted the shirt to check the stitching. No blood was coming out at least, so hopefully he hadn’t ripped it again, but the effort of trying to bend down had left him pale and sweating and he didn’t protest again. 

“Now, please, for the hundredth time, stay still and heal!” you told him, too exasperated with his stubborn attitude to worry about angering him. 

Fussing around him, you put a pillow behind his back and helped him sit up a little bit, it would do his circulation good, and refilled his glass with water. 

“Drink,” you ordered, holding it out to him. He did as told without a word, glancing up at you before he downed the whole glass while you watched. 

“You lost a lot of blood, you’ve got a head trauma and I removed a great big chunk of metal from your belly,” you said, sitting down at the foot of the bed, “You seem to be mending, and there are no signs of infection, but it’ll take a few more days before you’re strong enough to leave. But you’re not leaving on that ship anytime soon, so I can take you into Duebert, that’s the nearest town. From there you can get a transport to Mosa, that’s the trade port.” 

“I need to repair my ship, and the helmet,” he said, his gaze moving to the broken helmet that lay next to him on the bed. 

“No one in Duebert can do that I’m afraid, we don’t really do much space travel, but there are repair shops in Mosa.” 

He didn’t reply to that, and he kept looking at his helmet as he picked it up, staring at the broken visor. 

You sat in silence for a while as the man seemed lost in thought. 

“The helmet, it’s very important to you,” you said quietly, and he gave a small nod. 

“My…I…I haven’t been without it since I was a boy. We…” 

He trailed off, glancing up at you, and there was a sense of fear in his eyes again, agony barely hidden in the way he grimaced as a slew of painful emotions seemed to flash across his face. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked finally and you raised your eyebrows in question. 

“Taking care of your wounds? 

He nodded in reply and you shrugged, “Why not? You’re injured, my father taught me healing, trained me to be a medic, it’s what we do.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

You gave him a look, studying his expression, and he bowed his head, looking away again. 

“Wouldn’t you help someone who was injured even though you didn’t know them?” you asked and he seemed to think about it for a few moments before he nodded, still not looking at you. 

“I would, but you are too trusting.” 

“You were unconscious,” you pointed out, “and would’ve died if I hadn’t helped you.” 

He didn’t seem to have a response to that, but he looked up at you again. 

“Thank you,” he said, “And I’m sorry about that.” 

He pointed to your arm where the welts left by his fingers were visible. “My helmet, the armor, it’s…part of who I am and losing it…I don’t know what to do without it.”

“I’m sorry your helmet is broken, can you fix it?” you asked, looking at it as he turned it over in his hands. 

“Not like it’s meant to be mended, that needs a forge. But maybe I can repair it enough before I leave.” 

“Can I ask you something else?” you said, looking up at him again, but he kept his eyes on the helmet. You’d noticed that since yesterday, he seemed to keep his eyes on the armor or the helmet most of the time, rarely meeting your eyes again. 

He gave a short nod as he tried to bend the crooked panel into place but it didn’t budge. 

“You said you haven’t been without the helmet since you were a boy…do you mean you wear it all the time?” 

He looked up at you at that, his dark eyes meeting yours for a moment. It occurred to you that every emotion he felt seemed to flash across his face before he spoke. Now he seemed to hesitate, his mouth opening and closing before he looked down at the helmet again. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you backtracked at his silence, “It’s only…it would explain why it was the first thing you asked about when you woke up, why you were panicking and-” 

“It’s my religion,” he said suddenly, cutting you off, “I’m Mandalorian, our armor and our weapons is our creed, we don’t show our face to anyone. No one has….” he stopped himself, his fingers flexing around the broken helmet and you could see the heaving of his chest as he drew a deep breath. 

“No one…has seen you without your helmet since you were a boy….” you whispered slowly as it dawned on you what he was saying. What it meant. You felt as if you should look away from him, leave the room, to give him privacy, and you moved to stand up, rising from the bed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what it meant to you.” 

“I’m no longer Mandalorian,” he said, holding up his hand to stop you, “My helmet has been removed, it doesn’t matter that you see my face now.”

“But I only did it to save your life,” you protested, “And you were unconscious.” 

“This is The Way,” he said, his voice solemn, emphasizing the phrase, “My helmet has been removed, and according to our creed, I am now an apostate.” 

“That’s cruel,” you exclaimed without thinking, sitting back down on the bed as he looked up at you again. 

“This is The Way,” he repeated, “I was raised as a foundling by the Mandalorians, and our creed is strict, but fair.” 

“Doesn’t seem fair that you’re an apostate just because I had to see your face to save your life.” 

He didn’t reply to that, and you dropped the topic, sitting in silence for a few minutes as you processed what you’d learnt. 

“Do you remember what caused your ship to crash?” you asked eventually and he nodded. 

“Pirates, I was preparing to jump into hyperspace, and they fired on the ship. I managed to make the jump but something was damaged and the ship was forced out of hyperspace, that’s probably what caused the damage you saw. I was in the hull repairing what the pirates’ blaster cannon had damaged when something exploded. I tried to find a planet to land on and saw this one but it was all covered in forest. The last thing I remember is a bright light and pain.” 

“You were lucky, your ship landed in the only big enough clearing for miles. But it’s got a hole in the side and is tilted sideways, you might have a lot of work to do before it can fly. And you need to get stronger first.” 

You paused for a beat, before you spoke again, “If you want to, you can stay here until you can leave, with or without your ship. My offer of getting you to Duebert still stands though.” 

He sighed, and putting the helmet to the side, he looked up at you. 

“Thank you, if it’s alright with you, I’ll stay here and repair the ship and my armor. I have very few credits, but I’ll pay you what I can.” 

“We don’t use credits that much on Shinu, we usually barter,” you said, “But if you can help me replace the medicine I’ve used, I’d be grateful.” 

He nodded as you pushed up off the bed, getting to your feet. 

“I’m starving, and I’m guessing you are too. Would you like some breakfast, maybe something solid this time?” 

The man nodded and you held out your hand to him, “I’ll help you to your feet, it’s not good for your healing process to be lying down all the time so you can sit in the kitchen while I make breakfast.” 

He looked at your hand with surprise as he slowly put out his own, the movement apprehensive, almost as if he was uncertain of taking your hand. When his hand touched yours, he briefly closed his eyes, his lips parting in an almost silent sigh. 

Covered head to toe in armor, no one has seen his face, and no one has touched him…

His grip on your hand tightened and you tried to keep your touch light and brief, as you helped him to his feet. But when he was steady, he was the one reluctant to let go, his hand remaining closed around yours as you stood in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth of him from beneath the shirt. 

You looked up at him, you had to tilt your head to see him properly as he drew to his full height, and found that he was already staring at you with wide eyes, searching your face. 

“I’m sorry….” he mumbled, his hold on your hand still tight, and his pulse thrummed visible in his neck as he swallowed. You gently raised your free hand and put it on his chest, feeling his rapid heart beat under your hand. He flinched at your touch, and then took a deep breath, air rushing out of his lungs. 

“Take your time,” you whispered softly, and he closed his eyes, sighing again. 

You stood still with the strange man for several long minutes. His heartbeat under your hand slowed down after a while, and his breathing slowed too, while his eyes remained closed. You didn’t want to disturb him, or rush him, so you closed your eyes too and followed his breathing. The scent of his shirt was close to you, but underneath was the sharp tang of sweat and blood, and something that reminded you of machine grease. As soon as his wound had closed up enough, maybe tonight, you’d let him take a shower. But for now, you just stood still close to him, a deep sense of calm coming over you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice low and quiet, “I…it’s been…a very long time.” 

You gently squeezed his hand that was still holding yours and looked up at him with a smile. 

“It felt special for me too,” you said, keeping your tone low to match his and the moment, “I feel like I can trust you more now.” 

“You saved my life, I would never do anything to hurt you,” he said, the sincerity clear on his face, “I owe you my life, even though I’m an apostate. That’s not your fault.” 

You nodded and he gave you the smallest of smiles, the first you’d seen from him, and somehow it lit up your insides, a tendril of warmth spreading through your limbs, and you smiled back at him. Moving to his side, you steadied him by taking his arm while he still had a firm grip on your hand, he almost seemed reluctant to let go now. 

“C’mon, walk slowly, we both need some breakfast.” 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, the man sitting awkwardly, leaning back in one of your kitchen chairs. You could tell both his injuries were causing him discomfort, but apart from mild painkillers, you didn’t have anything to help with the pain. He didn’t say anything either and apart from the strain on his face, he showed nothing of the pain. He kept glaring at Gearz though, who zoomed in and out of the front door while he went about his chores of weeding and watering your vegetable garden, his annoyance with the droid clear in his looks. Eventually you instructed Gearz to just stay in the garden with the chores, something about the droid was clearly disturbing your guest. 

At least he ate well enough, and the strong and sweet herbal tea you brewed from a local plant earned the rave review of him asking for a refill. When breakfast was done, you asked if he wanted to go back to the room or stay on the couch. He looked around the small house with some confusion until his gaze came back to you, waiting for his answer by the table. 

“I’m in your bedroom,” he said, and it was more of a statement than a question, a habit you’d noticed he had in his manner of speaking. 

“Yeah, well, I only have one bedroom and not many guests so…. And I’m not gonna let an injured man sleep on the couch.” 

“I can sleep on the couch tonight,” he said immediately, but you shook your head. 

“Out of the question. You need proper, solid rest, it’s the best healer, and you won’t be getting that on the couch.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else but you held up your hand, “Not another word, you’re sleeping in the bed until I decide you’re well enough.” 

His mouth closed with a snap, his eyebrows furrowed tightly in defiance, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“So do you want to stay here or go back to bed?” you asked again now that you’d won that argument. 

“I’d like to see my ship,” he said, “But you’re not gonna let me, are you?” 

“That’s correct, at least not today,” you replied, “But, tomorrow, I promise. It’s not far but we’ll get the transporter and I’ll take you so that you can see for yourself what kind of damage it has.” 

He nodded and made to stand up, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches. 

“Easy…” you said, putting out your hand to him. He hesitated for a moment before he took it, and you gently put your arm around his waist. It seemed that even the smallest physical contact was something he had to work up to, maybe something he craved, but also something so foreign to him that it felt disquieting. Either way, you let him take the lead as you slowly walked to the bedroom together. Arranging the pillow under his head, you helped him lie back down as he looked up at you. 

“Thank you,” he said, moving to take hold of the helmet that was still lying on the bed. 

You gave him a smile and pulled up the blanket, “Get some more rest, and if you feel steadier this evening, there’s plenty of hot water for a shower. I think you’ll feel better once you’ve cleaned up. I’ll get you some of my father’s clothes so that you have something clean to change into.” 

He nodded, the effort of sitting up and walking showing in the dark circles under his eyes. He was healing fast, but blood loss always took longer to get over and it still showed in his pale complexion. 

You pulled the door closed behind you and began cleaning up the meal and preparing a stew for dinner. You wanted him to have as much hearty food as possible while he was here, it would help with his strength as much as the rest. 

Most of the day had passed before you checked in on your guest again, gently tapping on the door. 

“You’re awake,” you smiled at him as you saw him half sitting up in bed, looking much better. Some more of his color had returned to his face and the way he was sitting up indicated that some more of his strength had returned. He had the container with his armor next to the bed, and was examining the chest plate as you came in. 

“I need to clean my armor,” he said, looking up, “You were right about the blood, there’s a lot.” 

“And even more on the floor of your ship I’m afraid,” you replied, “I can get you rags and a cleaning agent tomorrow if you want to?” 

He nodded, “Thanks, that’d be helpful.” 

“And how about a shower now?” 

He nodded at that too, moving to get up from the bed. 

“Do you need help, or do you feel strong enough to stand?” you asked, and he paused. His feet were on the floor, one hand on the side of the bed. 

“I think I can stand on my own,” he replied after a moment, “but….” he trailed off, a red blush suddenly creeping up along his neck as he looked down at his thighs. 

“Anything I can help you with?” you asked softly, waiting for him to regain his composure before he swallowed uncomfortably. 

“My..boots, and socks…I can’t reach them without disturbing the stitches.” 

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling. It was too sweet how the big injured man sitting on your bed was embarrassed to ask for help with his socks. Of course, with the life he’d had of no one ever seeing anything of his body or face, and with the way he reacted to being touched, it was evident that he’d be awkward with this too. But it still endeared him to you, that something so every day as helping someone with their boots, was such a hurdle for him. 

“Of course, no problem,” you replied, kneeling down in front of him and working the fastening of the straps. The boots slipped off easily enough, with a distinct smell of sour socks that you tried to ignore, keeping your face impassive. 

The man shifted above you, clearing his throat, “Sorry…I…I can’t really smell much under the helmet.” 

“I’ve smelled worse,” you smiled up at him, “But I’ll put your boots outside and throw the socks in the wash if you don’t mind?” 

He gave you a silent nod, flexing his pale toes as they were finally freed. 

You followed him as he made his way to the refresher, and showed him how your water shower worked. One thing your planet did not lack was fresh water, thanks to the large forests that covered it, but you knew it could be very scarce in other parts of the galaxy. 

“The door has no lock, just yell or something if you need help, there’s soap in the dish that you’re welcome to use,” you told him after handing him a clean towel and clothes, “And shower for as long as you want, there’s plenty of hot water.” 

He glanced up at the shower head and nodded, “Thanks, this is a luxury.” 

“I hope you enjoy it then,” you smiled. 

You closed the door behind you, and got to work. The water soon turned on and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped when you heard a loud, satisfied groan from the ‘fresher. He was clearly enjoying the hot water and you guessed it would take some time before he came back out. 

While he was in the shower you put his boots outside, put the bed clothes and his clothes in the wash, including the flight suit that you’d had to cut away from him, and remade the bed with fresh sheets and aired out the room. Dinner was almost done, so you laid the table and prepared the stew too, you were just about done when you heard the water turn off. Tendrils of steam were escaping from under the door and you could smell the pine of the soap. A few minutes later the door opened, letting out a cloud of steam and more pine scent, along with your, now clean, patient. 

“You look like a new man,” you smiled at him, motioning for him to sit down at the table. 

“I feel…amazing…” he sighed, sinking down in the chair and the honesty in his reply made you laugh. 

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed the shower. I hope you enjoy dinner too and then you’ll be halfway to all good by tomorrow morning.” 

“I feel like I’m halfway there already,” he replied, accepting the bowl you put down in front of him along with slices of simple bread, “You’re a skilled healer.” 

You smiled at his complement, and sat down across from him with your own bowl. 

“Can I…can I ask you something?” you asked hesitantly, “And you don’t have to answer, but it's something I noticed while I treated you.” 

“Ok,” he replied, already filling his mouth with the stew. 

“Actually, it’s two questions, I just realised,” you said, nervously picking at the slice of bread you’d picked up, “First…I noticed…you have a lot of scars, both old and new,” you glanced up at him and found him looking at you, his dark eyes fixed on yours with a directness he usually didn’t show, “Are you a soldier? A rebel?”

He shook his head, “I’m not a rebel, but I’m not imperial either. I’m a bounty hunter.” 

Your trepidation must’ve shown on your face as you dropped the now shredded piece of bread and he held up his palm, placating. 

“You’re not in any danger. There is no bounty on you.”

“Well, that’s good to know at least…” you said, trying to give him an amused smile, it felt more like a grimace, but the bounty hunter just shook his head, a serious look on his face. 

“You saved my life,” he said, “and to a Mandalorian, even though I’m an apostate, that is not something we take lightly.”

You nodded, trying to not imagine what it would be like to have the armor-covered man with all his weapons hunting you, a terrifying thought to say the least. Even without the armor he was a big man, tall and muscular with a wide build. And if the scars were anything to go by, he’d been in plenty of fights and survived. To have this skilled fighter come after you with the intent to capture or kill you…the thought made a shudder run down your spine and you were suddenly extra grateful for living in this peaceful backwater part of the galaxy. 

“Don’t be scared,” his low voice came from across the table, “you’re safer now than before you found me.” 

You looked up at him, questioning his logic, “What do you mean?” 

“Now you have a Mandalorian indebted to you, and most think twice before threatening what I protect.” 

His voice had taken on a cocksure tone, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smug smile as he made his statement. You were suddenly given a glimpse of the confidence he must carry when he was in his armor and covered by the helmet, a warrior who probably saw most of the world bend to his will. And if it didn’t, he made sure it did with his skills and weapons. 

“What’s your second question?” he asked, pulling you away from the image that was forming in your mind. 

“What’s your name? I realised I don’t know what to call you?” 

He tilted his head to the side with a small movement, holding your gaze briefly before looking down at his plate, his confident manner suddenly fading away. 

“People call me ‘Mando’,” he said after a few moments of prolonged silence. 

“They call you ‘Mando’?” you asked, “But that’s not your name?” 

“No.” 

The silence stretched between you and he said nothing more. You both ate the meal, stillness filling the kitchen until ‘Mando’ put down his spoon and drew a deep breath, seemingly coming to a point where he needed to speak. 

“I…I’m…not keeping my identity from you because I don’t trust you…” he said finally. His voice had returned to the low, uncertain tone it had carried earlier, and he kept his eyes on his hands on the table. “There are very few Mandalorians left, and we keep ourselves secret and protected. Part of that is not sharing our names, and people outside my covert call me ‘Mando’ and know nothing more about me. By seeing my face, you know more about me than any other living being and that…” he trailed off, suddenly rubbing his face with his large hands in a gesture very uncharacteristic for the man who was usually very measured in every movement. But now his hands fell to the table again and he looked up at you, pain etched across every feature, his eyebrows pulled together tight as you realised panic was building in his eyes. 

Your instinct probably went against everything he’d ever learnt, but you couldn’t stop it. You stood up from your chair and rounded the table, reaching for him. And with a loud exhale, a rush of air escaping him, he grabbed you, his arms pulling you in as he buried his face against your neck. His chest was heaving, his breath coming out in gasps tight against your shirt, warming your skin, and his arms held you like a vice, tight, tight, while the panic washed through him. 

You held him just as tight, your hands finding their way to his back and into the damp curls of his dark hair. Stroking his back in long, slow movements, you hummed against his head, trying to soothe him with soft words. 

“Breathe…you’re safe, just breathe…” 

Underneath your arms, he was trembling, fighting with emotions you could only guess at, but slowly his breathing calmed. A long inhale was finally followed by a shuddering exhale that seemed to drain him, making him slump in your arms. He didn’t loosen his grip, so you made no sign of moving either, continuing to stroke his back slowly and gently. 

“Din…” he mumbled against your neck, a barely audible word, “My name is Din.” 

“Just breathe, Din,” you whispered, “you’re safe.” 

After Din had gone back to bed, his posture slumped and drained but his mind calmer, you went outside and sat down on the bench that faced your garden. The night sky was clear and full of stars with just a thin sliver of your planet’s small moon hanging low above the treetops.

Leaning back against the wall of the house, you went through the events of the past few days. Your patient, Din, you corrected yourself, was healing fast, but the added complication of his creed, and losing his helmet, was an unexpected development. It seemed ridiculous to you, that having his helmet removed by someone in order to save his life would lead to him being an apostate. But he seemed adamant that this was the case. Even more troubling was that a man of his age, somewhere in his thirties you’d guess, had lived most of his life closed off from contact, never showing his face and never being touched. The panic and agitation he’d shown at the beginning made sense in light of that, and you wished you’d known what a Mandalorian was before you met him so that you could’ve treated him differently. 

And then your question about his work and his name. He was proud to be a bounty hunter, and clearly proud of his skills, it showed in the confidence that filled him when he spoke of how he could protect you. But you never would’ve guessed that asking about his name would cause such anguish in him, it seemed to run deeper than just keeping it protected. But like his face, keeping it secret served to keep him and his covert safe and by asking about it, you seemed to have touched upon a very difficult subject. 

But he did tell me his name in the end, you thought to yourself, looking up at the stars and bright planets. He’d come from one of them, you might not even be able to see it, but that’s where he came from. And he’d fallen into your care, and somehow, he trusted you enough to tell you his name, and reach for you when the panic set in. Maybe it was because he was already more exposed then he’d ever been in his life, and he was forced to trust you, but whatever the reason, it made you happy that this strange man did trust you. 

You suddenly felt fiercely protective of him, you would never betray his trust, especially since he’d given you his name freely. It wasn’t like when you had to remove his helmet and he had no control over you seeing his face. He’d told you his name freely and it felt like a gift, as if by giving you his name he was showing you that he trusted you wholly. You would not betray that to anyone. 

You quietly returned to the house and glanced towards the bedroom door while you got ready for another night on the couch. Din had left the door ajar, and you could see him stretched out on the bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. Pale starlight illuminated what you could make out of his face and chest where he’d pushed the blanket down. Maybe it was the dim night light, but you found yourself staring at him, the strong lines of his jaw and nose, the shadows of his facial hair, mirrored on his chest and the dark trail that disappeared under the blanket. He looked both strong and vulnerable at the same time, someone you wanted to protect as well as someone you’d seek out for safety and comfort. A sudden attraction for the man filled you, and you wished fixing his ship would take a long time, that he’d stay in your house and not disappear off to the stars again. You would like to have his company and learn more about him.  

Din flinched in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath, and it roused you out of your reverie, moving you to the couch. But you placed your pillow so that you could see Din in your bed from across the room and through the open door. Your strange guest, who was less of a stranger now, was the last thing you saw before you closed your eyes for the night. 

Sweet readers! I hope you like the story so far! This is my first "proper" Din fic and I'm really hoping I'm capturing his voice even though I've stuck him a very difficult situation. The story is 7 chapters long and I'll be posting updates pretty often (it's already written).

[happypopcornprincess]

Chapter 2 || Illicit Affairs

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - Actions are questioned, and emotions clash admits the arrival of the mission.

Word Count - 4.5K

Warnings: SMUT, Language, Angst, Mentions of blood, DV, Abuse

Series Masterlist

Two Days later

“How are you doing y/n?” Bucky spoke up as you entered the briefing room.

You smiled at him as you took your seat in the room, “I’m doing great, how are you?” you take out your essentials and set up your things for the briefing.

“Been a while since you showed up in casuals,” he pointed to the loose white t-shirt and sweats you were wearing.

Oh shit.

You look down at your… well, Joaquin’s clothes, “I was working in the lab last night.” you let out a nervous laugh.

“Nice cologne,” Bucky smirks.

Wait… does he know something?

You narrowed your eyes at him when he looked away. You haven’t told anybody about the… arrangement with Joaquin. But then, he has been your neighbor for as long as you can remember.

Before you could brainstorm further, Sam entered, as well as other members of the team. Shang-Chi, Kate, and surprisingly, Kamala. She waved at you excitedly, and you returned the same. You were not expecting the newest, and the youngest member of your team here. Sam was trying to include her around the campus, let her see how things go around. As Kamala was still figuring out her powers, it will be a while when she will be on a real mission on ground. She had weaseled her way to you, automatically making you her ‘mentor’.

Sam begins, “Good morning team, hope you all are well rested and hydrated, because this may take a while.” Laughs erupted, and eventually settled down as Sam took on the projector.

Pictures you have seen countless times on TV appeared on it, “All thanks to y/n and Kate's months long investigations, We have discovered that after New Year’s Eve… oh, there you are.”

The door opened with a creek, heads turned, and in came Joaquin.

Freshly shaved, hair still wet from the shower, haphazardly put together in a casual outfit, standing in the doorway out of breath and wide eyed looking around the room.

You very well knew why he was late, and avoided his eyes pretending to write in your planner.

“Take a seat Torres.” Sam spoke, and you heard hurried footsteps carrying him right to the seat in front of you.

“Sorry guys…” he apologized as he slid into his seat.

His scent invaded your senses, some dollar store product he uses everyday mixed with a scent so… Joaquin. You couldn’t resist but look up.

His eyes were already on you.

You lock his gaze for a second, Sam’s voice just a murmur in the background as the memories of last night danced in your mind. The loose t-shirt you were wearing felt hot to be in.

You quickly look at the projector, choosing to focus on the mission you will be leaving for soon, because you knew if you looked in his eyes for a second more… you would be in a lot of trouble.

The briefing didn’t last too long; Kingpin, to nobody’s surprise, escaped death on Christmas. All this while you were searching for him in the mainland, he was in mexico… planning something meticulous.

The mission was pretty straightforward; move in with two teams surrounding him from both sides of his hideout, and bring him back to the states alive to face trial.

“We move in 48 hours; there will be two teams; one moving Point A, the outskirts of the hideout, and another moving Point B, led by bucky. Get your gears up. Good luck.”

Sam got out first with Bucky on his heels, talking in hushed tones about the upcoming mission.

You took your time gathering up your things all while having small talk with Kamala. She was new, and you had a thing for guiding the new ones around. She excitedly told you about her latest mission with Maria and Carol in outer space, and you had to ask, “So, you met goose?”

Her eyes blew wide, “Oh my god, yes! He freaked me out a bit at first, but now I always hug him anytime we meet and Mr. Fury looks at me like I raided his house.”

You laughed as you got out of the room with her, but before you could say anything, Joaquin materialized before you, like a particularly handsome, slightly stressed genie.

“Hello y/n.” he smiles.

“Hey Joaquin.” You smile back.

“Hey Joaquin.” Kamala waves at him.

“Hey Kamala.” Joaquin's eyes flickered between you and Kamala, a silent plea for rescue in their depths.

“y/n, I just wanted to talk to you about the thing I told you the other day.” He asks you.

“What thing?” you play dumb.

“Yeah, what thing?” Kamala intervenes.

Joaquin looks like he is about to pass out, “You know, the thing.” He repeated, a forced smile appearing on his face.

“I'm afraid I don't follow,” you replied, enjoying his discomfort. 

“Just come with me, I need to have a chat.” He practically begs, almost whining.

Kamala chirps up, “can I come with you guys?” blissfully unaware of what was happening.

You look at his face, his pupils blown wide, the outline of his dog tags visible underneath his white shirt, and the way his body was angled towards yours, his self-control clearly stretched thin.

You took pity on his plight, “It’s about the Flag smashers Kamala,” you turned towards Kamala, “I’ll meet you in the common room in an hour.”

“Two hours.” Joaquin ads.

“Okay.” Kamala smiled, blissfully unaware of the situation between you and Joaquin.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Joaquin grabbed your arm, not roughly, but with the urgency of a man trying to defuse a bomb, and dragged you towards the living quarters, pulling you close as if to avoid drawing attention.

As soon as you enter his room, he slams the door shut, and you against it.

“You are in a lot of trouble.” He breaths out, his lips inches away from yours.

His hands grab your shoulders, pressing you tight on the door, his frame caging your body. You jut your chin towards him, looking him right in his pretty brown eyes. “It wasn't my fault you tied yourself to the bed.”

He presses his chest to yours, “It was your fault to leave me there this morning. Took me 20 minutes to get out of them.”

His body heat against yours made your head spin. “What about it then?” your breath quickened.

“You’ll find out.” He practically manhandles you, pushing you on his bed. You do quick work on your t-shirt, his t-shirt, while looking around the bed, still unmade from your activities last night.

He takes off his shirt, and then it’s a blur of clothes being thrown around and your bodies fighting to be on top.

“Easy tiger,” you breathed out as he bit your neck.

“Can’t wait to taste you…” he moaned as he slowly sucked on your skin.

You grab a fistful of his hair, “I think you’re a bit pussy drunk, lieutenant.”

“Ay carino,” he chuckled, closing his eyes, “don’t act like you don’t want me to have my way with you right now.”

“Mmm hmm,” you bite your lip, your legs clenching his waist just by the thought of how you had him handcuffed to the bed, how he withered and moaned beneath your touch all night.

Until you hear a click, and feel cool metal on your wrists.

You look above you, breathless, and see your hands bound together with cuffs on the metal frame of his bed.

“Oh please,” you grumble, your heartbeat doing a summersault inside your chest imagining what’s about to happen next.

Joaquin’s face hovered over yours, his face flushed, “you brought this upon yourself carino,” he breathed out, blowing raspberries on your chest as you laughed, “is this okay?” his big brown eyes find yours, his eyebrows raised in concern. “Yep.” you smile, pecking his lips, “now get to work.” you grind yourself on his already hard cock, which results in him crashing his lips on yours.

----------

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and stolen stares They show their truth one single time But they lie, and they lie, and they lie A million little times

Warm hands running down your waist, he drew feather light circles on your skin. Facing him, you laid your head on the pillow next to him. The floor to ceiling length windows in his room showed the sky outside turning pink from the setting sun. 

“What about this?” you trace a scar on his collarbone that’s barely visible. Judging from how it has mended, it looked years old.

He smiles, his hands going up, the skin above your ribs, “Biking accident.”

“Biking?” you raised your eyebrows in shock.

He rolls his eyes, “I used to race with my friends after school. Had to be rushed to the ER after falling down a canal. Got grounded for a month.”

There was something about him looking at peace, smiling, and telling you stories about his past that made a smile etched on your face on its own, imagining him as a kid running around the streets of his small town. 

He runs his fingers through the stray strands of your hair. “You must have done something like that with your friends back then. You can tell me, you know”

Your smile fades thinking about the past, the last five years of how you were all alone while your friends and family were…

Sensing that you don’t want to talk about it, he gently closed his fingers around your wrists. He brings them up to his lips and kisses them. Your eyes travel to the red marks on your hands, and then to his eyes.

Those big brown eyes, looking right at you with a level of intensity that made your heart race. It had happened a lot recently, you had seen this before; it increased every time you fell on his bed.

He was your… friend? Lover? You had agreed to not pull any labels between you. But the line between having casual sex to being friends to expecting more has been blurring a lot recently. At Least for you.

You sat upright, gathering the sheets to cover yourself. Joaquin opens his mouth to say something but you blurt out, “Kamala must be waiting for me. Better get to her before she asks around for me.”

Take the words for what they areA dwindling, mercurial highA drug that only workedThe first few hundred times

You throw in a forceful smile, and pretend not to see the hurt that flashed on Joaquin’s face as you dressed up.

“How about dinner tonight?” he asks you, “I can come over…”

“I’m going to Peter’s place.” you cut him off. Looking at him you see him sitting up, leaning back on the headboard. You threw a forceful smile, “It’s been a while since I met aunt may, and I miss her food so,” you huff out, doing quick work on your clothes that you had worn the day before.

You gathered your things and opened the door, getting a last look at him as he sat on the bed, speechless, his eyes begging you to explain your sudden reaction.

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

“Take care Joaquin.” You manage to speak up, before leaving his room.

His fault. The voice inside your head took the reins. He should have known this was only physical the minute it started.

It's his fault he caught feelings.

What you missed, was another, faint sound somewhere on the back of your head;

Maybe it’s mine too.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as your phone rang, it was Bucky.

“Congratulations kiddo.” he laughed through the call.

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Your first mission on the field. You're coming with us to mexico.”

—/—/—

Your apartment felt too small, each step a frantic attempt to outrun the rising panic. You were shaking, a tremor that started deep inside and radiated outwards. That phone call...it had sent you reeling, a need to escape, to be here, in your own space, overwhelming. 

Why am I getting nervous? The thought raced through your mind, a desperate plea for logic. Months of training. Years of martial arts. I'm ready. But the words felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the tidal wave of anxiety.

A faint voice echoed in your head, a cruel, familiar sound: You useless little shit! Can you do anything on your own without me nagging you for it?

The floor seemed to tilt, your knees buckling beneath you. Your chest tightened, a burning sensation that spread like wildfire, choking the air from your lungs. The room spun, the walls closing in. You gasped, a desperate attempt to draw a breath, but your lungs refused to cooperate.

Memories, unwanted and vivid, flashed before your eyes, a relentless slideshow of the past. You were trapped, a helpless spectator forced to relive every agonizing moment. The world narrowed, the present fading into the overwhelming weight of the past. 

You couldn't stop it; you couldn't escape.

"Cigarette in hand, your father stood mere feet away as your mother struck you, the wooden stick raised for another blow.

“How many was it?” she screamed, her voice a jolt to your already terrified nerves.

“Fi- five…” you managed between sobs.

“Five more,” your father stated in a chilling tone, dragging on his cigarette.

Your wails intensified, tears streaming down your face, but your mother continued, dropping the stick and resorting to her hands.

“How could you break all those glasses while washing, Y/N!” she slapped you again. “You’re seven! When I was your age, I could handle the entire kitchen on my own, and you can’t even wash dishes!”

Amidst your sobs and your mother’s shouts, you heard the front door open and hurried footsteps on the hardwood floor rushing into the kitchen.

“Ma!” your brother, Colton, ran in, throwing his baseball glove to the floor. He positioned himself between you and your mother. “Please, stop.”

“Colton, get away now, or you’ll get a beating from my hands!” she screamed, startling you. Your hands burned, your back ached, and your legs trembled from the pain.

“Ma, I’ll help with the dishes, okay? Just let her go this time,” he pleaded. Then, your father grabbed him by the arm and shook him.

“Listen here, boy,” he growled, “you ain’t doing no dishes in this house, alright? Let your ma handle her, and get out before I get my belt.”

You still don’t know what possessed you, but you ran. You fled the kitchen, the house, your bare feet carrying you at full speed across the front yard and into the vast fields of your family farm.

Your mother screamed for you to stop, Colton close behind, but you didn’t dare look back. You ran.

Ten-year-old Colton found you hours later, passed out in the fields, dehydrated and sunburned. You spent weeks in the hospital, enduring IVs while your parents belittled you for wasting their hard-earned money on a useless kid like you.

Because you overreacted to their discipline.

“Y/N!”

You gasped, jerking awake at the sound of your name. A cough, building in your throat, finally escaped, and Joaquin rubbed your back as you clung to his hand, your grip desperate. You were on the floor, disoriented, sweat slicking your body, and delirious.

“It’s alright,” Joaquin murmured, pulling you into a hug. You realized you were shivering, and you held onto him tighter, his warmth enveloping you.

“I- I don’t know- how-” you gasped, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but a sob escaped, and you began to cry. You cried for reasons unknown to you at that moment, your chest heaving, your breath erratic.

Joaquin said nothing, simply holding you closer. He rubbed your back, brushed your hair away from your face, and wiped your tears, offering silent comfort.

After what felt like hours of sobbing in Joaquin's arms, you finally calmed down. Silence settled in your apartment as your breathing returned to normal and the shaking subsided.

Joaquin didn’t release you.

“Joaquin…” you whispered, turning to him. He gently loosened his hold, his hands still resting on your arms. When you looked at him, your chest tightened with a surge of emotion.

His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, his eyes filled with concern. “Y/N…”

“I don’t know,” you said, with genuine confusion in your voice. “I was… walking, and then I was on the floor, and you…”

“Okay, okay…” he rubbed your arms reassuringly. “Let’s get you up.”

“I haven’t packed… and…”

He cut you off. “It’s fine, it’s fine, we’ll take care of that later.” He looped an arm around your back and another under your knees, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

“Joaquin, I-” you protested, but he simply hugged you closer as he carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you on the bed, quickly clearing away the scattered items, and pulled the covers over you. You curled into yourself, watching as he removed his shoes and jacket and lay down beside you.

You could only look at him as he settled in, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t questioned the situation, and he refused to leave. His calmness scared you; anyone else would have left you alone.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself.

He turned his head to look at you, his gentle gaze soothing you. “Don’t say sorry.”

“I don’t know what happened to me,” you said, your throat tightening at the memory of your panic.

“Hey,” he turned fully towards you, keeping a respectful distance. “Go to sleep, okay? We'l in the morning.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cupping your face.

You nodded, exhaling, and gathered the courage to ask, “Can you-” you swallowed, “Can you stay?”

A gentle smile spread across his face. “Of course. Where else would I go?”

He lifted your head to rest it on his shoulder, his familiar scent enveloping you. Your tired eyes began to close, and you buried your face in his neck, his warmth making you even sleepier. You hugged him closer, intertwining your legs with his.

That night, sleep came easier than ever."

—/—/—

You open your eyes, tired and swollen, sunlight hitting your face. You scrunch your eyebrows as you wake up, expecting to find your bedroom with clothes lying everywhere.

Instead, you see a neat pile of all your clothes on the end of the bed, and another pile near the dresser.

Joaquin

You hurriedly went out to the kitchen, and there he was, fussing over a sizzling pan of waffles.

His eyes met yours, the sunlight streaming through the windows highlighting his form. He was fresh out of the shower, damp hair sticking up in disarray, wearing a gym shirt he’d left at your place and a pair of well-worn sweats.

“Hi.” you manage to speak.

“Hey.” he breathed out.

You stood there, unable to decide what to say next, and after what seemed like forever, he looked down at the pan for waffles, flipping them, as you made your way into the kitchen.

“Can you get the honey for me please?” he asked.

Upon his request you turned to look at the cupboards, trying to remember where you kept the honey. Your kitchen was just yours in name, it belonged to Joaquin and Shang Chi. 

As you turned back to confess your failure, you found him inches away, his hand reaching for the cabinet above your head, his gaze locked on yours.

His eyes flickered down to your lips and then to your eyes, and you blinked to see if this was real.

“We’re friends, yeah?” you asked, your voice raw with a sincerity you hadn’t intended.

“Friends,” he replied, his gaze returning to your lips.

“Just friends?” you pressed, the memory of last night’s intimacy, the way he held you, replaying in your mind.

“Yeah, just friends,” he huffed, stepping back, the honey bottle now in his hand. You stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

He turned off the stove, grabbed his jacket from the couch, and headed for the door. “Joaquin…” you called after him, your voice barely a whisper.

“See you at the compound,” he said, slamming the door and leaving without a backward glance.

—/—/—

“Dude! Could you stop!” Kate jumped on the couch to reach Peter, who was sitting upside down on the ceiling, holding her book.

“That's an unfair advantage!” Kamala spoke up, unimpressed, scrolling through her phone sitting next to you and eating chips.

The young avengers were perched around the common room relaxing before facing God knows what awaited them in Mexico. You were busy studying the profile of Maya Lopez, who also disappeared the day Kingpin did. 

“Joaquin! A little help?” Kate shouts in his direction.

He was busy playing video games with Shang Chi, focused solely on the screen in front of him.

“I’m busy Kate.” He shouts, aggressively pressing the buttons on his console.

“Y/n!” Kate’s whines, “tell him to help!”

You closed your laptop to give an annoyed look to Kate, and stopped once you traced Joaquin already looking at you.

You haven’t talked since arriving at the compound, and now every time you look at his big brown eyes… This morning’s conversation makes a question linger in your mind; were you truly just friends?

It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

“Hell yeah!” Shang-Chi screamed, raising his arms in victory as he won the game while Joaquin was distracted. Laughter sounded all around; you almost missed the ring of your phone.

You picked it up, without looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” 

His voice made you freeze. It was jarring trying to be accustomed to listening to him after so long. Anytime you heard his voice through the phone it shocked you, as you had made peace with yourself over the fact that you would never hear his voice again. 

Without a word you stood up from your place and went to the hallway, all while he spoke through the phone.

“What?” you exclaimed, trying to keep calm.

“Great way of greeting your older brother y/n.” His playful voice traveled through the call, and you could imagine his soft smile while he said that, always there to calm you through anything.

You sighed, “I’m older now, am I not?”

Connor was twenty and you were eighteen.

And now, you are twenty-three, a ghost of the girl you used to be.

Connor was still twenty.

Your family returning after the blip caused more damage to your life than when they vanished. Your brother and parents stayed the same. Meeting them after they returned turned your life upside down for the second time in five years.

“Mom misses you. Dad too.” He says, sadness laced in his voice.

“Didn’t seem like they missed me much the last time I was there.” You leaned on the wall behind, taking a deep breath as you recalled what had happened mere months ago.

“I know you’re hurting bug-“

“Don’t call me that.” You cut him off, hearing your childhood nickname after so long, “weren’t you going back to Georgetown?”

“I am… just… wanted to meet you before I do.” He says, “I’ll make dinner. Just the four of us.”

“I don’t want to have dinner with mom and dad. Is this their idea? forcing you to call me home and scream at me?” you say, the memories of your family’s last meeting haunting you.

The living room air crackled with a rage you knew too well. 

"The hell you mean you won't come back home?" your father bellowed, his southern drawl sharpening with each word, a familiar sign of his disappointment. He watched you, a rigid figure, as you hauled your luggage towards the door.

"Is there anything to come back to?" you asked, your voice flat, the question hanging in the charged atmosphere. Your gaze, heavy with weariness, met his.

The sting of your mother’s slap registered before the sound, a sharp, brutal end to the argument. 

"Ma! Don't!" Connor’s voice, raw with alarm, pierced the silence. 

You turned, your eyes locking with your mother's, the same eyes reflected back at you in the mirror every morning, now twisted with a venomous anger. "Get out of my house," she hissed, her voice a low, guttural threat. "You ain't no daughter of mine."

A coldness settled over you, "You should check the registry before you say that, Ma," you retorted, the words laced with a bitter edge. You turned on your heel, heading for the rented pickup, refusing to witness their reactions.

The engine roared to life against the silence of the driveway. You slammed the accelerator.

"Bug! Wait!" your brother's desperate cry echoed against the hum of the engine, but you didn't slow down. The road blurred through the tears streaming down your face, the pain a burning ache in your chest, your family farm a blur around you.

You cried harder as you saw him, a small, desperate figure running after the truck, calling you by the name only he used, a name that now felt like a cruel mockery of a bond you could never go back to.

“It was my idea.” Your brother sighed, he sounded tired, “I miss you.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow for a mission. I can’t” you state, waiting for a response. All you got was silence on the other end.

“Okay… Stay safe y/n.” he finally says with sadness laced in his tone

“You too.” You say, your thumb hovering over the end call button. Your throat tightened to say you’d meet him when you’re back.

But he cut the call.

You looked at the empty screen of your phone when it turned black, at the face that resembled so much to your brother. You were inseparable since forever, no fight you had ever lasted this long.

This was the only way you could move on. The only way you both could move on.

You sniffled away the tears and walked to the hanger, just to do a final check of everything before leaving tomorrow.

Too caught up in your head, you missed the sound of footsteps that had followed you there.

--------

It was D-Day.

People around you were running wild. Checking equipment, weapons, and the old unused Quinjet that was the only thing big enough to fit everyone.

“You good?” Bucky’s voice forced you to tear your eyes away from Joaquin talking with Sam.

“Yeah, all good.” You reply too quickly for his liking, trying to look busy with your laptop doing a final check.

"You know," Bucky said in a hushed voice, leaning towards you, "I thought you'd be more into bad boys. Never thought of you with the goody-two-shoes lieutenant."

Your head whipped around so fast, you feared you’d given yourself whiplash. With wide eyes and a racing heart, you fumbled for words, "What—I—Bucky, no, we're friends—there's—"

"I live right across you, Y/N," he interrupted, pointing at you with a knowing smirk. "I've seen him sneak in and out of yours at all hours for you two to be 'just friends.'" to your horror, he did finger quotes at ‘just friends’.

You groan, looking at the skies above.

“Who else knows?” you grit through your teeth.

“Just me for now… but others have suspected.” he had the audacity to giggle after he said that.

You debate if this was too late to drown yourself in the nearby pool.

He claps a hand on your shoulder, “hey, I’m glad. It’s good you found someone in your life.”

“When will you find Sam in your bed?” you tease him, a desperate attempt to change the topic.

It worked because he turned red and walked away, “You are a menace.”

“Why thank you.” You shout back.

To Be Continued...

Series Masterlist

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

Taglist

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[sturnsblogs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆More than best-friends‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Chapter 6: The Choice

The tension had been building for weeks. Avery’s cold, distant demeanor had been growing more unbearable by the day. Chris could feel the weight of her silence pressing down on him, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew it was only going to get worse if he didn’t do something.

But he wasn’t ready to choose. He didn’t want to pick between her and you, not when everything had been so complicated lately. But Avery wasn’t giving him an option anymore.

It all exploded one evening when Avery stood in front of him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Chris sat on the couch, his fingers nervously tapping on his phone, but he couldn’t focus on the screen. He was too distracted by the mess of emotions inside him.

“Chris,” Avery’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unwavering. “I’m done with this. Done with pretending like I’m okay.”

Chris flinched. “Avery—”

“No,” she snapped, holding up a hand to silence him. “You’ve been acting like you’re still holding on to her, and I’m sick of it. You’ve been staring at your phone, like you’re waiting for some text from her. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I haven’t been—” Chris started, but Avery cut him off again.

“Yes, you have! I see the way you look at your phone. And you’ve barely said anything to me for days. It’s like I don’t even exist,” Avery continued, her voice growing sharper with every word. “You either want to be with me, or you don’t. But I’m not going to sit around and wait while you pine over someone else.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but the words felt like they were stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to lose Avery. He didn’t want to lose what they had, but the guilt of missing you—the connection they shared, the way you always understood him—was suffocating him.

Avery narrowed her eyes, reading him like an open book. “So, what’s it going to be? Me, or her?”

Chris stared at her, his heart heavy. He didn’t want to choose. He didn’t want to pick between them. But Avery was waiting, her gaze unwavering, her arms crossed, daring him to say something.

Finally, the words came out, but they felt hollow, empty. “I… I choose you, Avery.”

Avery’s face immediately softened, a smug smile spreading across her lips. She took a step closer, as if the battle was won, and the victory was sweet in her eyes.

“Good,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

But then, her expression shifted, darkening with a new, calculating edge. “Since you’ve chosen me, though, you can never speak to her again. Understand?”

Chris felt his chest tighten. “What? Avery, that’s not fair,” he protested, his voice rising in disbelief. “I can’t just cut her out like that. She was my best friend for years.”

Avery’s smile remained, but it was now cold and unyielding. “Then you don’t love me,” she said, her words like a dagger, precise and pointed. “Because if you did, you’d do whatever it takes to prove it.”

Chris stood up, his hands shaking at his sides. “That’s not fair,” he repeated, but the doubt was creeping in. Was he really proving anything? Was this what it meant to be with Avery?

Avery stepped forward, her voice low, almost whispering, but with an edge of triumph. “You know, I don’t ask for much. Just you. Just me. And if you can’t make that choice, then you don’t love me the way I deserve.”

The way she said it, with that cold certainty in her voice, sent a chill through him. Chris opened his mouth to argue, to say something, but he couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat. Avery was right—at least, she was making it feel that way.

“You want me to prove it? Then choose me,” Avery added, her eyes locking onto his. “Cut her out. Or we’re done.”

Chris felt the weight of her gaze, the pressure of her ultimatum. His mind raced. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to lose you, but he didn’t want to lose Avery either. She was standing right in front of him, and her words felt like chains tightening around him.

“Don’t you love me?” she asked again, her voice soft, but the threat was clear.

“I… I do,” Chris whispered, barely able to breathe as he felt his chest tighten with the weight of the decision.

Avery smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Then prove it.”

And just like that, he made his choice.

A/N- Avery makes me mad but that’s okay. this one was a little shorter so chapter 7 will be out today. i have so much time on my hands i can literally write as many chapters today.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @chrislilcumslvt @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @mylittled0ve @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo

Chapter 5

Master list taglist

[fancyfeathers]

Deep Down

Interlude from Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Chapter Fifteen <- Interlude -> Chapter Sixteen

Includes implied r*pe/n*ncon

Taglist: @jsprien213 @toast-on-dandelioms @plsfckmedxddy @lilyalone @sydneyyyya @yandere-wishes @cxcilla @nemesis-writer @sadslasher13

The sun had long set over the city of Gotham, and there was a certain shadow that had been cast over the manor in its emptiness. It was normally this empty at night, everyone on patrol, but tonight felt different. There was the scent of eucalyptus and mint from your mother’s shared bathroom, which was connected to the master bedroom belonging to her and your father. Your mother was lying in the large tub, her head resting back on the tile backsplash that surrounded the tub, there were candles lit on the vanity counter and on the sink’s counter. Her jewelry, the earrings and pearl necklace were lying on the vanity counter as well, set there haphazardly. Her dress, heels, and tights were lying about the bathroom floor, having been taken off in a rush. Your mother held a glass of red wine in one hand while the other hung idley off of the edge of the bathtub. The manor had been tense over the last few weeks, even more so since the visit she received from Dinah and Oliver, but the worst of it all was how Bruce was treating her over the last few days especially. He had been tense, cut off from her, the worst was when he found the letter she received from Harvey Dent, but this is exactly another reason why she wanted to end the original engagement when she did.

Your mother took a sip of her wine, it was tasteless to her now, just something to numb everything down, she had just wanted everything to go away. At least now she was alone, but she was alone with her thoughts which were all much more terrifying.

“Good evening, my beloved.” Your mother flinched when she heard the voice from the bathroom door, she turned her head to the side and nearly screamed when she saw Talia Al Ghul standing there in the doorway. Talia was dressed beautifully in a long emerald green dress, golden jewelry, her hair flowing freely. Your mother would have felt weak in the knees at the sight of her if it was not for the fact that Talia was who she was, especially when your mother just happened to overhear what Talia almost did to you after she rescued you, well rescued is the wrong word, attempted kidnapping would be better. “You look as beautiful as I remember.”

“Talia… how did you…” A realization came over your mother in that moment, if Talia was standing here before her then there was no one protecting her, which means either the manor was empty which was unlikely given the circumstances or that something had happened to Alfred. Your mother sighed and shook her head, if it felt as if the water had dropped twenty degrees and your mother felt that more vulnerable in her given situation, she was naked, both literally and figuratively, unable to defend herself from anything. Your mother’s arms came around her chest, covering her breasts and squeezing her legs together to hide the rest of her private parts as Talia strode across the room, picking up the discarded clothing from the ground and setting them down on the sink’s counter before she took a seat down on the bathtub’s ledge. Your mother downcast her eyes to the water’s surface, trying to figure a way out of the situation she found herself in with the Demon’s Daughter sitting so close to her. “What do you want, Talia… why are you here?”

“You.” Your mother felt her blood go cold as Talia spoke those words to her. Talia brought a finger beneath her chin, tilting your mother’s head up to look at her as Talia’s another had reached out to stroke your mother’s cheek. Talia felt a small pang of amusement at your mother’s frightened reaction, a smirk coming across her lips. “You needn’t be so frightened, my love. Come, let’s get you dried off and we may… talk.”

Your mother could not fight the stronger woman when she pulled her up from the tub by her arms, standing up as she sat your mother down on the ledge of the tub. Talia grabbed the towel from where it rested on the towel rack near the tub, she brought it up to her face, dragging it across her face, drying off her skin. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

“I hardly think that matters, especially given recent events.” Your mother flinched back a tiny bit as Talia brought the towel over her chest, she just had to stay calm under what was happening. “You tried to kill my daughter, Talia.”

“I would hardly call her yours, after all parents should be able to gain respect from their children but it seems yours need more discipline.” Talia walked over to your mother’s vanity, grabbing a hair brush from the counter and glancing over to your mother, beckoning her closer with a gesture of her finger. Your mother walked over like Talia silently told her to, taking her by the shoulder and making your mother sit down at the vanity, still without clothing. Your mother brought the hairbrush through your mother’s hair, going smoothly through the wet fibers. “You know marriage is a partnership, but we both know there is no partnership in your marriage, you are like a cat with her kitten who will hiss and scratch to protect her baby but in the end that cat cannot do actual damage to keep anyone away so eventually they are collared and are nothing more than house pets.”

“Are you calling me a pet, Talia?” Your mother’s eyes narrowed at Talia, looking at her through the mirror, and she hissed in slight pain as Talia gave a slightly more hard of a pull with the brush. Talia grabbed her jaw as she set the brush down harshly on the vanity counter, she forced your mother to look up at her and it was amusing to her to see the pure fear in your mother’s eyes and how she trembled in her touch.

“Isn’t that what you have let yourself become? So desperate to protect but failing so miserably.” Your mother grew tense as Talia slid her knee between your mother’s legs, each of her arms resting on either side of the back of the chair where your mother sat, caging her in. Talia leaned in, pressing kisses along your mother’s jaw before licking up the shell of her ear, sending chills down your mother’s spine and when Talia moved her hand, trailing down your mother’s shoulder, down her breast, her abdomen…

“It’s alright my love, you have been neglected…” Talia pressed a kiss to your mother’s lips in between her words. “…and when pets are neglected, someone else comes to take care of them.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the buzzed babble

buttercup, chapter seven

a/n: WE BACK, BABYYY!!! SURPRISE!! one year later and here we are! back for even more of these two! that has been my little secret for a long time, ever since i quickly began to miss them after i finished the original 6 chapters, so the plan then became to revisit these two once the new daredevil series dropped.

summary:  “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, seeing matt hold a baby (because we all know how dangerous it is for our ovaries to witness someone we like do that), alcohol consumption, vomiting, hangover, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, blowjob, facesitting, crying, accidentally scaring matt back into his toxic idea that having people close to you is bad when you're a vigilanty

word count: 3583

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As the man beside you finally stirred from his slumber, a soft hum vibrated against the pillow beneath his head. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the corners of your lips twisted upwards as you continued to stare just as you had for the past twenty minutes, curled up and toasty on the mattress beside him, your gaze tracing every millimetre of his peaceful features. 

“Morning,” Matt breathed out a hazy smile as his arm slithered closer to your warmth. Sweeping his palm over your waist, he lazily scooped you across the shy distance between your bodies, pressing your skin up against his own. 

Planting a peck on his stubbly cheek, you curled your fingers up over his jaw as you peppered his face with kisses, slowly waking him up further, before he tilted his chin and captured your lips with his own. 

Soon, the kisses morphed, from being slow and smouldering to needy and sloppy, as he rolled onto his back and you crawled on top of him. 

“How did you sleep?” you uttered against the column of his throat as your lips strayed from his own and began to flutter further south. 

“Mhm,” Matt hummed, his fingers gently floating up to your head and softly weaving into your hair as he blissfully tilted his head, “good, it was–, yeah…” his eyes then flickered shut as your pecks reached his collarbone. He swallowed hard as you felt his cock twitch awake beneath you, “and you?” he mustered up enough focus to ask. 

“Not too shabby,” you blinked up at him with a smirk before your kisses began to wander down over his chest, till you had scooted all the way down to the bottom of the bed.

Slotted in between his thighs, your fingertips played with the edge of his black boxers as you let your pecks hop from his hipbone to the bulge now straining against the cotton. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned as your soft lips repeatedly pressed against the thin barrier. 

Once you’d freed his cock, tugging down his underwear just enough for the hardness to spring free, you began to drag long licks up the entire length of him. Slowly tracing the veins that decorated his fat girth with your tongue, you blinked up at him and smiled through your gentle laps as the intimate teasing of your hot tongue caused him to melt further down into the mattress as soft moans flowed from him at every kiss you offered. 

When he soon came undone, your sweet mouth milking him for all of his worth, your hand had sneaked down between your own legs to relieve the aching throb. 

Swallowing his load, you offered his softening length one more peck, making it twitch, before you blinked back up at Matthew, panting against his palm that had floated up to rest against his head on the pillow.

Reaching down, his grasp caught onto your forearms before he guided you back up to straddle him once again. Sweeping his touch up to your cheek, he tilted you down till you were in reach for his lips to capture your own. 

“You ready to get up?” you whispered in between kisses, a shy shiver running down your spine at the notion that the taste of himself in your mouth only caused him to groan against your lips and pull your body down further against his. 

And as the scent of your want, molten between your thighs and sticky on your fingers, found Matt’s sharp senses, nearly intoxicated on the aroma, he uttered in a gravelly tone, “not yet,” before his hands seized your hips and manoeuvred your form further up till you were hovering above his head.

“Matt!” the sudden move caused you to yelp through an airy giggle before you grasped onto the headboard. 

His burly arms hugged your hips as he drew you down against him, tilting your frame as he hooked your soaked panties to the side, swiftly making you grind down against his tongue. 

Groaning against your pussy, his low voice vibrated against your clit and caused you to peek down at him, blissfully buried beneath you. 

“Oh, I could definitely get used to waking up like this,” you breathlessly murmured as he sucked down on your puffy pearl and your eyes began to flutter. 

Offering your ass a light tap, his grip then dug into it as he chuckled against your cunt, “I’d happily be your alarm clock if you’d let me.”

“Is that what the slang for boyfriend is these days?” you laughed hazily as you rocked down against his skilful mouth, “are you gonna walk around and tick all day–, o-oh…” your dumb joke then fell from your lips as your thighs began to tremble on either side of his face. 

His arms flexed around you as he kept your squirming form steady through your high, pinning you down against him till you were panting in sensitivity. 

Slinking your boneless frame back down to rest atop his own, your cheek smooshed down against his chest as his long arms draped over your back. 

“Oh,” a giggle then slipped from your lips when you managed to blink your eyes back open and spot how your nectar had glistened up the entire lower half of his face, “remember to wash your face before you head out, you can’t go the office like this or Foggy will have a heart attack.”

As you reached up to try and wipe his cheeks, Matt’s own broad palm swiftly took over as he smiled, “you do know that we were college roommates, right? There aren’t many facets left that can rock our relationship.” 

Chuckling softly, you then tilted down to steal a peck before you uttered, “I’m gonna go make some coffee,” and pushed yourself up off of Matthew’s warmth and out of the bed. 

Slipping on the green rope that hung on the back of your bedroom door, you then glanced over your shoulder at Matt in the bed as he brushed his flat palm over the memory of where your body had just been. 

Once the electric kettle on the kitchen counter was humming, you dug a small wooden spoon deep down into a dark bag of coffee grounds before letting each scoop drizzle down to the bottom of your french press, and on the last spoonful, you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist. Bare chest pressing up against your back, he clearly hadn’t bothered to slip on his clothes from the day before yet. 

“So, how are you feeling about tonight?” he checked in, “are you still up for joining? Because if you aren’t, then I think I’ll just cancel as well.” 

Grabbing the kettle, you tilted it and watched closely as the steaming water filled up the french press, “no, I actually think I am,” you uttered once you’d searched for the answer deep down in your gut, “it’s the end of the week, so why not go out? Maybe tonight is the night when I finally beat you in pool,” you half-joked, “who knows, it’s Friday, anything could happen.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled in your ear, “I mean, maybe actually leaning the rules to the game might help you, but sure, maybe tonight is the night.” 

Muffled voices found your ears as you approached the frosted glass door of the Nelsen and Murdock office. Quietly creaking it open and tip-toeing inside, your glance flickered to the left and caught the tail end of a meeting in the conference room. 

“Alright, almost done, you just have to sign these and then that’s it,” Foggy spoke as he gathered up a stapled stack of papers and presented it to the lady sitting at the end of the table with a small baby in her arms. 

“Uhm…” the woman momentarily stared down at the many spots that needed to be filled with her scribbles before her glance flickered to her young child, blinking up at her as she clutched it in both of her hands. Shifted the baby slightly as she realised that she wouldn’t be able to grasp the pen as well, her eyes fell upon Matthew, sitting on her other side, “I’m sorry, would you mind holding him for just a second?” she asked, though didn’t wait for an answer before she handed her baby off into the lawyer’s arms. 

“Oh,” Matt breathed and swiftly readjusted his hands to cradle the infant better, “of course not.”

And as the mother began to sign her name each place that Foggy pointed out for her, your breathing nearly stopped entirely as you suddenly became transfixed with your boyfriend, carefully holding that tiny boy, at first a bit nervous and tense at the unexpected job he’d suddenly gotten, before his broad shoulders began to relax and the corners of his lips began to twitch into a smile as the baby began to babble up at him.

Had you known that witnessing your boyfriend hold a baby would trigger such a severe and primal sense in your body, then you would have probably stayed back at the bakery for just a few more minutes before wandering over. 

And as you wiped the drool from your chin and your ovaries distractingly ached, trying so desperately to seize control, the mother scooped her child back into her arms, leaving you blinking hard to shake the sensation off of you. 

“Y/n, hey!” Foggy spotted you as the client began to cross the office towards the exit that you still stood rooted next to, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah,” you coughed, “didn’t wanna disturb you. So, are you guys done for the day?” 

“Yep,” a sigh of relief escaped Karen as she began to clean up the conference table. 

Once Matt had gathered up the empty coffee mugs and brought them to the sink in the office’s small kitchenette, he circled back to near your side before he pressed his lips to your still toasty cheek. 

“Hi,” he murmured as his touch skimmed down the length of your arm before it briefly caught your palm in a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey, you,” an exhale flowed out past your lips, “how was your day?”

“It was alright,” he smiled softly, “yours?” 

“Yeah, it was good. I dropped an open bag of flour when I was trying to refill the bins,” you tilted your head, “but it was good.” 

“So,” Foggy puffed out a breath as he then gathered up his bag and cast his glance around to everyone, “Josie’s?” 

“Wait, do you think it’s too late to go back and join them for karaoke?” you pouted as you suddenly ceased your wobbly steps up the stairs of your apartment building, “do you think they’re still at Josie’s?”

“No, they probably already left,” Matt noted, steadily walking behind you with both of his hands firm at your waist so that you didn’t tumble over. 

“Did I just commit the biggest mistake of my life by going home already? I mean, I know that Karen said she’d send a video, but still…”

“Well, considering the fact that you can barely stand up right, it probably was a smart thing not to keep the night going.”

“I can stand perfectly fine, thank you very much,” you gracelessly reached the top of the steps, “it’s just the world that’s spinning thanks to all those shots.”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why you did that,” Matt chuckled as he reached into his pocket for his keys.

“Well, your friends can be very persuasive when they want to be, even if it’s something that you come to regret later,” you exhaled as your boyfriend momentarily leaned you against the wall while he unlocked the door to his apartment, “I think I might be starting to get why you opted out of it tonight…”

“Yeah, I learned that lesson a long time ago,” he twisted the key in the lock before snaking an arm around your waist to help you inside, “I tried to warn you.” 

Slumping against his frame, Matt kicked the door closed behind him before he slowly shifted you towards one of the armchairs. 

Carefully, he plopped you down in the chair before his feet began to carry him towards the bathroom. 

“No!” you let out a screech as your hazy vision shadowed him, “where are you going?” 

“To get you some painkillers,” he explained as he reappeared in the doorway of the lavatory, holding a tiny box in his hand, “I’m sure you’ll probably need them in the morning.” 

“Oh, my hero,” you hummed, making him smile as he slipped into the bedroom behind you to place the medicine on one of the nightstands.  

Though as you then watched as he crossed the dark apartment to near the kitchen, his visage bathed in warm shades of yellows and golds from the huge, glowing sign across the street, your chin found your palm as you stared at Matt as he conjured a tall glass and began to fill it with water. 

“…do you wanna be a dad?” you abruptly asked, your words hazy as your inebriated state forced you to utter the question out loud. 

Freezing up, Matt forgot to tap the faucet and shut off the water, rendering the glass in his grasp to instead overflow and dripple into the sink as he eventually uttered, “…what?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m not asking you to take off your pants and knock me up this very moment, it just occurred to me that we’ve never dove into that conversation before,” you babbled, barely registering the words that slipped from your lips, much less capable of stopping them from seeing the light of day, “and also, relevant to that, I’ve never asked you if you ever wanted to get married–, hypothetically of course, just as the other question, but some day in the future, to someone.”

Standing still as a statue in the middle of his kitchen, an unsteady sound escaped his lungs, “oh,” as he scrambled for the right thing to say, “I–…” though his attempt was swiftly tossed to the side as you then suddenly exclaimed. 

“Oh my god,” your palm abruptly soared up to clamp over your mouth as a sudden wave of nausea washed over you like a tidal wave, “wait,” you sprang up from the armchair and scrambled to get to the bathroom. 

Once you were doubled over the toilet bowl, gagging on the regrets of the evening, a moment passed before Matt managed to snap himself free from the state your words had sent him spiralling into, and you finally felt him come up behind you and grasp your hair to hold it back. 

And once you’d emptied the contents of your stomach, the cool bathroom tile still spinning beneath your form, the memories of the night grew misty as even details form moments before began to slip from your mind like you were trying to scoop up spilled honey with your bare hands, only to watch as it slowly dripped and leaked through your fingers. 

“Urgh,” you weakly spat one last time, “do you have any painkillers? I think I might need some in the morning.”

His dark brows twitched slightly as he then uttered, “I already sat them down on the bedside table a few minutes ago, don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, you did?” you blinked up at him, his palm still gently pressed against your back, “thanks.” 

And as you began to fight the losing battle to your heavy lids, you felt Matt’s touch scoop up under your arms before he murmured, “come on,” and carefully helped you up off the floor, “let’s get you to bed…” 

A weak groan vibrated in your throat when you woke. 

Once you finally gathered the strength to blink your eyes open, past the soft grey sheets you were tangled in, stood Matthew, his back turned to you as he faced his open closet.

“How long have you been up?” you groggily murmured. 

Twisting around as his fingers finished knotting his tie, he simply breathed, “a while,” as if he hadn’t been up all night freaking out about the way your tongue had slipped up last night.  

A crinkle then found your brows as he reached for one of the dark jackets hanging in his wardrobe and you finally noticed his attire, “why are you putting on a suit when we’re just gonna stay here all day?” 

“Something came up,” he exhaled as he shrugged on the blazer, “I gotta head to the office.”

“What?” you slowly sat up in bed.  

“I’m sorry,” his fingers slowly did up the buttons. 

“Well, is everything alright?” you tilted your head, dully pounding from the night’s bad choices, “you seem kinda weird.”

“I’m fine,” he shifted, brushing off his obvious brooding, “I just gotta go.” 

“Oh, okay…” your gaze continued to trace him as he slipped on his glasses, “well, I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah,” he offered you a tight-lipped smile, “later,” before bending down to press a fleeting peck to the top of your head. 

As the door slammed shut behind him, the clatter only worsened the queasiness fogging up your reality. And after a brief instant where you feared it would boil over and force you to rush into the bathroom, the wave of nausea thankfully began to settle again, even if just for a moment.

Crawling off the bed, you reached for one of Matt’s grey sweatshirts before slugging it around your form and zipping it up. 

Once you’d filled up a glass of water and chugged half of it, you shuffled back from the kitchen and sank down onto the couch, the cool leather somehow aiding in the aching symptoms of your monstrous hangover. 

Plucking up your phone that had apparently been discarded on the coffee table, you scrolled through the texts that Karen and Foggy had sent to you late last night after you’d passed out, before you found your thumb pressing down on the call button next to Foggy’s name. 

“Who the hell had the terrible idea to do shots last night?” he groaned on the other side of the line once he’d picked up. 

“That would be you.” 

“Oh, right,” he sighed, “hey, did I sing hit me baby one more time at karaoke or was that a dream?”

“According to the video Karen sent to me as evidence, you did,” you reached for the plaid blanket draped over the back of the couch and swaddled it around your legs, “are you on your way to the office right now?”

“It’s a Saturday and I’m hungover as fuck,” Foggy pointed out, “of course I’m not.” 

“Oh,” you breathed, “well, didn’t something come up? Matt just rushed out the door.”

“No,” he uttered slowly, probably tilting the phone away from his ear to check if he’d gotten any messages he’d missed, “nothing’s going on.” 

“Hm… okay…” you murmured, glancing around the empty apartment, “should I be worried?” 

Puffing out a long breath, Foggy then uttered, “Matt’s probably just being Matt. He’ll come around when he’s ready.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you nodded, “I’m probably just still a bit drunk and thereby reading too much into nothing.”

“Probably,” he quietly echoed. 

Fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you then asked, “so, what exactly happened last night?” 

“Uh, well, we started out at Josie’s, played some pool for a bit, then the shots happened, and then from what I remember, we split up and Karen and I went off to sing our hearts out and you and Matt went home, right?”

“Right…” the pieces slowly began to fall back into place before they all rained down on you like a hailstorm, “oh,wait…”

“What?” 

 “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

“Done something, like you need my legal aid done something?” 

“What? No, or well, I hope not…” you faintly shook your head before you uttered, “I think I may have asked Matt to marry me and give me lots and lots of babies…” 

The line was quiet a moment before you heard Foggy murmur, “…okay, and what did he say?” 

“He didn’t, I threw up and then we went to bed,” you heard your heartbeat begin to thump in your ears, “why would I even ask him something like that? Don’t answer that, I already know, I was drunk,” you swiftly cut in before he had the chance to offer a single word, “but, I mean, still. It’s not like I have some burning desire to settle down and pop out a billion children–, or well, maybe just one, at some point, far down the line when it feels right, maybe in like ten years or something, but not a whole fucking village.”

And as you felt panicked tears begin to blur your vision, you continued shakily, “Foggy? What if I screwed it all up? That’s why he ran out of here at the crack of dawn,” you sniffled silently, “I scared him away.” 

“You didn’t,” the man on the other end tried, “Y/n, listen to me, you didn’t do anything wrong, Matt is just being an idiot like usual.” 

“…I really don’t want to lose him,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared blankly down at the pattern of the blanket draped over your legs, “I love him, Foggy…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[ladykailitha]

Share With Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 7

This is the penultimate chapter. Just one more chapter to go and then it's done.

This is bittersweet for me as it was the start of this trilogy that got me my start in the fandom in the first place. I wouldn't be the person I am today without it. But on the other hand, I have seen the amount of notes for this story drop like a stone so that there is only a handful of dedicated followers that want to see it to completion. This is for them.

In this we have the most metal concert of all time, Eddie comes to the rescue, Gareth gets his revenge, and Nancy gets justice for Barb.

Also cliffhanger. Sorry!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

~

Eddie walked into his bedroom and saw that the vines hadn’t even touched his sweetheart. “It’s like she was made for another world,” he breathed.

The other three stood behind him and watched as he reverently took it off the wall.

“Are you ready for the most metal concert in the history of the world?” he asked turning to them.

“You sure you want to do that song?” Janice asked. “It’s only been out three weeks and that solo is an absolute bitch.”

“You bring the vocals,” Eddie replied with a grin, “and Brian and I will bring the noise.”

Brian rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure ten minutes is going to be long enough, man. They might need extra time.”

“I’ve got my walkie talkie,” Dustin said, holding it up, “I say we keep playing until they tell us the bastard is dead.”

“I don’t think I want to be bat food,” Janice said shaking her head. “We don’t know how long it’s going to take for the bats to get used to the noise and try a different tactic. I would hate like hell to be standing out in the open when they decide we’re food.”

Everyone agreed, forcing Dustin to back down on his idea. He thought for a minute and then snapped his fingers.

“We record it!” he said with a grin. “That way the bats are still focused on the sound, but we don’t become bat food!”

Janice rubbed his head. “That’ll work. Let’s do this!”

They all jumped up for a high twenty and then got to work setting up what they needed for the distraction. Once they were all set up, Brian started in on that opening rift and Eddie got a chill. A good one, for the first time since Chrissy died.

Then Eddie came in on his part and the demobats who were in the sky aimlessly, suddenly turned to the sound with a singularly of a hive mind.

Janice came in on the vocals and the bats swirled around them in confusion. They didn’t know what the noise was or how to handle it. Which considering that music was the key to breaking Henry Creel’s power over people. It made sense that it would confuse the rest of the denizens of the Upside Down.

They finished the song and Dustin gave them the thumbs up that it had successfully recorded. They all hopped down from the roof and into the trailer.

Some of the demobats started attacking the trailer and the speakers. Then suddenly the music cut out.

Dustin was already up the rope ladder and into Eddie’s trailer in real Hawkins and Janice was on the rope ladder about half way up. She stopped and looked down at Eddie and Brian in fear.

“Shit!” Brian hissed. “If they figured it was a recording and cut the power, we ain’t got time for fuck all.”

Eddie looked at the handmade spear and shield in his hands as the demobats started attacking the trailer trying to get in. “I can lead them away. Give you guys more time to get help and Steve and them more time kill the bastard.”

Janice looked up at Dustin and then back at Eddie. “Fuck that shit. You made a promise fly boy, and I’m going to make sure you keep it.” She looked back up at Dustin. “You got anything up there that can start a fire down here?”

Dustin looked up. “Uh, I think I saw a gas canister for the generator. What’s the plan?”

Janice just grinned and then finished climbing all the way up the rope ladder and landing right side up. Dustin and her got the can as Eddie and Brian just looked at each other shrugged.

She tossed the can to Eddie, who caught but barely. “The bastards don’t like heat? Then let’s make this gate too hot to use.”

A grin spread out across the older boys’ faces as they finally caught on. Brian spread the gas as Eddie guarded his back, taking out any stragglers that made it through. They both hurried up the ladder and just as the demobats broke through Eddie lit his lighter.

The lighter fell to the ground and the flame touched the fumes, cackling in the air, then it hit the floor, igniting the gas with a roaring fwoosh!

Eddie threw himself away from the gate as the whole place went up in flame. Soon the air was filled with the screams of the dying bats. He got to his feet and pumped his fist.

“Hell yeah!” he cried. “Take that, bitches!” Then he turned to his friends. “Right, let’s crank up the heat in this place. Make sure they stay the fuck out!”

Dustin and Brian went around turning on the space heaters, while Eddie went to go crank up the internal heating.

Eddie looked around and with the fire below and the heat in here getting hotter by the second, he’d had made it as safe as he could. He shook his head.

“We’ve done all we could,” Brian said, giving Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now, it’s up to them to kill the bastard.”

“I think our first port of call,” Janice said, putting her hands on her hips in a Steve like move that brought a smile to Dustin and Eddie’s lips, “is the Creel house. Make sure no one gets at Max before she finishes him off in the Void.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Dustin said, “I’m really worried about Jason and his thugs finding them. They have been popping up in places they shouldn’t be and that frightens me.”

~

Max shivered in her jacket as Lucas, Erica, Gareth, and Wayne kind of shuffled around her uncomfortably.

“Stop acting like it’s my funeral!” she snapped the third time Lucas wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Lucas’s eyes went wide and he stumbled over himself to apologize. Wayne and Gareth glanced at each other and shook their heads.

Then it was time. Lucas gave Max’s hand a squeeze before taking the headphones and Walkman from her. He took two steps back and Wayne instantly wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Gareth gave him a nod.

“I’m just putting this out there,” Wayne said gruffly, “I don’t like you being used as bait. But even if we waited that week for Nancy’s number to come up instead, there is no guarantee that he’d wait that long.”

Max nodded. “I know. I’m the only one this could wo–” She was cut off as her head snapped back.

Her eyes turned milky white as she began to rise from the ground. But before Lucas could spring forward with the Walkman, the doors burst open to reveal Jason, Andy, and Chase.

“Oh my God!” Jason cried. “You’re sacrificing her? What is wrong with you Hellfire assholes? Don’t you see what this is doing to our small town?!”

Wayne held up his shot gun and leveled it Jason. “There ain’t anything of the sort happenin’, son. In fact the opposite is going on. So I’m going to need you boys to mosey on out of here, before I do something I regret.”

“Lucas,” Chase implored. “Can you see what they’re doing to you, to that girl? Is this the side you really want to be on.”

“We didn’t torture someone!” Gareth screamed, gripping his wounded hand tightly.. “You nearly broke my hand. I don’t see any of us Hellfire kids doing that! You’re all psychopaths!”

Jason lunged forward and grabbed Erica by the hair and pulled her to him. He pulled out the gun and pointed it at her head. “You guys so much as twitch and I’ll blow this girl’s head off.”

Lucas looked up at Wayne. “But Max! I need to turn on the Walkman or she’ll die!”

“No more talk of witchcraft!” Jason bellowed causing everyone to wince, even his teammates. “You’re going to stop this voodoo or whatever it is right this instant!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Eddie drawled from behind the basketball team members. “I knew this lot was unhinged. But taking a little girl hostage really takes the cake for you assholes.”

Jason tried to whirl around but suddenly there was another earthquake and Erica threw herself away from Jason. Eddie socked him in the jaw, causing the gun to skitter out of reach. Andy lunged for it but Gareth kicked him in teeth.

“That’s for my hand, you asshole!” Gareth screamed as Andy howled in pain and clutched his face as blood spurted everywhere.

Once Erica was safe, Lucas dived for the Walkman and ran over to Max, putting the headphones over her ears.

Jason tried to get past Wayne to try and rip the headphones off Max’s head, but Wayne hit him in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun as he tried to pass. He crumpled to the ground in a heap. Chase tried to run but was caught by Janice and Brian.

“Come on, Max,” Lucas pleaded as he held her tight, the music of Kate Bush pouring through her ears as he rocked her back and forth. “Come back to me. Please...”

Dustin and Erica helped Brian and Janice tie up the members of the basketball team while Eddie and Wayne watched over them with guns. Eddie had picked up Jason’s with his handkerchief and was waving it at them (the basketball team not his friends), while Wayne kept the shotgun leveled at them in case they got any bright ideas to do try something stupid.

The boys were then taken to another room in the house and locked in with Brian and Wayne standing guard, the kids not wanting to leave their friend while she was still unconscious.

Then Max came to with a sharp gasp, her eyes turning back to their sparkling green. Lucas sobbed in relief as the others congratulated each other on a job well done.

Now all they could do was wait to hear word from the Vecna Killing crew. And hope.

~

As they walked the path that would lead them to the Creel house, Nancy fell instep with Vickie.

“You know,” she said with genuine curiosity, “I was ultimately surprised that you decided to join us. With you wanting to take on more ‘human’ targets.”

Vickie blushed and ducked her head. “Well, if everything goes right with the other two, there won’t be any human targets.” She hefted the shotgun. “But what this bad boy is good for is tearing through shit. And if the vines are connected to this Vecna guy like you say they are, then hitting those isn’t going to feel very good.”

Nancy chuckled. “That’s certainly true. And double the numbers certain won’t hurt anything either.”

Once they reached the house, Jeff and Robin stayed outside the house in case the bastard tried to make a run for it or tried to call bigger bad guys to his aid. Robin had a bag of Molotov cocktails and Jeff had a tire iron and a torch to burn the house down once Vickie, Marty, Steve, and Nancy were clear.

Robin had opted to stay down and guard the retreat when she saw how many vines there were and knew that the likelihood of being able to pass through them without a lot of help was pretty much non-existent.

Steve gave her hand a squeeze and the four of them made their way through the vine filled house. It’s like playing the Devil’s hopscotch. One wrong move and they were dead.

Steve and Vickie breached the door first and were immediately pulled to the side walls by the vines. Nancy went for the vines around Vickie with her ax while Marty shot at the vines next to Steve with his BB gun.

The vines shrieked in terror and pulled away.

“You cannot stop me!” Vecna roared. ‘There is no universe in which I don’t win. Max will die. The Gates will open and the world will tremble in fear at my feet!”

“Eat this!” Nancy snarled and fired her first flare.

Vecna screamed as he recoiled from the heat. Vickie and Marty kept his attention by unloading their weapons into the fleshy mass of his Upside Down form.

Nancy fired another flare as Steve lit his Molotov cocktail, both of them hitting him square in the chest.

“No!” Vecna screamed as some of the flesh tore away to reveal the human underneath. Henry blinked out from three-quarters of the shredded face. “I will win!”

The vines shot out again, but this time Marty and Vickie were ready for them. Vickie pulled out hairspray from her purse and Marty lit the aerosol on fire, creating a makeshift flamethrower.

The flame reached the vines and again they screeched and recoiled from the fire.

Nancy hit him again with another flare and Steve took out his bat. He twirled the bat, warming up his wrist. He licked the top of his lip and swung for Henry’s face.

There was a sickening crack and he stumbled backward toward the bay window. Steve hit him again and he hit the ground in front of Robin and Jeff.

Jeff lit his torch and shoved it straight into Henry’s face. His body began to seize as the fire spread over his body.

All six of them circled around the spasming form of Henry Creel. Steve held out the last Molotov cocktail to Nancy.

“For Barb.”

Nancy looked over at Steve in amazement, but quietly took the cocktail from him. She lit it on fire and tossed it on Henry. The glass shattered and alcohol and fire spread of the rest of Henry turning him to ash.

Lightning crashed all around them and the ground began to shake.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Marty said. “I don’t want to stick around to see what this place looks like without the hellscape, if there even is one.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” Robin said grimly. “This place is creepy as fuck with Vecna, I don’t want be here when they start redecorating.”

They went straight for Fred’s Gate. All around them the sky burned red, the ground shook, and the monsters screamed.

Steve started to lag behind, a pain growing in his side. He was close to the gate, but his vision grew fuzzy and dark with each passing moment.

He felt his knees hit the rough ground as someone screamed, “Steve!”

Then his world went black and cold.

~

Tag List: SIX SLOTS REMAINING

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