#I kept having to stop to cry or calm down

[33lol]

Bath Time

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

SMUT

warnings: soft sexual content, crying/emotional breakdown, fingering, a hint of nipple play, lots of fluff, aftercare

wc: 3.4k

MDNI

It was finals week at UConn. Meaning Azzi was stacked with exams and lectures. She had an 8am class—which she forgot to set her alarm for and was almost late to. Then she had a Calc exam right after that she stayed up late studying for (hence why she forget to set her alarm). Math had never been her strong suit, so she was already anxious before stepping into the math building. The team also had film the previous day, in which she was called out a lot in the tapes for simple mistakes. Ones she knew how to fix, but had just been too in her head to focus in the moment.

Luckily for Azzi, she was finished with classes and work for break after she took her Calc exam. Did she feel confident in her answers—no. But she just didn’t have the energy to care right now. All she wanted to do was go back to her dorm and crawl in a hole.

Azzi was on her way, walking back to her and Paige’s dorm when she saw her grade get put in for the test. She didn’t want to open it, but she knew she had to. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and clicked open the grade,

Calculus Final Exam

C+

Was it the worst she’d ever done on a test, no. But it was the worst she’d done on a final. On a test that really mattered—and it was definitely not up to Azzi’s standards. Azzi couldn’t help but start balling, letting the emotions override her composure. Hot tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara and leaving streaks on her cheeks. Eventually she picked back up in her steps—barely. She kept walking, feeling overwhelmed with anxiety and exhaustion from her week. It didn’t necessarily pan out how she imagined, and seeing what she thought was hard work not pay off in the end was the last straw. Each step felt heavy as she dragged her feet across campus. It was only a five minute walk from her class to her dorm, but it felt more like thirty.

Eventually she made it back to her dorm. She felt a hundred pounds heavier walking up the stairs with the weight of the week on her shoulders. When she got to the door, she just stood there. Then remembered, Paige was home. Paige was her home. She reached for her keys and fumbled with them while unlocking the door because of how shaking they were.

When she finally opened the door, she saw Paige sitting on the couch reading a book. She looked so calm, stress free—unlike her best friend hovering in the doorway. Paige looked up at the door and saw Azzi immediately start crying again.

She rushed up off the couch, “Hey, hey. What’s wrong baby?” Paige said frantically pulling Azzi into her chest.

Azzi let herself be pulled, melting into the warmth and comfort of the blonde. Still letting out gut-wrenching sobs into Paige’s shirt.

“Azzi baby,” Paige said softly. “What’s goin on in that pretty head of yours. Huh?”

Azzi clutched Paige’s shirt tighter. Knowing she was probably getting mascara on it, she pulled away slightly—but still didn’t look up yet.

“I.. feel.. like shit,” Azzi said through her sobs.

Paige sighed, aching for Azzi feeling so horrible.

“Come here ma,” Paige said, pulling her into a tight hug further into the living room. Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s back, waiting for Azzi to relax into her.

Azzi leaned further into Paige, resting her head over the older girl’s heart. She felt the steady beats in her chest and the deep breaths from her lungs. It helped a little. At least to where Azzi stopped crying.

“Can you look at me Az?” Paige said so gently and soft. Her heart felt like it was ripped into a million pieces when Azzi finally glanced up at her and she looked ruined. Her eyes were red and puffy, mascara smeared under her eyes, and tears streaks running down her cheeks.

Paige ran her fingers under her eyes, wiping away some of the black smudges. Then she leaned down and kissed Azzi’s cheeks, trying to dry up the salty wetness, willing the younger girl to focus on her. Azzi closed her eyes at the feeling of Paige’s lips on her skin. A feeling she never got tired of.

Azzi showed the faintest sign of a smile when Paige cradled her face and said, “I’m here. I’ve got you now,” with the utmost certainty and assurance in her tone.

“What happened bubs?” Paige asked caressing Azzi’s jaw with her thumb.

Azzi took a long, deep breath and exhaled. “I’ve just had such a busy and stressful week. I’ve been stacked with classes and preparing for finals. And then having Geno on my ass at practice hasn’t been helping.” Azzi closed her eyes and sighed again. “And then I was almost late for class this morning because I forgot to set my alarm and then I had a final right after it that I literally fucking bombed and my knee’s been hurting all week but I haven’t had much ti—”

“Baby breathe,” Paige cut into Azzi’s anxious rambling.

Azzi’s chin started trembling again, but before any tears could start streaming again, Paige kissed her forehead and rubbed up and down her arms.

“I wanna help you relax. The week is over now. I don’t want you thinking about anything else other than being here with me right now. Okay mama?”

Azzi nodded and fell back into the safety of Paige’s chest. “I got mascara on your shirt,” she said, muffled into Paige's body.

“I don’t give a shit about the shirt,” Paige giggled trying to lighten the mood.

Azzi let out a breath that may have been a slight laugh to some ears.

“Hey.. do you want me to run you a warm bath?” Paige suggested while rubbing Azzi’s back.

Azzi smiled at the idea and mumbled, “Mhm. Sounds nice.”

Paige kissed the top of Azzi’s head and started walking them toward their bathroom. Paige kept Azzi in front of her, walking with her arms around her waist behind her.

They got in the bathroom where Paige turned the lights to the dimmer setting and started the bath water. She put some eucalyptus oil bubbles in water in hopes of calming Azzi down.

“Sit on the toilet seat ma”

Azzi padded over to the toilet and sat down with a grunt. She was subconsciously rubbing at her knee, and Paige noticed.

“Is your knee flaring up again?” she asked while grabbing something from the counter.

Azzi shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Paige knelt down in front of her holding a pack of makeup wipes. “Azzi.. how long has your knee been hurting mama?” she asked a bit more sternly. She wasn’t messing with the health of her favorite person. Not after everything she’s worked so hard to get back to.

“Since Sunday,” Azzi said barely above a whisper, with her wide doe eyes averting Paige’s gaze.

Paige sighed, “It’s Friday,” she informed her with worried eyes.

Azzi just nodded, sitting with her shoulders curled in. She looked small—helpless. But she was never actually helpless when she was with Paige.

Paige kissed her left knee, saying a short, silent prayer over it. Then she moved to her right knee, doing the same thing—kissing it and saying the same prayer.

Azzi looked down at her with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. She never had to think when she was with Paige. She could lean on her. Paige was her rock in a way. They were best friends, but deep down they were just waiting for something to change. And tonight was it.

Paige popped back up and opened the pack of makeup wipes, pulling one out and setting the pack aside.

“Close your eyes for me,” Paige said in a low voice

Azzi did. She let Paige take care of her. Paige gently swiped the cold wipe over her face, ridding any stress and doubt from the week from her skin.

When Paige was done, she stood up and kissed Azzi’s temple before turning off the water.

“Stand up mama. Imma take your clothes off okay?” Paige said with care. “Wanna get you in that warm bath.”

Azzi nodded and stood carefully. She still felt heavy, like every movement took ten times more effort.

“Lift your arms for me”

Azzi stretched her arms over her head, thankful for Paige’s help. Paige took the hem of Azzi’s shirt and lifted it slowly up her body, and gently over her head.

She set the shirt on the counter and turned back to Azzi. Paige reached around Azzi’s back and unclasped her bra. She slid the straps down her shoulders, letting her feel the cool air.

Azzi had been naked in front of Paige before. The best friends have always been comfortable changing in front of the other, they’ve even showered together before. But this time felt different—weighted.

Paige leaned down, kissing Azzi’s collarbone. Azzi smiled at the blonde below her. She set her bra down on the counter with her shirt. Paige crouched lower and Azzi rested her hands on her shoulders. Paige looked up at her to check in. When she saw Azzi looking more unguarded, she felt good to keep going. She slid the waist band of her leggings and underwear down at the same time. Azzi stepped out of them while still holding onto Paige for stability. Paige shoved the clothes away and stood back up.

Paige took Azzi’s hands, “Let me help you in baby.”

Azzi’s eyebrows furrowed a bit and her bottom lip jutted into a pout, “You’re not getting in with me?”

Paige looked into those eyes. The ones that showed every emotion on Azzi’s face—the ones she could never say no to.

Paige smirked and let out a short laugh, “I didn’t know if you wanted space or not”

“I never want space with you,” Azzi said, still pouting.

“Ok then,” Paige said, faking annoyance with a little eye roll, but couldn’t help but smile. She kissed the corner of Azzi’s mouth—getting rid of the pout immediately—and yanked her shirt off. Azzi stood there, watching the way Paige gave in so easily. Paige took her sports bra off, and then her shorts, and then her boxers. Paige was still smiling softly. She stepped in the tub first, noticing the warmth to be the exact temperature Azzi liked. She took Azzi’s hands and helped her in over the side of the tub. Paige helped her lower into the tub before sitting down behind her. She wrapped her arms around Azzi’s stomach and laid her head on her shoulder.

“Let me take care of you, okay? You’ve got me.”

Azzi hummed and leaned her head back on Paige’s shoulder. Paige kissed the side of Azzi’s neck and took some of the water and bubbles and cupped it over her back. She did that for her arms and her shoulders. Massaging the warmth into her muscles.

Azzi closed her eyes and enjoyed the older girl’s thoughtfulness. Paige ran her hands deep on Azzi’s shoulders and neck, eliciting moans and grunts from Azzi any time she hit a knot or a point of tension. Azzi didn’t have to say anything for her to know she was starting to feel better. Paige leaned further back into the tub, pulling Azzi to lay more onto her chest. She scooped more water and cupped it over Azzi’s chest and stomach. She ran her hands along her sides and lower on her hips, massaging there as well.

This was the most relaxed, cared for, and seen Azzi had felt all week. Her week was hectic and rushed. But Paige always knew how to slow her down. Paige leaned in Azzi’s ear, “Want me to scratch your back mama?” she asked quietly.

Azzi’s mouth twitched into a barely there smile, “Mhm.” She sat up a little, enough for Paige to reach her back. Paige started slow, scratching her back in circles, tracing random shapes, and connecting the dots of Azzi’s freckles. Then she had an idea. She started writing out letters to see if Azzi could pick up on what she was saying,

A-Z-Z-I

A moment went by. Then the brunette giggled, “Did you just spell my name?”

“Maybe,” Paige said with a teasing glint.

She thought of another one,

B-I-G-H-E—

“Hey!” Azzi looked back at her trying to act mad, but couldn’t hide the smile fighting to stay on her lips.

Paige threw her head back and laughed, then she kissed Azzi’s cheek. “Sorry ma,” but she wasn’t that sorry.

“Ok I have one more,”

I—L-O-V-E—Y-O-U

Azzi wasn’t dumb. She knew what Paige said, but she also wanted to get her back for the last word.

Azzi fake gasped, “Paige Madison, you did not just write ‘Big Daddy’ on my back!”

“What!?” Paige said, starting to blush. Azzi knew that was her nickname from the team. She also knew Paige liked it.

Azzi bursted out laughing, her whole body shaking from the giggles. Paige smiled seeing Azzi more carefree, even if it was at her dignity’s expense.

“You fucker,” Paige said with no bite.

She wrapped her arms around the younger girl again and pulled her back against her front.

“I love you too,” Azzi said quieter from the loud laughs erupting from her just moments ago.

Paige squeezed her hips and then trailed her hands to Azzi’s knees, rubbing lightly. She traced over her scars and massaged the tissue, hoping to help relieve some pain. The she moved her hands to the insides of Azzi’s thighs—starting to trace along that skin as well.

Azzi’s breath caught for a second. She tilted her head back and looked at Paige.

“I know what else would make you feel better…” Paige said quietly—almost nervous to even suggest it. Azzi immediately got butterflies low in her stomach. Azzi had thought about it before too. She just never forced anything that she thought should come naturally.

“Yeah?” Azzi retorted in a breathy voice.

“Yeah… I mean.. only if you want. I don’t wanna.. like take advantage of you or anything.” Paige said sincerely and genuinely worried that it may come across like she was using Azzi at a vulnerable point.

“No, P… I’ve wanted this for a while. I always want you. Please.” Azzi begged.

Paige looked into her eyes—still searching for clarity—but instead of words, Azzi took Paige’s wrist and moved it higher on her thigh.

Paige glanced down at Azzi’s lips, then back up, and then down again. Before she knew it, she leaned in, meeting Azzi’s soft lips that were salty from the tears.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, letting Paige take control. Paige managed her tongue into Azzi’s mouth, gliding across her lips and tongue—tasting. Once she felt that Azzi was relaxed enough into the kiss, she moved her right hand over the place Azzi really needed her. Her other hand came up her side, squeezing her hips, holding her stomach, holding her thigh. She just wanted to touch Azzi, anywhere she’d let her. She wanted her to feel her. Just her.

They were still kissing, Azzi losing herself in the movement of Paige’s lips. Paige let her fingers start circling Azzi’s clit—slow circles and light pressure. Azzi whimpered against Paige’s lips—letting go slightly, but Paige pulled Azzi’s bottom lip with her teeth to bring her back in.

Paige squeezed her thigh with her free hand, letting her know she’s okay. Telling her everything they haven’t said. She circled her clit like that for a minute, adding pressure gradually. Azzi started breathing a little harder against Paige’s mouth. Paige dipped her fingers lower, over her cunt and spread her slick back up to her clit—circling again.

Azzi couldn’t keep up her side of the kissing—the sensation of Paige’s fingers becoming overwhelming. Paige felt it and pulled back. Their faces were still close, Azzi still tilted back to look at her.

“It’s okay baby. I got you. I wanna hear you know. Let it out,” Paige encouraged her tenderly.

Azzi nodded breathless and leaned her face more onto Paige’s neck. Paige moved her fingers back down slowly. Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed and she let out a small gasp as Paige slid two fingers into Azzi’s entrance.

Paige started a slow rhythm, using her thumb to still keep pressure on her clit. She pumped in and out, curling up into Azzi. She listened to Azzi’s breathing, becoming more ragged—and she heard how her moans were coming out high. She took her time, not wanting to rush. She felt Azzi deserved that. For this moment to be the slowest thing about her week.

“So good for me, Azzi baby. You’re so good. Let go for me,” Paige kept saying to Azzi.

“You’re so beautiful. So perfect.”

“Just feel me.”

“I’m here with you. Always.”

Paige moved her left hand up to Azzi’s stomach, holding her firmer. She picked up her pace a bit with her fingers inside Azzi.

Paige saw the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest starting to become quicker.

“Mm, feel good mama?” Paige asked lowly, to keep her grounded.

Azzi nodded, “S’good,” she choked out through her rugged voice.

Paige pushed her fingers in deeper, curling higher into Azzi.

“Ahh—mm-fuck,” Azzi moaned by Paige’s ear.

Paige rubbed Azzi’s clit harder and pumped her fingers in faster—wanting Azzi to fully give herself to her.

“Mm-I—fuck—P-Paige”

“Cum for me Az. Let go.”

“I’m—ah- I’m close”

Paige moved her left hand up to caress Azzi’s nipples softly, adding to the tension and helping her get there.

Paige pushed down hard on Azzi’s clit and curled in just the right spot. Making her arch into her chest and let out a heavenly whimper in Paige’s ear.

Paige felt Azzi cum. She felt her cum hard, like it had been pent up in her for a while. She slowed her fingers down, letting Azzi ride out her high. Paige pulled out slow, seeing Azzi twitch from the sensitive touch.

Paige used the soapy water to rinse off her fingers and then ran her hands over Azzi’s sides, “You did so good princess.”

Azzi still had her face slightly in Paige’s neck. She was trembling, body and mind exhausted. “Mmm” was all she could get out while leaning further into Paige.

Paige smiled and held her close for a minute longer. The water was starting to get cooler and Paige saw the goosebumps on Azzi’s skin.

“Can I help you out ma? So I can get you all warm in bed?” Paige offered in a sweet voice.

Azzi nodded in Paige’s neck, “Mhm”

“Okay then. Sit up for me baby,” Paige helped Azzi lean forward.

Paige stood up and stepped out of the tub first.

“Take my hands”

Azzi grabbed Paige’s hands and was pulled up carefully. She helped her step out of the bath, then got towels from the warmer. She wrapped one around Azzi first, drying off the water droplets sprinkled on her body. Then she wrapped herself up and walked them toward their room.

“Stay there,” Paige said to Azzi standing by the foot of the bed. “Imma get some clothes for us.”

Azzi waited, shivering slightly—but watching how Paige didn’t hesitate to take care of her. Paige walked back with Azzi’s favorite hoodie (which was actually Paige’s) to wear to bed and a pair of boxers. She slipped their towels off of them and helped Azzi into the hoodie. She bent down and let Azzi step in the boxers while Azzi held her shoulders. Paige threw on her clothes as well and guided Azzi onto the bed.

Paige climbed up to the pillows, opening her arms, “Come here baby.”

Azzi crawled up to Paige and plopped right on her chest—breathing in her calming scent. Paige rubbed circles on her back and ran her fingers through her scalp with the other.

“I’m sorry you had sucky week. I wish I would’ve done something sooner,” Paige admitted with guilt.

Azzi looked up, just enough to make her point, “Not your fault. I tried to hide it. And you’re here now, P. That’s all I want. Thank your for being here.”

Paige smiled softly, “Man I love you Azzi.”

Azzi blushed in the dim light of the room. “I love you too Paige.”

And they knew what each other meant. Things were different now. A good different. And they would talk more about it later. But they already knew they belonged to each other.

Paige leaned down and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Azzi’s lips—then the top of her head. Azzi hummed at the affection. Paige turned the lamp off and continued rubbing Azzi’s back and stroking her hair—until the pair fell asleep, wrapped in each other. Not the week they had, not the hard days—just them. Together.

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 8

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4, Bonus Scene 5, Bonus Scene 6, Bonus Scene 7

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 1445

Synopsis: Overwhelmed by exam stress, you ask Vi for help to relax

Warnings: Oral sex (r! giving & receiving), fingering (r! receiving)

Approaching Final Exam season in Senior Year

Your brain ached, your mind completely overloaded with facts, statistics, dates, and names. You’d been studying for hours; it felt like you were wading through molasses. Getting somewhere, but so fucking slow it was torturous.

You tossed your book aside on the bed, squeezing your temples as you tried not to cry.

“Vi?” you asked, your voice small.

She immediately perked up from where she sat at the desk, giving you her undivided attention. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You stood up, walking over to her. “Can I…” you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. “Never mind.”

“No, no,” she said firmly, taking hold of your hand and pulling you closer. “Tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me, baby.”

You hesitated. When she gave you a comforting look, you took a deep breath. “Can I eat your pussy?”

Vi’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, hell yeah. But where did that come from?” she asked in amusement.

“I just...My brain’s fried. There’s so much work to do and it’s so hard, all the time…”

She nodded kindly, understanding. “You just want to turn your brain off for a while?”

You nodded.

“You want some comfort?”

You nodded again.

“Do you want me to come?”

You shrugged.

“Do you want me to talk to you at all, or just leave you alone?”

You sniffled, feeling mean when you said, “Leave me alone.”

She smiled at you. “Okay, baby, I get it. How do you want to do it?”

Your lip trembled. You couldn’t bear to make a decision. “I don’t know…Please don’t make me think,” you almost cried.

“Shhh, it’s alright. It’s okay, I’ll sort it.” She looked around the room. “Give me a minute, baby.”

You watched as she moved around the room, willing your brain to turn off, to stop feeling overwhelmed for five fucking minutes. You rubbed your head, trying to calm yourself down. It didn’t work.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ve got it. Eyes closed, come with me.”

You kept your eyes closed as she led you across the room. She helped you lie down on the soft floor – she must have put down some extra blankets – your head propped up on a small pillow. She tucked a weighted blanket around your legs and hips, soothing you with its deep pressure. She fastened padded cuffs around your wrists, joining them together and lifting your arms over your head.

“Get your arms comfy, sweetheart.” You shifted them a little until you were comfortable. “Now don’t move them, baby. You don’t need your hands now.”

Vi climbed over your face, her jeans and underwear now removed, adjusting the pillows her legs were resting on, giving her a bit more height over your face as she knelt down. She wouldn’t suffocate you but she didn’t have to hover.

“Don’t start yet, baby,” she chided gently when you first stuck your tongue out. “Are you comfortable?” You nodded, rubbing your nose against Vi’s lips. “Everything feel good? Are you close enough to me?” You nodded. “Okay. I’m going to put your earphones in, sweetheart, hold still.” She gently pressed your earphones in. She had your favourite white-noise sound loaded on your phone, the sound of running water instantly able to soothe you, and she pressed play with the volume low. “Lift your chin if you want it louder, sweetheart.” You lifted your chin until it was at a volume that blocked out everything else.

She paused the sound. “Good to go?” You nodded again, needing her pussy on your tongue. “Okay. I love you, sweetheart. Take as long as you need.”

You slowly licked up Vi’s slit, just up and down with your tongue as she sat on top of you. She put in one of her own earphones, leaving an ear free to listen to you if you needed her. She listened to one of her lectures, double-checking and annotating her notes, focusing on her work as you turned your brain off from your own studies.

Your tongue and lips slowly moved over Vi’s pussy, you with no intention to make her orgasm, her having no intention to do so either. This wasn’t sex; this was comfort for you during your distress.

You lightly suckled on Vi's clit, sliding down to her hole as you kissed, licked, and slurped at her pussy, your mind gradually turning off from everything except the pussy on your face. You hummed happily to yourself as everything faded away and your brain quietened. Everything you needed was right on top of you.

A long time later, the door to the bedroom opened and Vi immediately looked up, putting her finger to her lips. Cait did a double-take as she took in the scene – you sprawled on the floor, blanket over your legs, arms over your head; Vi sitting on your face but doing work using the chair as a desk.

Vi held up her phone, typing a message to Cait.

Violet 💜: shes having a bad day, needed to turn her brain off

Violet 💜: asked to eat pussy for comfort

Cait frowned in concern.

Cupcake 🧁: Is she alright? I was starting to wonder if her work is getting too much

Violet 💜: shell be fine

Violet 💜: but i need to pee!!!

Cait laughed under her breath.

Cupcake 🧁: How long has it been?

Vi looked at the clock on her laptop.

Violet 💜: about two hours

Cait’s eyes widened in shock.

Cupcake 🧁: How’s her jaw?

Violet 💜: not asked. shes got earphones in, didnt want to talk. but shes still going

Cupcake 🧁: Alright, I’ll take over. Help me get her onto the bed

Violet 💜: she wont like it but yes im bursting

Violet 💜: and were not doing that!

Vi took out her earphone, then turned down the sound on your earphones. You immediately whined and protested.

“Shhh, darling,” Cait said softly next to her ear, lifting your arms back over your head as Vi climbed off you. “We’re going to move you onto the bed, hold on.”

Vi picked you up gently, carrying you to the bed. Laying you on your back again, they lay your hands over your stomach to give your shoulders a rest. Cait got into position on your face, resting her arms along the back of the headboard, her phone available for scrolling and games. She wasn't going to record this; not while you were feeling vulnerable.

Vi finally escaped to the bathroom, then came back to the desk and continued studying, occasionally glancing over at the bed.

You kept eating the pussy on top of you. You recognised it was Cait's, no longer Vi's, but you didn't care. You just needed to keep using your mouth, your brain not ready to turn back on yet.

Another hour or so later, Cait heard you make a small moan under her, and your tongue started to move differently from the slow and monotonous way it had been. After a few more moans, she felt your hands move under her thighs. Looking over her shoulder, she saw your hands slowly rubbing over your clit. Your need for comfort had obviously been sated, turning sexual.

Vi had noticed too. She shut her laptop and headed over to the bed. Gently nudging your legs apart, she settled between them. Tenderly moving you hands out of the way, she pressed gentle kisses to your clit, making you whine into Cait’s pussy.

You slowly started to lick and suck Cait more purposefully, moaning softly against her skin as Vi gradually increased her own speed. Sucking your clit, Vi ran the tip of a finger around your hole, entering you gently. You groaned into Cait's skin, latching onto her clit and sucking harder.

Cait gasped, reaching down and stroking your hair, holding you to her as she rocked on your face, helping you bring her to orgasm faster. Her hips were starting to get sore and she could only imagine how your jaw must be feeling!

Vi made you cum quickly, and Cait followed shortly, rocking on your face and spilling her juices onto your chin. She recovered, climbing off your face, looking down at your blissed out face, a soft smile on your sleepy face.

“Do you feel better, sweetheart?” Cait asked gently, taking out your earphones. You nodded tiredly, cuddling in as close as you could as you drifted off to sleep.

“I think we should buy her a Queening Chair,” Vi declared in a whisper, holding you close, “In case she wants to do that again. My knees are so sore!”

Cait nodded, grimacing as she clicked her hip. “Agreed.”

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read Chapter 20 here /Series Masterlist

Chapter 21

Summary : Eric breaks your heart. And his own.

Warning: 18+, smut, Fat shaming, body shaming, manipulation, domestic violence, child abuse, cheating, reader has a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

Eric was eight. Maybe nine, he didn't even remember.

He was hiding behind the half-closed door of the hallway closet, the rotten smell of dust thick around him, holding his breath even though his lungs were screaming.

It had started with something stupid. It always did.

A misplaced bill. Cold food. Or his Mama coming home five minutes late from work.

His father’s voice thundered through the house like a storm about to break.

“You think you can do whatever the hell you want? You think you're smart?”

There was a crash, a glass, maybe a plate, he couldn't tell. Then Patricia’s voice, soft and trembling, trying to calm him down like she always did.

“I was just—there was traffic..please, let’s not do this tonight..Eric has his exams..i need to help him study”

“You always have an excuse. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

And then..there was silence.

The kind of silence that made Eric’s stomach turn.

Then the sound of a shove, the dull thud of her back hitting the wall.

Eric flinched where he crouched, one hand over his mouth, the other clenched in a fist so tight his nails dug into his palm.

“Don’t cry” his father had said. A hiss, low and venomous. “Don’t make that pathetic sound..” His father spoke but her sob only got louder, he then punched his fist through the wall.

“Goddamnit Are you not listening to me or something you bitch..stop crying?”

Eric didn’t remember what happened after that. But when he finally crept out hours later, Patricia was sitting on the couch in the dark, her eyes swollen from crying, her lip split, she was dabbing at her face with a cold washcloth like it was routine. Like it was nothing.

“It’s alright, baby,” she had whispered to him “It’s okay ..come here..come to mama” she opened her arms so he would run to her.

She then smiled.

Smiled with a busted lip her husband, his father had given to her.

*********

You didn't understand. You couldn't. What had happened? Everything was fine, it was more than fine, it was going great. There were no fights, no obvious signs of him losing interest in you. Nothing. Then what had you done? What was it that you had done that had made him pull away from you?

“I can't be with you anymore”

I can't. You had been staring at those words for hours now. I can't. He didn't say he didn't want to, he just can't, so maybe there was a silver lining here but then why can't he be with you?

You had called Chance and Shelly and Shelly told you she'd come see you but whatever had happened you needed to go talk to Eric, listen to his stupid reasoning for all of this right from his mouth.

So there you were, standing outside Patricia's building, waiting to be buzzed in but it had been ten minutes. You called Patricia but her cell was unreachable so you called Stella but she didn't pick up either, so you called Eric. Again. And he didn't pick up.

You knew something had gone down, something was wrong with Patricia and it was killing you that you were being kept out of the truth. An anger was slowly simmering underneath all that care and concern and you didn't know how to keep that anger away.

Fifteen minutes later you finally saw his car pulling up, he immediately stepped out of the vehicle, he saw you, you know he did, you were sitting on the stoop right in front of his eyeline but he didn't give you a second look. He immediately opened the backdoor to pick up Patricia, Stella was pulling out her wheelchair from the trunk.

“What happened?” You asked as he walked with her in his arms but he didn't answer, he went straight inside the building as Stella crunched the code in.

That's when you felt your anger escalate from simmering to bubbling.

“Hey y/n” Stella said to you so you looked at her.

“What happened to her?” You asked, your eyes teary so she put her arm around your shoulder to take you inside with her. Her eyes were teary too.

“It's not good news I'm afraid y/n” she said to you as you both stepped into her apartment.

“What's wrong with her?” You asked again, feeling dazed and left out. You cared about Patricia, she had been More motherly to you then your mother had ever been so seeing her like that broke your heart even further than Eric's ignorance did.

As you went inside Stella immediately went into the kitchen to prepare a meal for Patricia when she'd wake up.

You walked into her bedroom, Eric had just put her down in the bed.

When he was finally done fiddling with her duvet he finally looked at you and walked towards you to grab your arm and take you outside.

“Eric what's going on?” You asked him so he let go of your arm and turned to look at you

“Did you get my message?” He asked nonchalantly, you didn't know what it was but he just seemed like a different person at that moment. He just seemed so distant, so far away from you that you couldn't even feel his love.

“Message? The one that you sent me that said I can't be with you anymore? That message?” you glared at him.

“Yeah that message” he looked you in the eyes as he crossed his arms.

“Yeah I got it Eric, but I don't understand it-”

“What do you not understand? Words have meanings right? What does that mean?”

Your eyes welled up as he said those words to you as if you were just a fly hovering around him that he couldn't wait to get rid of.

“What's wrong with her?” you asked him, not even wanting to believe that this was happening to you right now.

He let out a deep sigh as you questioned..

“She has cancer, inoperable, incurable..that's what is wrong with her” you gasped as he said that. A part of you didn't want to believe it.

She had suffered enough, she didn't deserve to suffer more.

“Eric-”

“She's on meds, she'll be sleeping for a while ..you can come back when she's up”

“No I'll wait here, I'll wait”

“Y/n just go..don't make this difficult”

That's when the anger you had been swallowing so far exploded.

“Am I making this difficult? Eric? I'm the one making this difficult?” Your voice cracked as your chest rose with each breath, your vision blurry from unshed tears. “You hurt me and now you're standing here looking at me like I mean nothing to you?”

He didn’t even flinch, his eyes didn’t soften. He just stared at you with that same distant, unreadable expression on his face.

“You don’t understand” he said quietly. His voice was even, but it trembled.

“No, I don’t! So make me understand!” you shouted, your fists clenched at your sides “Everything was fine, Eric. You were fine. We were happy Eric..we were so happy” you reached out for him but he pulled away.

“She’s dying” he finally said. “She’s dying and I need to be there for her. Every second. Every breath of whatever time I have left with her I want to be here. I don’t have time to play house and to… to be in love with you”

Your heart sank even deeper if it was even possible. Those words cut through you like a dagger.

“Playing house? Is that all we were doing Eric?’

He looked away. His jaw clenched hard, his anger was all for him, none of this was your fault, it was all him and he knew you didn't deserve that. And that's exactly why he had to do this to you.

“That’s not what I meant”

“Then what do you mean, Eric?” Your voice rose again so he glared at you

“Keep your voice down.. she's asleep”

“You're trying to cut me out of your life..her life.. like I never mattered to you or her”

“I'm not cutting you out of her life y/n..i can't make that decision for her but I have to cut you out of mine” he snapped before he could stop himself. Then his voice lowered, strained and raw.

“I can’t be around you right now” He looked at you finally, and the pain in his eyes was unbearable. “I can’t waste one more second away from her. She’s all I’ve got left, she's the only family I have and she’s slipping away every second, it's not going to get any better. And You? You’re a distraction. A beautiful one, the best one I’ve ever had in my life, trust me. But I can't afford to be distracted. I need to give her everything while I still can and I can't do that when I have to cater to your needs half of my days”

You were silent as he lashed at you, your throat burning, hands trembling, every part of you wanted to hold him, take away the pain he was feeling, be there for him when he was going through this but he wouldn't let you.

You stared at him for a long uninterrupted moment, unable to breathe as if the very words he said had stolen the air from your lungs.

“So that’s it then?” you whispered. “I’m a distraction.. that's all? Not a friend, not a lover, not someone you need? Just a distraction?”

His jaw twitched, but he didn’t speak. His silence said enough. He wasn’t going to take his words back but you had to try.

You couldn't lose him too. He was all you had.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me, Eric. I’m not asking you to split your time. I’m not asking you to love me more than her, I'd never want that. I just want to be here, I just want to love you through this. That’s what people do when they love someone..they stay when the person they love needs them”

Eric was done the moment he had raised his voice at you last night, but listening to you right now, watching you desperately trying to keep this relationship from falling apart had broken him in ways he knew he'd never be whole again.

“I have never needed you y/n..i wanted you..and i don't want you anymore..you get that?”

You took a step back as those words left his mouth. The words landed like a blow to the chest, like your ribs cracked beneath them, his words felt as if he was crushing your heart right between his palms with no care or concern.

The silence between you turned suffocating. Everything inside you screamed that this couldn’t be real.. he couldn’t be saying this. Not your Eric.

Not the man who had uplifted you through the worse but now he was the one tearing you down.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Okay” you finally said, your voice barely audible. Just one broken word “Okay..”

He wouldn’t look at you now. His arms were crossed again, and he turned just slightly away, like even facing you might make him crumble.

“Go home, y/n,” he said coldly.

You blinked, stunned, your throat tight with unshed tears, but you nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak again.

As you turned away and walked toward the door, The door clicked shut behind you, but you stood in the hallway for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. The silence was deafening. A part of you expected him to follow you, to say he didn’t mean it, that he was just scared or overwhelmed. But he didn’t.

He wasn’t going to come after you.

You wiped your face, not even bothering to hide the tears now. You walked out of Patricia’s building, the sun too bright for the darkness that was filling you up, the world too normal, going at its usual pace as if your life hasn't turned upside now.

You sat on the stoop for a long time.

You didn’t even know where to go, all you knew was that you didn't want to be alone, you won't be able to survive this alone.

Finally you decided to call Shelly.

“Hey” she answered quickly. “Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

You tried to speak, but your voice cracked.

“I uhhh.. Shelly I don't know what I did wrong” your voice broke completely as you couldn't even form a sentence.

“Where are you?” she asked, immediately switching into protective mode.

“Outside” you whispered. “Outside her building. He… he doesn’t want me there. He said—he said I’m a distraction.”

There was silence on the other end as a part of her couldn't even believe what she was hearing.

“I’m coming to you. Stay there.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You weren’t even sure your legs would work if you asked them to.

When Shelly arrived, she didn’t ask any more questions. She opened the passenger side door of her car and then stepped out to make you sit inside. She looked at you, your red eyes, your trembling hands, and reached over to hold your arm.

“I don’t understand” you whispered. “We were fine. We were so good. I don’t know what I did.”

Shelly shook her head as you said that

“You didn’t do anything. This isn’t about you..he's being a complete ass but this isn't about you sweetheart, you did nothing wrong.”

“But he made it about me” you said. “He looked me in the eye and said we were just playing house. Like what we had wasn’t real. Like I was just… in the way or something to kill time with”

Shelly exhaled slowly as she heard that.

“Did you find out about Patricia?” she asked softly as she squeezed your shoulders so you nodded, trying to collect yourself enough to speak.

“She has cancer. It’s… it’s bad. Inoperable. Incurable. That’s what he said..and she looked so tired and i know he's scared-” you whispered between your tears “I just wanted to be there for him. I still do but he won't let me”

Shelly didn’t say anything to that. She just rubbed your shoulder gently as you tried not to fall apart again.

“I just don’t want to lose him.” you broke down in tears again so Shelly turned to you.

“You haven’t lost him. Not really. He has just… gone somewhere you can’t reach right now..nobody can..except Patricia”

********

He stood under the shower for what felt like hours after you left.

The apartment was quiet now. Too quiet. Patricia was asleep. Stella was in her room looking after her.

He had just broken the heart of the only woman he'd ever fall in love with.

He had watched your eyes fill with tears. He’d watched your body fold in on itself like you were trying not to break right there in front of him. He had watched you leave.

And he didn't stop you even though every part of him wanted to run into your arms and cry his heart out. He had lied, he needed you so much but he couldn't have you.

Not after what he had done last night.

He could still hear it. His own voice..his voice yelling at you the night before.

“Goddamn it, I said no..are you not listening to me or something??”

All you wanted to do was be there with him. That was it. You had reached for him, soft-eyed, gentle, worried. And he yelled at you like you had committed some kind of crime.

That was the moment he knew he had to let you go now before he won't be able to.

Because he knew that voice very well, the one he’d used last night on you. That tone, that heat in them, the condescending, cruel, controlling edge.

He had heard it all his childhood.

He remembered the way Patricia used to freeze, the way her fingers would start shaking even when she tried to hide it. He remembered how she’d retreat, how she’d go quiet, small like silence was the only thing that could protect her.

And he had seen that same look last night on your beautiful face.

You didn't say anything in return, you kept looking at him so lovingly as if he hadn't raised his voice at you.

You shrunk the way Patricia used to do, as if it was you who had done something wrong.

For a moment he had thought he could leave his past behind, he could forget all about the ugliness of the blood running through his veins.

But it was impossible to run away from his true self.

And it had felt good. That was the worst part. Not in a way that he was remotely proud of. But in the brief moment when he’d yelled at you, when you had gone quiet, when he had regained control over the situation, he had felt something sickeningly familiar.

And he had to get away from that. From you.. Because you didn’t deserve to be loved by someone who might, at any moment, become a monster.

You were better off hating him. Better off gone because it was just his voice last night that he had raised, but who knew when his hand would follow it too and he knew he didn't want that for you, he couldn't be the man who'd make you smile through a busted lip.

He swallowed hard as he stepped out of the bathroom and began walking slowly to Patricia’s door. He didn’t go inside. Just leaned against the frame. She was still here, she was all he had. But she won't be here for long, he didn't even know how to live in a world that didn't have her.

He promised to himself that he would give her everything, Every waking minute he had left with her. And he would do it alone.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Because maybe that’s what he deserved. To lose the two people he loved the most in this world, one to her illness and the other to the man that he was bound to become someday.

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted @a-differentbrandof-beans @kikibit @venuslayla23-blog @somedayimagines @sn0wybowie-blog

[followyourfleart]

ᴄʟᴀᴜsᴇ 𝟷𝟹: ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴘᴏɪɴᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀʏs

Word Count: 20.8 k

Pervious/Next

You haven’t looked at Joel in over fifteen hours.

Not a glance. Not a flicker of eye contact. Not even when you passed him this morning at the lounge, close enough to smell his damn cologne—woodsy and warm.

You were erasing him.

Erasing him the way he’s tried to erase every good thing that’s ever passed between you—your panic attack, all those damn days he picked you up. Any piece of a relationship you had built back up with him was gone.

So now? He didn’t exist.

Not to your eyes, not to your thoughts, not to your carefully curated body language that screamed thriving, untouched, unbothered.

Even if your stomach hadn’t stopped twisting since last night.

Even if you still felt the heat of his words like a fresh bruise under your skin.

The lunch break was held in one of the larger banquet halls—rows of white-linen tables dressed up with salad forks and chicken breast and a keynote speaker whose voice blurred into the background like static. Conversations hummed around you. Laughter drifted. Everyone else was networking, smiling, angling.

But not you.

You sat at Table Eleven, spine straight, outfit flawless, face like porcelain under conference lighting.

Tommy was across from you.

Nervous.

Watching you the way someone watches a ticking clock they can’t defuse.

To your right, a senior rep from Morina Tech asked a question about Miller & Miller’s project capabilities. You answered smoothly, eyes never once flicking toward the far end of the room, where Joel sat.

Two tables over.

Silent.

Staring.

You could feel his eyes on you. Burning. Dragging over your profile like a weight you refused to acknowledge.

Tommy cleared his throat. “You sleep okay?” he asked casually, the corners of his mouth twitching in that please don’t kill me sort of way.

You didn’t look up from your plate.

“Perfectly,” you said.

He nodded. Slowly. “Good. Uh… Good.”

Another beat of silence.

“Joel didn’t.”

You finally looked up at him, cool and composed. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

Tommy winced. “Y’know, for someone who’s pretendin’ not to care, you’ve got that face you wore when a boy back in high school tried to copy off your chem final.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

The silver met porcelain with a soft clink, the sound neat, controlled—unlike the heat crawling under your skin.

Then you turned your head, just slightly, and tilted your chin toward him with the kind of cool, precise detachment that should’ve made your meaning clear.

“I don’t care.”

Tommy just stared at you.

And then—he laughed. Not mean. Just tired.

“Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t think I do either. But I’m still gonna tell you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

He ignored you.

“Didn’t cry or anythin’, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” Tommy said, keeping his voice low, tucked into the clatter of silverware and dull keynote buzz behind him. “Joel’s not the cryin’ type. You know that.”

You gave a dry, unimpressed look. “If you think emotionally guiltripping me is going to work, your mistaken Tommy.”

Tommy’s mouth tugged down at the corners, ignoring you. “He just… sat there.”

You didn’t mean to react. Not even a flicker.

But something in your stomach curled with concern. You had to pause your eating, took a deep breath to calm yourself, and continued.

Tommy kept going. “When we got to his room, I asked what the hell happened, and he just—looked at me. Like I’d asked him to explain how water was wet.”

You looked out the window at two fighting birds. A big raven and a smaller sparrow. You hoped the little one won.

“Just sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for like… an hour.” Tommy added. “You know Joel. He can sit in silence when he’s stewin’, but this wasn’t that. This was different.”

You didn’t ask how. Didn’t ask what he meant. But your hands were suddenly still. Your food has been forgotten.

“He said one thing, finally,” Tommy said. “Didn’t even look up when he said it.”

You closed your eyes for half a second.

Don’t ask, you warned yourself. Don’t care.

Tommy looked at you. Voice even.

“He said, ‘I ruined it again.’”

The breath stalled in your throat.

Tommy didn’t look away.

“And then he got up. Walked to the window. Just stood there, hands on his hips, like the view was gonna offer some kind of answer. But clearly, it didn’t.”

You blinked down at your plate, rage and shame and something else surging like a wave behind your ribs—thick and hot and bitter.

And then you stood.

Slow. Measured. Every motion deliberate as you slid your chair back from the table, the legs dragging just enough to turn heads.

You leveled him with a stare. Sharp. Fractured.

“I love you,” you said, voice low, each word precise and clipped, “but you don’t get to sit here and preach about Joel’s character when you don’t even know what happened.”

Tommy frowned. “I didn’t say—”

“Yes you did,” you snapped. “Ask him what he said. Then you can decide if you want to carry water for him.”

He fell silent.

Good.

You grabbed your plate with a graceful efficiency, not bothering to acknowledge the awkward hush that had settled around the table. Just turned on your heel, heels echoing against the hotel ballroom floor as you strode toward the catering return.

You dumped the barely touched food into the disposal bin and set the plate down with a calmness that betrayed the thrum in your chest.

You were done.

Done being told how Joel felt. Done being briefed on his silence, his sadness, his sleepless guilt. If he was so fucking wrecked, he could use his voice. He could find his feet and come talk to you.

But he hadn’t.

And that told you everything you needed to know.

You reached into your blazer pocket, fingers finding your phone. A few new messages. You scanned them quickly, eyes flicking over names and logos.

One stood out.

[Benita Rojas – Acquisition Director, Marlowe Group]:  Hey, we’re circling up in Room 42C to dive deeper into that East Quarter bid. Would love your insight if you’re free right now.

You stared at the screen for a second.

One of the seven you’d met yesterday.

Someone that mattered.

You inhaled deeply. Composed yourself.

A little imaginary dust clung to your pencil skirt, so you flicked it off—two light swipes across the fabric. Smoothing it. Re-centering.

Then you adjusted your blazer at the collar, checked your reflection in the glass of the hallway sconce, and walked.

[YOU]: Of course! Heading there now.

No hesitation.

No backward glances.

The elevator dinged as you approached. A small group stepped out—laughter, lanyards, idle chat—but you slipped between them like a ghost.

Inside the elevator, you pressed the button for the fourth floor—where the boardrooms were.

Your reflection stared back at you in the brushed metal doors.

Chin up.

Back straight.

Lips tight.

And when the doors closed, you let out the smallest, slowest exhale.

Not weakness. Calibration.

The kind of breath you take before a knife goes in clean.

By the time the elevator reached the fourth floor, your face was back to flawless. Controlled. You rolled your shoulders once beneath the blazer, smoothed your skirt again, and stepped out with the confidence of someone who had already won.

Room 42C was at the end of the hall—glass walls, frosted door, big round table inside surrounded by six of the sharpest people you'd seen all day Suits, coffee, papers spread. A few recognized you immediately. One or two nodded like they’d been hoping you’d show.

Benita Rojas rose from her chair when you entered, hand extended.

“Glad you could make it,” she said, smiling. “We were just talking about you.”

You returned her smile with just the right amount of warmth. “All good things, I hope.”

“Depends on how attached you are to impressing boardrooms. You may have set the bar too high.”

The others chuckled—soft, professional—but is was hard to tell if they were being genuine.

You took your seat at the open chair near the center, folding your hands lightly atop the legal pad they’d left for you. One glance across the table told you this wasn’t just a quick test in the waters—it was a real opportunity.

“So,” Benita said, “we’ve been circling this East Quarter project for months. Problem is, everyone we’ve brought in to consult seems more interested in selling flash than in building anything that’ll last.”

“That’s because they don’t understand the neighborhood,” you said easily, already clicking your pen into position. “They see raw land and dollar signs. Joel and Tommy see roots. Legacy.”

Benita raised a brow. “You speak for both of them?”

“I don’t have to.” you replied. “Their work does.”

That earned a nod. A few tapped their pens, eyes sharpening.

Another man leaned forward. “Tell me about their vision.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You laid it all out—clean, commanding, passionate without being overzealous. You spoke of modular design and integrated sustainability. You quoted Joel’s exact phrasing from a project meeting. You explained Tommy’s focus on local labor, how their subcontractor rotation built up more than just revenue—it built reputation.

You described the plots they’d already acquired. The prep work. The existing timeline. The ideal permits that are already in progress.

You answered every question before it finished being asked.

And they listened.

Really listened.

Benita’s eyes gleamed. Another exec turned toward his colleague and muttered something under his breath that made her smile.

By the time you were done, someone at the end said exactly what the room was already feeling.

“This is the first pitch we’ve heard that actually sounds like it gives a shit.”

You smiled, small and polite.

“I’m not here to be the middleman,” you said. “I’m here to make sure people like you don’t overlook people like them.”

Benita leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. “They’re not here, though.”

“No,” you said. “They’re doing just as much work as me. A strong team is a team that must conquer multiple fronts, correct?”

A pause.

Then:

“Got their contact info?”

You didn’t blink. Just reached into your blazer, pulled out two crisp cards, and slid them across the table.

“Joel and Tommy Miller,” you said. “You want this deal to mean something? Call them directly. I’ll make sure they’re expecting you.”

Benita took the cards. Read both.

“We’ll reach out by end of week,” she said. “See if we can get something signed.”

You nodded once. “Great.”

And just like that—you stood. Smoothed your blazer. Shook hands, firm and sure, with every person at the table.

You exited the boardroom with a nod, heels clicking confidently against the soft carpet. You didn’t look back.

Not until the frosted glass door whispered shut behind you.

And then, just like that, you were alone again.

The silence in the hallway felt thicker now—like the echo of that pitch still pulsed in the air, like your own voice had etched itself into the drywall.

You walked toward the elevator, fingers brushing down the sleeves of your blazer in slow, thoughtful strokes. It was muscle memory by now—dusting yourself off even when there was nothing visible to wipe away. You adjusted the collar. Rolled your shoulders back.

But when you reached the elevator panel and you mindlessly pressed the down button, your stomach twisted.

Where were you even going?

Back to the lobby?

To that lunch room filled with lanyards and coffee breath and people you couldn’t stomach looking in the eye—not with the ghost of last night still clawing at your spine?

Back to the table with Tommy?

Back to Joel?

No.

Not Joel.

You couldn’t even picture his face without feeling that sting in your chest again, anger for what he said, guilt for what you yelled. Couldn’t even imagine standing in the same air as him without seeing the way his jaw tightened when he spoke those words like they cost him nothing.

Guess it wasn’t just me, huh?

And you couldn’t live with the fact that you let him get under your skin again.

The elevator dinged, and you hesitated.

You could feel the shape of your own uncertainty in the way your feet stayed planted. The way your hand hovered just a beat too long before stepping inside.

And even when the doors closed behind you, you didn’t press a floor.

You just stood there. Lips parted slightly, heart still racing—not with nerves, but with the ugly, lingering heat of everything unresolved.

You needed to do something.

Anything to scrub the feeling off your skin.

You opened your phone again and scanned the conference schedule. Panels, breakouts, luncheons, vendor expos, meet-and-greets. A mess of opportunity and obligation.

None of it called to you.

But then—

Your eyes caught something else.

A small listing near the bottom of the conference's recommended excursions page. Something offsite. Optional.

Architectural Restoration Tour: Mid-Century Gems of East Dallas

Hosted by MODBuilt Historical | Thurs. Afternoon | Shuttle departs from hotel parking lot, 12:45 PM sharp

Your eyes skimmed the rest:

Explore original Eichler-style residential structures and lesser-known commercial buildings from the 1950s and ’60s. Led by preservationist group MODBuilt. Walking required. No RSVP needed—just show up and bring your curiosity.

You stared at the line "just show up."

It was barely a blip on the schedule. Sandwiched between larger events, printed like an afterthought.

But something about it—

The simplicity. The quiet. The honesty of it.

It was the first thing you’d seen in hours that didn’t make your chest feel like a locked drawer.

No panels. No networking. No real speaking

Just buildings.

History.

Quiet.

Space.

When the elevator opened on the lobby floor, you didn’t hesitate.

You didn't head toward the lunch room where more people gathered or check the schedule pinned outside the conference center. You didn't look for Tommy. You didn't glance around for Joel.

You walked past the reception desk, skirt catching a breeze as you moved, and found yourself slipping out the glass front doors like a ghost.

The Dallas heat met you like a wall, thick and warm even for spring, but you didn’t mind it. Your heels clicked along the paved hotel drive until you reached the back lot where the shuttles waited, parked under faded white signs and a sleepy midday sun.

A small bus idled quietly at the end of the row. A placard in the front window read MODBuilt Tour in blocky Sharpie.

There weren’t many people yet—just two women chatting near the door, a man with a disposable camera around his neck, and a college-age kid in a wrinkled UT Austin shirt holding a water bottle and yawning.

Perfect.

You stepped up into the shuttle without a word, slipped into a window seat near the middle, and sat still.

Your blazer stayed on. Your legs crossed at the ankle. Your hands folded tightly in your lap.

Only when the engine revved, and the driver called for final boarding, did your shoulders begin to fall from where they’d been locked beneath your ears all morning.

The bus pulled out of the hotel lot with a soft jolt, and you shifted to look out the window. The city rolled by slowly—sunlight glinting off parked cars, crumbling brick buildings interrupted by stretches of open lot and half-finished construction sites.

And for the first time in what felt like hours—maybe days—your mind went quiet.

No Joel.

No Tommy.

No echo of your own voice thrown like knives across a hotel hallway. Just concrete. Trees. The distant shape of power lines cutting the sky.

You let your forehead rest against the glass.

No one on the bus really spoke. The two women near the front were murmuring softly between themselves, passing a map back and forth. The college kid had put in wired earbuds and slumped deeper into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded. The guy with the disposable camera had already taken three pictures before the first stoplight.

You just breathed.

Twenty minutes later, the bus curved off a side road into a quiet East Dallas neighborhood—a low-slung cluster of streets, dotted with ranch-style homes and narrow gravel driveways. You spotted one or two plaques hammered into front lawns: MODBuilt 1956, Preservation in Progress, and a wooden sign that simply said: History lives here.

The driver opened the door and called over his shoulder, “‘Right, folks. We’ll be walkin’ about half a mile. Stick with the group, wear your hats if you brought ‘em. Let’s stay out of the flower beds this time.”

You stepped down onto the pavement, the concrete warm through the soles of your heels. Ironic, but this was your punishment for being spontaneous. 

The guide, a thin man in linen with a straw hat and a folder full of floor plans, launched into his spiel. You drifted to the back of the group, letting the other four cluster around him while you stayed at a nice distance, eyes drifting over the first house’s window design—long panes, a cantilevered roof, and a gentle slope of stairs leading to a mint-green door.

You weren’t really listening. Not to the history, not to the structural talk. It all buzzed in the air around you, pleasant and forgettable.

The man with the disposable camera clicked another shot just to your left, the mechanical whir soft but sudden.

You glanced at him.

He noticed your eyes like a hawk, and before you could look away, he gave you a small smile. “You always do this kind of thing in heels?”

You looked down at your feet. Then back up.

“They’re not so bad once you get used to them.”

He nodded, as if that confirmed something. “That’s what all the ladies on my team said this morning.”

You arched a brow, only mildly curious. “You here for a work trip?”

“Yeah,” he said, snapping another photo of the house’s overhang. “Some conference. A drag if you ask me, but the boss wants it so…”

Snap!

He glanced back at you, friendly and harmless. “But I didn’t think I’d see a fellow suit on a walking tour.”

You gave a tight smile. “I could say the same.”

He laughed, hands slipping into the pockets of his khakis as he leaned back to look at the roofline. “My wife’s always after me to get out more. Says I spend too much time in glass buildings and not enough looking at the real ones. Told me to take at least one afternoon of this trip and do something that didn’t involve fluorescent lighting or budgets.”

You tilted your head. “So this was your compromise?”

He grinned. “She gave me a list. This was the least yoga-forward.”

“She sounds nice,” you said after a beat, adjusting your blazer as you slowed near the edge of the sidewalk.

The man beside you grinned down at the disposable camera in his hands. “She’s an Energizer Bunny in a five-two body. Never met a room she couldn’t command in ten seconds or less.”

You smiled, something warmer creeping in. That phrase—Energizer Bunny—made something itch at the edge of your memory, but you didn’t catch it yet. You were too focused on his tone, the casual affection there. This was the kind of man who really loved his wife. It softened something in you.

“This is going to sound stupid… but are you here for S.U.C.K.I.T?”

He laughed, full and warm “Ridiculous name, right?”

“Totally…” You dragged on, still looking at him. “Who are you with?”

“Blue West Syndicate. Marketing division”

Your heart thud so loud you were worried it would sound like a siren. “You’re with Blue West?”

“Mmhm,” he said casually. “Brought a few guys out from the Austin office to cover it. You too, going off all the questions your asking me.”

You shrugged lightly. “Something like that.”

That earned a small, surprised laugh from you—quiet and barely audible, but it was there. And for a moment, things felt normal. Just a man in khakis. Just you in your heels, catching your breath.

But Blue West echoed in your skull like a warning bell.

Even if this guy—casual, camera-happy, with that sheepish smile—felt like the opposite of Zane Keller, the name of the company still tasted sour in your mouth.

Still… you let the conversation live a little longer. The silence between houses was too peaceful to shatter just yet.

He turned to you then and extended a hand, camera tucked under his arm. “I’m being rude. Conference or not, it’s weird to walk beside someone for ten minutes and not know their name. Daniel. Daniel Lovelace.”

You froze.

Your feet didn’t stop, but they stuttered. One foot catching the edge of a divot in the concrete—just enough to make your heel skid. Not enough to fall, but enough to make you wobble slightly and force a half step to recover.

He noticed.

“You alright?” he asked, a little startled.

But you were already blinking, eyes wide. “Wait… Lovelace?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Daniel Lovelace?”

He laughed now, sheepish. “There a problem?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed again.

“You’re—” You stopped walking altogether and turned toward him fully. “You’re Gracie Lovelace’s husband?”

He blinked. “Wait, how do you know Gracie?”

And then it hit you. Full-on. A floodlight in your brain.

The snake tattoo. The bar in Austin last month. Gracie, flushed with tequila and laughter, dragging you by the hand to the parlor down the block and begging you to go first so you wouldn’t chicken out.

“My husband’s some marketing guy for a company I don't remember the name for. Something... something blue... I don't remember…”

You nearly laughed. “Holy shit.”

Daniel’s brow lifted. “Is that a good holy shit or a bad holy shit?”

You shook your head, still stunned. “I’m the reason your wife has that snake tattoo.”

He blinked once.

Then twice.

And then—

 A full-bodied, from-the-stomach laugh burst out of him.

“Oh my God—you’re her bad influence.”

You clutched your stomach, grinning now. “She’s just as bad as an influence on me. I got my own tattoo to prove it.”

You both stood there now, near the chain-link fence of a mid-century duplex, grinning like fools.

“She’s been talking about you for weeks,” he added. “Grew up with you, right? Arlington?”

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Small town, everyone knew everyone. But we didn’t really talk much until last month—ran into each other at a church. Which was funny, cause we went to a bar and got super drunk.”

Daniel barked another laugh, head falling back slightly. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Half the reason I married her was because I knew she'd always be the most unpredictable person in any room.” He looked at you for a beat. “She’ll be so pissed I met you like this.”

You were smiling again, genuinely now. A rare, slow kind of smile that didn’t feel plastic. For the first time since you stepped into that god-awful ballroom yesterday, you didn’t feel like you were trying to survive anything.

But the moment felt slightly ruined. The thought that Blue West was right there, and now it was gone because of Zane Keller and his handsy entitlement and his whispered venom and Joel’s intrusion. Your chest tightened slightly.

“Well, I have to say, it would be awkward after our bridge was burned from last night. I’m sorry Zane was… attacked.” you admitted, tone lowering just a bit. You didn’t mean it, but it wasn’t a good habit to gossip about someone to their co-worker. “After last night.”

Daniel’s expression shifted—still kind, but curious now. “You mean the Zane thing?”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. That.”

He whistled, short and dry. “Hell of a way to end a mixer.”

You winced. “I—look, I’m sorry again if it caused any backlash. Things just… escalated.”

Daniel held up a hand.

“No, don’t apologize. I was halfway across the room and even I could tell that guy was pushing his luck.” He leaned in slightly, voice dipping conspiratorially as he glanced over his shoulder, like Zane might slither out from behind the row of hedges. “Truth is, he’s new. And worse, he knows it. Cocky as hell, but can’t take a no to save his life—in any department. Professional or romantic.”

Your mouth twitched. “So that’s not… a one-time thing?”

“Oh no,” Daniel said, folding his arms with a sigh. “That’s Zane. Capital Z. We’ve had HR complaints so early and so frequently that the Austin team has a betting pool for when he’s gonna tank his own future.”

You blinked. It was strange to think that Zane lived in the city as you. “That’s horrifying.”

Daniel shrugged, but there was sympathy in his eyes. “It is. And I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it. Honestly, you handled it better than most. And the way he got bodied was probably the best thing to happen that night.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “I blacked out for most of it.”

“Well, for the record,” he added, reaching into the inner pocket of his sport coat, “If you had burned a bridge, I’d be the one building a new one.”

He pulled out a card—clean, crisp, with Daniel Lovelace – Head Strategy Development | Blue West Syndicate embossed in clear navy ink. He held it between two fingers and offered it out to you.

You hesitated for just a second. Then took it.

“I know you’re here on behalf of your company,” Daniel continued. “I don’t know the full story, but I’ve been in enough pitch rooms to recognize prep when I see it. You’ve got the look of someone who knows what the hell they’re talking about.”

You glanced down at the card again, heart thudding.

“If you’ve got a proposal,” he said, “Send it. Email, phone, courier pigeon—I don’t care. Doesn’t have to go through Zane. Hell, don’t even mention Zane. I’ll make sure it gets to the right people.”

For a moment, you didn’t speak. The card felt like a lifeline.

Because you hadn’t been sure. Not really. After last night, after Joel’s outburst, after everything you said—you were afraid you’d torched not just a potential client but very first impression to everyone in that ballroom.

But now?

Now, someone had seen you.

You slid the card into your pocket, smoothing your expression. “Is a last minute meeting tonight count?”

Daniel laughed again, “Immediately diving in, huh? I like you.” He snapped another picture “Why the hell not? There’s a reason why I’m the head for this little team. Just make it good and your golden.”

“Thank you, Daniel. Really.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “If you’re the one who gave my wife the snake tattoo story she’s been dining out on for a month, then I owe you.”

You shook your head, laughing softly again. “She gave that snake lipstick. It’s glittery.”

He grinned. “That sounds right.”

The tour guide’s voice carried over from a few feet away, corralling the group back toward the sidewalk.

Daniel gave you a small wave. “I’m heading back to the hotel after this. But seriously—you have your meeting. Gracie’ll kill me if I don’t follow through.”

You watched him rejoin the group, camera already back in his hands.

And for the first time in two days—hell, maybe two weeks—you felt the smallest breath of wind at your back.

Finally, things were starting to change.

Finally, someone was listening.

❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜

December 31st, 1988

The party had crept into every corner of the Miller house.

Voices spilled out of the kitchen, laughter echoed down the hallway, and the floor vibrated beneath your feet thanks to a worn stereo system playing Mötley Crüe two decibels too loud. The smell of barbecue, cheap cologne, and winter-dried pine needles clung to every surface. It was warm. Chaotic. Loud.

You didn’t mind. Not really.

Your plastic cup was half-full with a flat punch, and a paper plate of beans and brisket balanced against your hip as you stood near the fireplace, watching people drift past.

Lorraine floated over to you, her hair still perfectly curled despite the heat of the house. She placed a gentle hand on your arm, soft and smiling.

“Sweetheart, you mind lookin’ for Joel? Haven’t seen him in a bit.”

You swallowed your mouthful of cornbread and nodded. “Sure. Want me to tell him to come see you?”

“Just wanna know he hasn’t wandered off.” she said with a small laugh. “He gets strange ‘round New Year’s.”

You raised a brow. “Weirder than usual?”

She swatted your arm gently, already drifting away with a wink.

You set your plate down and slipped through the crowd.

The living room was full of people you recognized. Mr. Sanford from the hardware store, his new girlfriend in tow. That strange woman from your dad’s job who always wore too much perfume and kept trying to flirt with Tommy. And your dad himself was planted near the fireplace, glass in hand, deep in conversation with Raymond, as usual.

You ducked past them and made your way to the hallway. The bathroom door was shut, the light on inside. You paused and knocked.

A dramatic groan came from behind it. “Dude. Jesus. I’m gonna miss New Year’s at this rate—”

“Tommy?” you asked, stifling a laugh.

The door rattled. “Unless my dad’s takin’ a dump and changin’ names, yeah.”

“God, you’re disgusting,” you muttered, already turning away.

“Tell my Mom it’s the chili,” he called after you. “That shit’s evil.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping backwards to go back from where you came. You glanced up the stairs, and then climbed two at a time, the old wood creaking under your socks. Joel’s bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door half-closed. You knocked softly, then pushed it open.

Empty.

The bed was made, the room mostly untouched except for an unzipped duffel near the dresser. You stood in the doorway for a second, chewing the inside of your cheek. Maybe he bailed. Wouldn’t be the first time Joel decided the best way to celebrate anything was to disappear.

You turned to leave—

But something caught your eye.

Movement.

You stepped toward the window in the hallway. The glass was cool against your knuckles as you leaned closer, peering through the foggy pane.

There he was.

Outside.

Sitting on the edge of the truck bed with his boots planted on the bumper, a guitar resting against his thigh. Head down. Elbows on knees.

The rest of the world faded.

You exhaled slowly and turned around.

Down the stairs. Past the bathroom door, where Tommy was still groaning. Past the kitchen where someone had lit sparklers inside like it was a good idea. Through the front door, which creaked on its hinge as you eased it open.

The night air was cold and sharp as it hit your face. Crisp in that late-December way that made your breath puff white, but not enough to keep you from stepping barefoot onto the cold concrete.

You padded across the front yard and stopped a few feet from the truck.

Joel didn’t look up.

The porch light threw his silhouette into soft relief—one shoulder hunched, the other relaxed around the guitar, fingers ghosting over the strings like he wasn’t really playing. Just thinking.

You stayed quiet for a beat. Then:

“Didn’t know the party moved out here.”

His head lifted slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder.

When his eyes landed on you, he blinked once. “Didn’t know anyone was lookin’.”

You shrugged. “Your mom sent me. Said you were doing your usual New Year’s disappearing act.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. Barely. “Well. She ain’t wrong.”

The quiet stretched. You stepped closer and leaned a hip against the tailgate.

Joel made a vague grunt, eyes back on the horizon. The lights from the neighbor’s yard blinked slowly—blue, then red, then green again. Some sad little string of bulbs that hadn’t been replaced since ‘85.

“You hiding from someone or just brooding for fun?” You tucked your arms across your chest.

“Neither.”

“Liar.”

Another twitch of his mouth. That tiny almost-smile. The one he did when he wasn’t sure if he liked what you said or wanted to argue with it.

You didn’t push. Just exhaled and leaned a little heavier against the truck bed, the cold metal seeping into your thighs and side.

“I’ve got resolutions,” you said after a beat.

Joel glanced sideways. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “Made a whole list. Wrote it down and everything. Color-coded.”

He snorted. “Color-coded?”

“Don’t judge me,” you warned, lifting your chin. “You can take the girl out of color-coding, but you can’t take the color-coding outta the girl.”

Joel didn’t reply, but he shifted slightly on the edge of the bed, his body angled more toward you now, brows arched with something that looked dangerously close to interest.

You grinned to yourself. Then ticked your fingers off, counting.

“One: stop procrastinating. For real this time. No more waiting until the last minute for things like… taxes. Or oil changes. Or Christmas shopping.”

“Should probably knock that one off the list now,” Joel muttered.

You ignored him.

“Two: read more books. Something for fun. Like romance. Or murder.”

“Those’re two real different kinds of books.”

“Not as different as you’d think.”

He chuckled, the low, warm kind that rumbled in his chest.

“Three: go out more. Meet new people. Do not get stuck in a routine.”

Joel’s expression flattened slightly. “That one sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, come on. You make it sound like I’m gonna join a cult.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing. They give you free clothes, I hear.”

You rolled your eyes. “Four: stop biting my nails. Five: stop arguing with my dad about every damn thing. Six: drink more water. And—”

You hesitated.

Joel looked over, brow quirked. “That it?”

“No,” you said, voice just a touch softer now. “Seven: learn how to play guitar.”

That got a reaction.

Joel actually turned to look at you, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and skeptical.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck immediately. “What?”

“Guitar,” he repeated, like the word tasted weird in his mouth. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you said defensively, arms folding across your chest. “Why is that so shocking?”

He stared at you for a second longer. Then—

He laughed.

Not a small chuckle. A full, deep, from-the-gut laugh that took over his whole face, made his shoulders shake, and echoed across the yard.

You flushed hot. “Oh my God.” You slapped his arm. “Shut up, I’m serious!”

Joel twisted away just in time to dodge your second swat, still laughing like you’d just confessed something scandalous. “You? With your dainty little hands and your fancy school handwritin’? Playin’ guitar?”

“I will have you know,” you said, squinting at him, “I have excellent finger dexterity.”

That made it worse. Joel choked, leaning forward with one hand over his mouth as he tried to smother the rest of his laugh.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, grinning despite yourself.

He finally caught his breath, wiping under his eyes like he’d been crying. “Nah. I just—I didn’t expect it, is all.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away slightly, watching your breath curl into the night air.

“I’ve always liked it,” you said after a beat, quieter now. “The sound of it. The way it looks when someone really knows what they’re doing. I don’t know. It just… stuck with me. Even when we weren’t getting along, I’d hear you playing from your room sometimes. Drove me nuts how good you were.”

Joel didn’t say anything. But his hand stilled over the strings.

“I used to think you were showing off.” you added.

Silence.

And then, softer than you’d ever heard him, Joel spoke, “I wasn’t playin’ for anyone.”

You looked over. His eyes were down again. On his guitar. But his thumb rubbed slow circles into the neck of it. Like it grounded him. Like it kept him from saying something else.

Your voice was soft. “Maybe you could teach me.”

That surprised him again. His head snapped up. “What?”

“Just… show me a chord. Or something. I won’t tell anyone. Swear.”

Joel studied you for a moment, eyes narrowed like he was waiting for the punchline.

But you just looked at him.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease.  Just waited, chin tucked slightly down, like you were afraid if you looked him dead in the eyes, it might crack the moment in half.

And—eventually—Joel shifted.

He cleared his throat, glanced down at the space beside him on the truck bed, and scooted to the side, making room. “C’mon.”

You climbed up, hands cold from the night air, your dress fabric too thin to fight the breeze. The metal creaked under your weight, and for a second it felt like you were fifteen again—sneaking out of the house, hopping fences and trucks and roofs like there was nothing on earth to lose.

Joel adjusted his guitar, looking like he was about to hand it over to you.

But you didn’t move to take it.

You just looked at him. “That’s not gonna work.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You—you’re gonna have to show me where to put my fingers and stuff, right?”

Joel hesitated. “Well, yeah.”

You shifted your legs up, tucking them in with a little hop, and settled in between his knees.

Joel froze. Actually froze—back straight, arms suspended mid-motion, face slack with startled alarm.

You tilted your head up toward him. “Relax, Miller. I’m not gonna bite.”

He didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his throat worked—one hard swallow.

You smirked. “Just teach.”

With a stiff breath, Joel adjusted the strap over his shoulder and reached the guitar around you, looping it so the body rested against your thighs, the neck arcing out past your hand.

It was warm. Worn. The curve of it settled easily between you both, resting partly on his leg, partly across yours. And Joel—sitting behind you now, with your back brushing his chest—seemed suddenly unsure where to put his hands.

He cleared his throat again, voice low. “You, uh—right there. That’s the A string.”

You nodded, lifting your hand awkwardly toward the frets.

“No—here,” he said, and then his hand wrapped around yours, gently guiding your fingers into position.

His touch was steady. Warm. Calloused. It was your turn to swallowed hard.

“Middle finger goes here,” he murmured, and you tried not to flinch as he adjusted it for you. “Ring there. Press firm.”

You did.

“Harder.”

You pressed harder. The string bit into your skin.

Joel leaned in slightly. “Now strum. Slow.”

You dragged your other hand across the strings.

It buzzed.

“Not bad,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Try it again.”

He sat there behind you, quietly correcting your posture, your grip, the tilt of your wrist. The guitar hummed between you, a warm and trembling thing. Joel leaned in close to see your fingers better, and your shoulder grazed his chest.

Neither of you moved to create space.

You just kept strumming—again, and again—until it stopped buzzing, until the chord sang clean.

Joel said nothing for a moment. Then, softly, he murmured, “You’re a fast learner.”

You tilted your head back just slightly, enough to glance up at him.

He was already looking at you.

Too close. Too open. Too still.

You blinked, pulled your eyes away, and cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Color-coded brain.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Right.”

You strummed again. The chord rang cleaner this time. No buzzing. No muting.

You grinned. “Okay. That one didn’t suck.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath behind you. “Didn’t suck is a generous bar.”

You elbowed him lightly. “Don’t ruin my moment.”

“Just sayin’. I’ve seen toddlers with better timin’.”

You gasped dramatically. “Rude.”

“You asked me to teach you, not lie to you.”

You turned your head just enough to glance back at him—his mouth twitching, his eyes soft. You stuck your tongue out, then looked forward again.

A quiet lull passed between you, broken only by the distant thump of bass from inside the house. It was warm where you were. Steady. Safe.

Then, casually: “Okay. Now teach me a song.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

You turned your head again. “You said chord. That was a chord. Now teach me a song. A real one.”

He scoffed. “You’ve played one clean chord.”

“And?” You were grinning now. “You’re the teacher. Isn’t it your job to inspire your student’s ambition?”

“Christ,” he muttered. But you could hear the fondness bleeding through the frustration. After a moment, he said, “Fine. Hot Cross Buns.”

You stared. “Are you serious?”

Joel gave you a deadpan look. “You want ‘Stairway to Heaven’ or somethin’? You’ll break your damn fingers.”

You rolled your eyes, already laughing. “Hot Cross Buns. Okay. Sure. Let’s do this.”

And he did.

One note at a time, slowly, patiently—more patient than you ever would’ve guessed he could be. He guided your fingers over the frets, hummed the rhythm in your ear, tapped your thigh with his fingers to keep time when you couldn’t manage it yourself.

And you messed up. A lot.

You were a full beat behind. You forgot which string was which. You dropped the pick once and nearly fell off the tailgate trying to grab it.

Joel just sat behind you, warm and steady, chuckling softly as he corrected your hands again and again.

But then—after the fifth or sixth try—it came together.

Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they run—

Nope. Not that.

Hot cross buns. Hot. Cross. Buns.

You strummed slowly. Measured, clear. And it worked.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “I did it.”

Joel chuckled. “Barely.”

But you didn’t care.

You squealed—a high, delighted sound—and without thinking, leaned backward. Your back landed against his chest. Warm. Solid. Familiar.

“Did you hear that?” you giggled, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. “I actually did it!”

Joel didn’t answer.

You were pressed against him now. Laughing. Glowing. Your head tipping back into the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His fingers were still hovering near the neck of the guitar. You could feel the curve of your spine against his chest. The scent of his shampoo. The soft tickle of his hair brushing your face.

He didn’t breathe.

You looked up at him again. “See? You are a good teacher.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well… I've got patience.”

You laughed, oblivious to the way his jaw was clenched. “Hot Cross Buns. I feel like I just graduated from Juilliard.”

Joel huffed another quiet breath. His eyes dropped to your hands. Your arms. Your profile.

Then he slowly, carefully shifted just enough to sit upright again.

“Alright,” he said roughly, shifting the guitar away from you. “That’s enough music for one night.”

You blinked up at him. “Wait, what? You’re cutting me off?”

Joel didn’t look at you, just reached to unloop the strap from around his neck, the motion a little too stiff, a little too fast. “Yeah. You did your little concert.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, hopping down from the truck bed and coming around to his side. “I still haven’t heard you play.”

Joel shot you a look. “You don’t need to.”

“Joel,” you whined, dragging out his name like a child denied dessert. “Come on!”

“I ain’t that good,” he muttered.

You blinked. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

“I’m serious,” he said, shrugging. “I mess up a lot. I don’t play like I used to.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “You’ve been playing since you could move your fingers. You used to skip class and play in the stairwell. Tommy told me.”

His jaw tensed. “Tommy talks too damn much.”

“And you avoid compliments like they’ll kill you,” you fired back. “C’mon. Just one song.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He glanced out across the yard—the shadows stretching long from the porchlight, the faint sound of music drifting through the open windows. The murmur of voices. Laughter. Fireworks in the distance, still a little early.

You moved to sit beside him—this time not in front of him, not pressed against him. Close, but casual. Like you’d always done this. Like this peace had been years in the making instead of slow, tentative months of learning not to hate each other.

“Fine,” he mumbled, eyes still forward. “But if I mess up, you don’t get to laugh.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

He settled the guitar back in his lap. Tuned a few strings. His shoulders relaxed a little, the tension rolling off with every flick of his fingers over the frets.

Then, without preamble, he began to play.

It was a quiet song. No vocals. Just fingerpicking. Clean and gentle and warm, the kind of melody that felt like honey pouring through your ribs. It was slow, deliberate—not sad, exactly, but thoughtful.

You watched him. Not his hands—though they moved with the kind of muscle memory that made it obvious he’d played this song a thousand times—but him.

His face. His eyes. His jaw unclenched for the first time all night. His brow smooth. There was something different about him like this, something unguarded and soft. Like the music reached inside and loosened all the bolts he kept locked down.

And you were quiet. Still.

Completely unaware of the way your body leaned closer.

By the time he hit the final note, your shoulder was against his, and your knees were almost touching.

He looked up, exhaling, about to make a joke about how rusty he was—but then he saw you.

And paused.

You were staring. Not blinking. Just looking at him like he was something fragile and strange and brand new.

His throat worked. “What?”

You blinked, startled like he’d pulled you out of a trance. “Nothing.”

He arched a brow. “Didn’t look like nothin’.”

“I was just…” You looked away, cheeks flushed with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look different when you play. Like it’s the only time you ever shut up in your head.”

Joel scoffed under his breath. “You sayin’ I’m noisy?”

“In here,” you tapped his temple, grinning. “You overthink everything.”

He looked down at his hands. “Maybe.”

You leaned back a little on your hands, watching him tune a final string even though the guitar didn’t need it. His fingers were steady, but his eyes flicked sideways toward you every few seconds—like he couldn’t help it.

You sighed, dramatic. “God. You’re exhausting.”

Joel’s brow arched. “Excuse me?”

“You,” you said, flopping backward onto the bed of the truck with a huff. “All broody and quiet and guarded. It’s like trying to talk to a locked door.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he muttered.

“You are,” you said cheerfully, hands folding behind your head. “but that’s okay. It’s you. And you’ve got other qualities. Like, um…” You tapped your chin, eyes glinting with mock-seriousness. “That one face you make when you’re trying to do math in your head. You know the one.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Oh, you do.” You sat up just enough to smirk at him. “You scrunch your brow and tilt your head like you’re trying to divide by zero.”

Joel rolled his eyes, already standing to slide off the truck bed. “Alright. Enough. We should go back in. They’re probably countin’ down by now—”

You moved fast.

Hooked your hand around his wrist and pulled.

Joel didn’t resist in time.

With a surprised grunt—more startled than anything else—he tumbled sideways, guitar still hugged to his chest like a shield, landing right beside you with a loud, undignified grunt.

You burst into laughter. Full, bright laughter. Joel blinked up at the sky for a second, flat on his back, the guitar cradled protectively like a baby. “Are you outta your mind?”

“Absolutely,” you said proudly, eyes still shining. “But I figured that was obvious.”

He turned his head, fixing you with an exasperated glare. “You could’ve knocked the strings outta tune.”

“You landed like a feather. Quit whining.”

Joel groaned, sitting up just enough to glance over the side of the truck and make sure no one saw. He glanced toward the house—lights still glowing, voices still muffled and far. The countdown probably hadn’t even started.

He muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked sweetly.

“I said, how the hell’s Tommy managed to put up with you all these years?”

You smirked, reaching up to adjust your hair like you were posing for a magazine. “He hasn’t yet. But I’m his cross to bear.”

Joel shook his head, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

You turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing. “You love it. Admit it.”

“Love what?”

“Me. All of this.” You waved a hand vaguely over yourself, over the situation. “You love the chaos.”

Joel scoffed. “You are the opposite of peace and quiet.”

“And yet here you are,” you teased, inching your fingers toward the strings of his guitar. “Sitting next to me in your truck, under the stars, when you could be inside avoiding me like usual.”

His eyes followed your hand but didn’t stop you. He just shifted slightly so his elbow brushed yours.

You strummed once. A soft note filled the silence.

You smiled. “See? Harmony.”

Joel didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move either.

The music from the house dimmed even more in the distance—nothing but faint cheers, muffled and far away.

You and Joel sat there.

Close. Quiet.

Not quite enemies. Not quite friends. Something else entirely.

You glanced down, fingers curling around Joel’s wrist before he could think to move. He stiffened, surprised at the sudden grab, but didn’t pull away. Your thumb dragged across the face of his watch, the metal warm from his skin.

“Fifty-seven,” you said, squinting at the second hand.

Joel frowned. “What?”

“Fifty-eight.” Your smile sharpened.

He followed your gaze—then made a face, tugging his arm lightly. “Hell. It’s midnight already?”

“Almost,” you corrected, still holding on. “Two minutes.”

“Well, we should go back inside then.” He tired to shift again, nudging the guitar aside. “Your dad’ll be—”

You didn’t move. Just raised your brows and said, casual as anything, “No way. I need my New Year’s kiss.”

Joel stopped.

Mid-motion. Mid-breath.

Froze like a deer in headlights.

“What,” he said flatly.

You tried to keep a straight face. Failed. Burst out laughing at the way his brain visibly short-circuited.

“Oh my god, Joel. I’m messing with you,” you cackled. “You looked like you were about to dive off this truck bed.”

His expression didn’t shift, not really. Still locked between alarm and confusion. But his eyes narrowed, calculating. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s funny?”

“It ain’t.”

“You’re wrong,” you said smugly, resting your chin in your hand. “It’s hilarious.”

Joel gave you a look. “Lord help whoever marries you.”

You gasped like he slapped you. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” he muttered, adjusting the guitar beside him like it had something to do with the conversation.

You huffed. “At least Tommy thinks I’m charming.”

That earned a quick flick of Joel’s eyes. “Tommy?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?” His mouth tightened.

You grinned wickedly. “He’s my usual New Year’s kiss.”

Joel jerked back an inch like you’d just threatened bodily harm. “What?”

You blinked innocently. “What, like that’s weird?”

“You kiss my brother on New Year’s?”

“Every year,” you said sweetly. “It’s tradition. I think it started when we were five.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped.

You tilted your head, watching him. “Wait. Are you—” you leaned closer, “—jealous?”

“What? No.”

You snorted. “You sound jealous.” He turned away, muttering something into his sleeve. You couldn’t catch all of it, but you couldn’t let it go. You grinned wider. “Joel?”

“What.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

You reached up and swatted his arm. “Jesus Christ, calm down. Just cause no one kisses you every year doesn’t mean Tommy and I should become nuns. And it’s not like I kiss him on the mouth. It’s a cheek kiss, you absolute Neanderthal.”

Joel blinked. “You sure?”

“What the hell do you mean, am I sure?” you cried. “Ew. I would never kiss Tommy like that. He’s like my brother. You think I’m out here making out with my honorary sibling every New Year’s?”

Joel didn’t answer. Just rubbed the side of his face, looking slightly more relaxed now. But not by much.

“You really thought I meant that,” you said, genuinely amused now. “Oh my god, that’s so gross.”

“You said ‘kiss,’” he defended.

“Yeah, not ‘tongue down his throat.’”

Joel let out a soft, helpless sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and lay back on the truck bed again, one arm tossed over his face like he wanted to erase the last thirty seconds of his life.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and glanced at Joel’s watch again.

“A minute left,” you said quietly. Joel didn’t move. Just groaned from beneath his arm like a man being dragged toward the gallows. You smiled to yourself, then leaned over slightly. “C’mon,” you said softly. “Kiss my cheek.”

That got his attention.

His arm dropped just enough for one suspicious eye to peek out at you. “The hell I will.”

You blinked at him innocently. “Why not?”

“Because, not doin’ it.” he said, like that was explanation enough.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, flopping dramatically onto your back next to him. “You’re the most stubborn man alive.”

“Good. Keeps people like you in check.”

You twisted your head to look at him, grinning. “Joel, it’s a cheek kiss. We’re friends.”

He snorted.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “We’re friends. And it’s New Year’s. And everyone knows a kiss on New Year’s brings good luck. And God knows I need some.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but his jaw worked silently, like he was biting back about four different sarcastic retorts.

You huffed and rolled onto your side, glaring at him. “You’re really not gonna give me a New Year’s kiss?”

“Nope.”

“Joel—”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine.”

And then—before he could blink—you launched.

He grunted as you practically pounced on him, straddling his lap with no hesitation, grabbing his face in both hands.

“Hey—!”

“You’re a bad luck charm anyway!” you giggled, trying to hold him still. “But maybe if I kiss you, you’ll finally stop being such a stick in the mud—”

“You’re insane—get off—”

“Make me!”

He grabbed your wrists—not rough, but firm—and tried to wrangle them away from his face, twisting with you as you both wrestled like two kids on a trampoline. The guitar was already safe in the corner of the truck bed, so there was nothing stopping either of you from getting a little ridiculous.

You were laughing now, fully, breathless from it. And you swore he chuckled with you.

“C’mon, Joel!” you grinned, still hovering over him. “Let me kiss your goddamn cheek!”

“I swear to God—”

“If you won’t give me luck,” you said, grinning down at him, “Then I’ll give you some.”

Before Joel could even grunt out a protest, you leaned in.

It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t subtle.

You pressed a long, warm, absurdly dramatic kiss to his cheek—hands cupping either side of his face, lips exaggerated and slow like you were a movie star sealing a love letter.

And when you pulled back, you smacked his cheek gently for good measure.

The print of your lipstick—full, perfect, and impossible to miss—was left behind like a brand. Brazen. Loud. Yours.

Joel blinked, stunned, his head tilted slightly like his brain hadn’t caught up to his body.

Then you burst out laughing. Loud, full-bodied, delighted laughter that filled the truck bed and curled into the night air like fireworks.

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, pointing at his cheek. “You’re gonna be scrubbing that off ‘till Easter.”

Joel touched it absentmindedly, but didn’t look away from you. Something strange passed behind his eyes, but you didn’t notice—not yet.

You flopped back onto your back again, the bed of the truck cold against your flushed skin, still giggling, and checked his watch once more.

And then groaned.

“You idiot,” you said, kicking your feet in the air once. “I kissed you too late! We missed midnight!”

Joel didn’t say anything. Just sat up slowly.

Then—while you were distracted, lips parted in mock betrayal and outrage—he lunged.

“HEY—” you yelped as he rolled, flipping onto you with absurd ease so your back was suddenly pressed hard on the cold truck bed and he was above you. One of his knees knocked between your legs as he steadied himself.

He didn’t even seem to register it.

You definitely didn’t.

“JOEL!”

“You gave me bad luck,” he said, voice smug and breathless. “Now I gotta return the favor.”

You squirmed beneath him, swatting at his shoulder. “No—no! That’s not how this works!”

“I don’t give a shit.” he barked, laughing. “You’re gettin’ it!”

You shrieked, still laughing, trying to wiggle away. “Joel! You’re gonna break my ribs!”

He caught your face in one big, warm palm, angling you just enough—and then leaned down dramatically.

His lips pressed against your cheek.

But it wasn’t quite your cheek.

It was dangerously close to your mouth. The corner of it, really. Close enough to make your breath catch. Close enough that if either of you turned just a little—

You didn’t.

Neither did he.

You both froze for half a heartbeat.

Then Joel pulled back slowly, still hovering above you, his other hand braced beside your head. His breathing was uneven. Yours wasn’t much better.

His other hand had landed somewhere in the middle of your thigh—bare, warm, skin to skin just above the hem of your dress—and it stayed there.

You felt it. Every inch of it.

The rough heat of his palm. The gentle press of his fingers. How he wasn’t even pretending to pull away.

You swallowed and broke the tension with a crooked smile, trying to lighten it—trying to breathe.

“Well,” you whispered, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the lipstick mark you left there. “That should give you good luck for a year. At least.”

Still, he didn’t move.

Didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease back.

His eyes were dark and unreadable, flitting between yours, like he was trying to solve something without any words. Like maybe the punchline had slipped away, and all that was left was this—you, underneath him, your legs loosely hitched around his hips, the truck bed creaking softly beneath you both.

And god, you were aware of everything.

His hand on your thigh.

The way the hem of your dress had ridden up, bunched high and higher.

The press of his hips between your legs.

The heat of him. The silence.

Your hair had fallen all around you—wild strands fanned out across the truck bed like a halo. The air smelled like his truck and cold, and the faintest bit of pine needles from the wreath still clinging to the Miller’s front door.

You stared up at him. Eyes wide. Breath shaky.

Something in your chest kicked.

Hard.

And for a second, you were no longer at a New Year’s party. No longer Joel’s friend. No longer Tommy’s little shadow of many years.

You were just a girl. Lying beneath a boy. Watching him look at you like—

No.

You shook it off, told yourself to focus, told yourself to move. But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

And your eyes—stupid, stupid traitors—darted down to his mouth.

Only for a second.

Just a flicker.

But Joel caught it.

His body tensed, like a bowstring drawn too tight. His hand on your thigh twitched. His jaw locked, and something shuttered behind his eyes, like he was trying to shut the whole moment down before it swallowed you both.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

The air was too thick. Too charged.

Your heart was pounding now, loud in your ears, beating against your ribs like it wanted to be heard.

What is happening?

Why wasn’t he moving?

Why weren’t you?

You looked back at him, confused and breathless and suddenly unsure where the lines were anymore.

They’d been so clear, once. You’d hated Joel Miller. Then you tolerated him. Then, somehow, impossibly, you’d ended up friends. But this was another step, his body between your legs, his hand on your thigh, and his mouth so close it felt like the air between you had gone electric.

And then—God help you—you swore he was settling.

His weight shifted, just slightly. His breath ghosted across your cheek, warm and shallow. His lashes dipped like he was about to close the distance, erase the space between you with something real, something that would ruin everything—

BAM!

The sharp slam of the front door shattered everything.

You both jolted.

Joel leapt off you like he’d been caught shoplifting. Practically threw himself to the side, the guitar clattering awkwardly as he rolled up, hand raking through his hair like that could somehow undo the last five minutes.

You bolted upright, heart slamming in your chest, scrambling to smooth your dress and your hair and your damn face before you turned toward the porch.

Raymond Miller stood in the open doorway, one hand gripping the frame like he was physically restraining himself from coming down the steps.

Expression unreadable. Eyes like stone.

You swallowed hard. Joel cleared his throat, voice lower than usual. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

Raymond didn’t blink. Just looked between the two of you once—slowly—and then jerked his chin toward the house.

“You missed the countdown,” he said flatly. “Your mama’s been lookin’ for you.”

Your face went hot. Bonfire hot. You felt it rush up your neck, into your ears, prickling.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “We were just—”

But you caught the shift in his gaze before you could finish. The smallest twitch of his brow. A flicker of something tight across his jaw.

His eyes had landed on Joel’s cheek.

You followed them—only to freeze when you saw it.

The lipstick mark. Your lipstick. Still there, smeared stupid and obvious across the stubble of Joel’s face.

Joel finally clocked the direction of his father’s stare and lifted a hand to swipe it off—but all he did was smudge it. Dragged that color across his cheek like war paint. Made it worse.

You sucked in a sharp breath, turning slightly, pretending to adjust your dress just so you could wipe at your own mouth with the back of your hand. You didn’t even want to know what your face looked like. Your lipstick was definitely not where it had started. God only knew what your hair looked like. Or your flushed cheeks. Or your—

Raymond sighed. Long. Heavy. A sound that belonged more on a battlefield than a porch.

“Inside,” he muttered finally, voice sharp with command. “Both of you. Now.”

You didn’t argue.

You were already moving—feet padding across the wooden porch as you brushed past him and ducked into the warm, crowded house. The party was still going, the music soft now, glasses clinking, voices low and easy. You tried to look normal. Composed.

You didn’t even realize Joel hadn’t followed until you paused just inside and glanced over your shoulder.

There—just beyond the screen door—Joel stood frozen halfway up the steps, guitar slung behind him, mouth still slightly open.

Raymond had a firm grip on his bicep. Not rough. Not loud. But unmistakable.

“Stay a minute,” he said. Quiet. But final. “We need to talk.”

Joel stiffened. “’Bout what?”

You opened your mouth to ask what was going on, nerves flaring—but then Raymond’s eyes flicked to you. And for the first time all night, his expression softened. Just a little.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said. “Just need a word with Joel. About doin’ things right the first time.”

Your brow furrowed. That made no sense.

Was this about missing the countdown? About helping Lorraine with the drinks or being late to something she’d asked him to do?

Joel didn’t look confused, though.

He looked… still.

Too still.

You frowned, but didn’t press.

Instead, you nodded awkwardly, stepping further inside and letting the door shut quietly behind you. The muffled click felt like an ending to something you didn’t quite understand.

❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜

“No.”

You blinked, head snapping up. “Joel—”

“Oh, now you wanna talk?” he bit out, stepping forward like the distance between you was something to challenge. “After six fuckin’ hours of sittin’ in silence? After a whole day actin’ like I don’t even exist?”

You scoffed, sharp and cold. “I’m gonna—”

“Enough!”

Tommy’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot. Both of you froze mid-lunge, breath caught in your throats.

He stood near the dresser, arms thrown out like a human barricade. “Jesus Christ,” he snapped. “You two wanna throw hands? Take it to the parking lot. Otherwise? Sit the hell down and shut the hell up.”

Neither of you moved. You stared at the floor. Joel looked at the ceiling. Neither of you breathed.

Tommy sighed, dragging a hand down his face before turning to dig through the folder on the dresser. The second his back turned, your voice came back—quieter now, lower. But sharp enough to cut glass.

“This is a good idea. It's necessary after pulling that meeting straight out of my ass.”

“No,” Joel snapped. “It’s reckless.”

You took a step forward, finger jabbing the highlighted line on your printout with surgical precision. “It’s a calculated risk. The zoning expansion alone—”

Joel cut you off. “You’re overreachin’.”

“I’m selling. That’s what I do.”

“That’s what you do,” he shot back. “What we do is build. We don’t gamble our company just so you can play CEO in a pencil skirt.”

You stared at him, eyes hot. A flush rising to your skin, not from shame, but fury. Pure, exhausted fury.

You’d been at it since 3 p.m.

Twelve rounds of back-and-forth edits.

Three near-disasters with the proposal formatting.

Two coffees.

Half a protein bar.

A whole rush trying to last minute prep for this meet. It didn’t help you got a whole lot of silence from Joel as he sat across from you, arms crossed, eyes guarded, refusing to give an inch.

And now he wanted to speak?

Now he wanted to fight?

Your jaw locked. You swallowed the scream behind your teeth and forced your voice calm—deadly calm.

Joel didn’t flinch. Arms crossed. Face like stone. “You’ve been struttin’ around this hotel like you’re the second comin’ of Gordon Gekko, and I’m sick of of pretendin’ you don’t need to be knocked down a peg.”

You laughed. Once. Harsh. “No. You’re just the one benefitting while I do all the heavy lifting.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid now,” you growled. “Who got this meeting? Me. Who got Blue West to even consider sitting down with us after what happened with Zane? Me. You think they’d be calling you back if I hadn’t salvaged that disaster in the mixer?”

“Okay,” Tommy muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to the sound of raising voices. “Let’s not start gettin’ violent—”

You ignored him. “I’m not steamrolling, Joel. I’m saving the company. Again.”

“Our company doesn’t need saving from.”

“Then why the hell did Tommy call me to bring me in the first place?”

Tommy lifted a hand like he wanted to disappear.

Joel sneered, “‘Cause he could probably hear your bitchin’ and moanin’ from his house and wanted to get some sleep, so he gave you a job.”

“And it worked great for him. You didn’t have the contacts, you didn’t have the polish, and you sure as shit didn’t have a five-year plan.”

“And now you wanna burn it all down with one Hail Mary pitch?” Joel barked.

“At the cost of thinking bigger,” you fired back. “At the cost of not being afraid to grow.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you do. You grow—then leave.”

That one hit like a brick.

The silence snapped tight.

“Enough.” Tommy’s voice was flat this time. Sharp. Exhausted. He clapped his hands once, loud and sharp. “Jesus Christ. I swear to God, if either of you say one more word, I’m duct-tapin’ you to the damn balcony railin’.”

You folded your arms, while joel muttered something under his breath.

Tommy threw a death glare at you both and started pacing. “I am beggin’ you—both of you—to stop turnin’ every fuckin’ conversation into a war. This is about the business. The future. Clients. Not about who stormed out thirteen years ago, or who body slammed who.”

You flinched slightly. Joel crossed his arms tighter.

Tommy pointed at your folder. “What’s the safer version of this pitch?”

You sighed, mouth a tight line. “We scale back. Focus on residential builds only. No commercial expansions, no city zoning partnerships. Use existing crews. Less revenue, but lower stakes.”

Tommy looked at Joel.

Joel nodded. “That’s a hell of a lot more grounded.”

“And manageable,” Tommy agreed. “We can ease into it. Take pressure off up front.”

You stood still, jaw clenching so tight your teeth ached. “It’s not memorable. Everyone else is doing residential. We’d be blending into the wallpaper.”

Joel shrugged. “Better to be wallpaper than a headline for bankruptcy.”

Tommy hesitated. Then—after a beat—he sighed.

“Alright,” he said. “We go with the safe one.”

You felt it like a slap across the face.

Joel’s exhale sounded like victory.

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Tommy looked at you—noticed the stillness. “It’s not a no,” he said gently. “It’s just a not-yet. We’ll get there. You got us Blue West, and so last minute too. That’s not nothin’.”

You nodded. Sharp. Robotic.

“I’ll draft the revised proposal,” you said tightly. “Make it look clean.”

Joel didn’t say a word.

You sat, opened your laptop, and got to work—typing like the keys owed you money. Every tap felt like surrender.

Tap.

Click.

Delete.

Rewrite.

Back to safe. Back to small. Back to Joel’s comfort zone. It felt like you were deleting every possibility that you sacrificed for.

Behind you, Tommy checked his phone. “I’ve got a meetin’—couple of minutes. I’ll circle back after.” He glanced over to you, opening his mouth to say more.

You didn’t look up.

He sighed so deeply you thought you might be blown back. Then the hotel door clicked open, then shut.

Silence. 

Heavy. Loud. Claustrophobic.

You didn’t turn. But you felt it.

Joel, still there. Watching you.

You kept typing. “Should’ve gone to the lounge,” you muttered. “Would’ve been quieter.”

He didn’t respond.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you added, the bitterness coiling in your voice. “No one’s keeping you here.”

Joel didn’t look up from the chair. Just muttered, “You’re actin’ like a child.”

That did it.

You turned slowly, face flushed, laptop still open like a shield. “I’m acting like a child? Cool. That’s what you do, right? You shut down. You avoid. You hide behind silence because you had to deal with something messy.”

His eyes lifted to yours, slow and dark.

“I didn’t do that to spite you,” he said tightly.

“Oh, sure,” you said, folding your arms, voice airy and clipped. “You just shut down my entire pitch because it was what? Too ambitious? Too bold? Because God forbid we try something different.”

Joel sat back, spreading his knees slightly, one arm hooked over the back of the chair—like he had all the time in the world to deal with your anger.

“God,” you said, half-laughing to yourself as you turned back toward the couch. “Do you even realize how exhausting it is to work with someone who treats every new idea like a threat?”

“Do you know how exhaustin’ it is,” Joel shot back, “To be told over and over that the only way to move forward is your way?”

You froze. “My way?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Your pitch. Your plan. Your contacts. Your schedule. Half the time I feel like I’m just the guy you need for the licensing paperwork.”

You turned back around, arms crossed, chin high. “Well, forgive me for not letting the company stall while you take your sweet time deciding if you’re ready to be bold.”

Joel’s mouth twisted like he wanted to respond, but didn’t. You could see the words behind his teeth—sharp, heavy, blistering.

“You know why I stall?” Voice low, steady. “‘Cause at least when I’m cautious, I don’t wake up wondering what else you’ll abandon when it stops being fun.”

Your heart lurched—but not with hurt. With fury.

“Abandon?” You forced a laugh. “You still on that fairy-tale? The one where you’re the wounded hero and I’m the girl who ran?”

He shrugged. “Shoe fit.”

Something inside you snapped. You shut the laptop, rose slow, every movement razor precise.

Joel’s gaze tracked you, but he didn’t back down. Didn’t apologize.

Fine.

You stepped past him. “You want cautious? Stay right here. It’s safe.” Then, sweeter: “I’ll keep the big-girl decisions out of your way.”

You crossed the threshold to the hall, heels biting the carpet.

Your keycard beeped, door swung open, and you disappeared into the adjacent room, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame.

Back pressed to the door, you sucked a breath through your teeth.

You let the quiet seep into the carpet, into the fabric of your blazer, into the blood still simmering beneath your skin. His words echoed—you grow, then leave. Like it was some kind of curse.

Like ambition made you disloyal. Like movement and hunger and refusing to sit in one place meant you loved less.

No.

You loved harder. That was the difference.

You stepped away from the door and walked deeper into your hotel room. Kicked off your heels with two sharp thuds. Shrugged off your blazer, folded it neatly over the chair. And then you sat at the desk—cool, calm, composed—and opened your laptop.

You didn’t care if Joel thought it was too big, too fast, too much. You weren’t doing this for just yourself. This was about all the time and work and heart you’d already sunk into this. The hours, the calls, the notes. The belief that this could be something more than just another job site, another check to cash.

You weren’t going to let it rot.

You weren’t going to let them rot.

Not Joel, with his ghosts and grudges. Not Tommy, who always gave more than he ever got back. Not you. Not after everything.

If they wouldn’t climb, you’d drag all three of you to the top, kicking and screaming if you had to.

You pulled up the pitch deck—the pitch deck. The one Joel said was reckless, like boldness was a flaw. You tightened every corner. Refined the zoning angle. Smoothed the subcontractor sourcing. Adjusted the ROI with fresh data and made it bulletproof.

This wasn’t about getting Joel to sweat.

This was about making sure none of this—none of what you’d bled into this company—went to waste.

You opened your messages and texted Tommy before you could give yourself the chance to soften:

[YOU]: Joel and I talked it out. He’s on board with the original pitch. The big one.

[YOU]: I’m finalizing the deck now.

[YOU]: You good to meet in the boardroom at 9:30?

You didn’t have to wait long.

[TOMMY]: Damn, really?

[TOMMY]: Good. I’m glad. You two kill me sometimes, I swear.

[TOMMY]: This meeting’s running long though. Gonna have to sprint across the building. Might be cutting it close.

You smiled to yourself. A small, satisfied smile. Not cruel. Just certain.

That meant no time for Joel to stall, no time for last-minute doubts. No time to drag his feet when you were already halfway to the finish line.

You closed your laptop, tapped your nails once on the desk, and looked at the time.

8:45 p.m.

Forty-five minutes to print the packets, confirm the room, and set the stage.

When they walked in, the risky proposal would already be passed out. The room would be set. The coffee poured. And Joel?

He wouldn’t dare object—not when the opportunity was staring him in the face.

Not when you were doing all of this for him, too.

You slipped your phone from your pocket, scrolling briefly through your email, confirming the room number, noting who RSVP’d, reviewing your talking points—and that’s when it buzzed in your hand.

[MR. PAPA]

You stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering.

He’d just gotten back from Seattle. You’d promised to call him this weekend, but with the conference chaos—and, well, Joel—you hadn’t exactly been your best version of a daughter.

With a breath, you swiped to answer.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Sugar Cubes.” His voice was warm, a little scratchy from travel or maybe just age. “You sound like you haven’t slept.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s because I haven’t.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I just picked up Aspen and we’re coming home, but she’s barkin’ at me for bein’ gone. So I figured I’d talk tosomeone who’s less judgmental.”

You laughed. Genuinely.

But it didn’t last.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, casually, “So. You and Joel behavin’?”

Your smile faded.

You didn’t answer immediately.

And that alone was enough for your dad to catch on.

“Ah,” he said. “So it went to shit ‘gain.”

You sighed and sank down into the armchair by the window, rubbing your temple. “He’s impossible, Dad. Stubborn, rude, infuriating—and he thinks playing it safe is some kind of virtue.”

He grunted. “He has his reason. Sure he’s cold, but he’s good.”

You huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m seeing less of that after everyday.”

“You always do,” he replied, without heat. “So what happened this time?”

You shook your head. “It’s the pitch. I pulled this last mintue opportunity out of thin air this morning—me. I got us in the room with Blue West in like… forty mintues. It’s huge. It’s everything we’ve been working toward. And Joel—Joel wants to scale it back. Water it down so we don’t ‘rock the boat.’”

You sank deeper into the chair, eyes trained on the carpet as your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose.

Your dad didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

Just that low, discerning hum of his—the one that always meant he was turning something over in his head, waiting for you to confirm the conclusion he’d already reached.

“There’s more, isn’t there.”

You hesitated. Your throat pulled tight. “Yeah,” you breathed. “There’s more.”

You shifted in the seat, eyes flicking around the roomlike the walls might have ears.

“Joel... technically, is the reason I’m in this mess.”

“That so?” your dad asked. Not judgmental. Just steady, curious. Waiting.

You exhaled through your nose. “It was at the mixer. Everyone was there—suits, drinks, handshakes. Just networking. But there was this guy. Zane—” You paused. “Zane Keller.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel the air change on the other end of the line. Like static before a storm.

“We talked. Networked. But then he started being… pushy. Real confident, real smug. I figured I could ride it out—just long enough to get in the room with Blue West. That was the play. I had it handled.”

You swallowed hard.

“But Joel saw it. And before I could steer it back, he—”

“He what?”

“…He body-slammed the guy. Full-on tackled him into the damn floor.”

Dead silence.

For a second, you regretted saying it. Regretted everything.

Then, quietly:

“…He touch you?”

You closed your eyes. “Dad—”

“Answer the question,” he said, firmer now. “Did he put his hands on you?”

You hesitated. Then admitted, low, “A little. But I had it under control. I was gonna get the meeting and cut Zane loose right after.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surprised. It was furious.

“…Then I’m on Joel’s side.”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. “What?”

“I’m on his side,” your dad repeated, not budging an inch. “You say he blew up your plan—but if that man laid a finger on you in a way you didn’t want, Joel didn’t ruin nothin’. He did what I’d’ve done, if I’d been there.”

You frowned, tension flaring. “Dad—”

“I know you can handle yourself,” he cut in. “Hell, you’ve been doing that since you were old enough to tell a boy to fuck off without lookin’ up from your homework. But that don’t mean you gotta take it just to get ahead.”

Your jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask him to jump in.”

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But don’t confuse pride with control. You’re allowed to be mad—but don’t punish someone for giving a damn.”

You were quiet for a long beat. The silence pulled tight between you like a fraying wire.

“He didn’t even let me talk,” you finally snapped. “He just acted. Blew up everything in front of half the room. Like I couldn’t handle it. Like I’m just—some helpless thing he had to throw fists for.”

Your dad’s voice came back, calm but cutting.

“Would it’ve felt better if Zane laughed in your face? If you had to smile through it, keep your drink steady, and pretend it was all part of the game?”

You stared at the ceiling like it might offer answers. A way out. Something other than the thick press of emotion crawling up your throat.

He was still on the line, but everything in your chest screamed that the conversation had already hit its wall.

“You’re not listening,” you muttered.

“I am listenin’,” he said, sharper now. “I’m listenin’ to you twist yourself into knots to defend a man who crossed a line—while tearin’ down the one who actually stood the hell up.”

“God,” you snapped. “I never defended Zane! You don’t get it. I didn’t need Joel to be some goddamn knight. I needed him to trust me. To respect me enough to let me finish what I started.”

A beat. Cold. Weighted.

“Every inch of this conference, every sacrifice I’ve made, every step—it all comes down to this.” You could feel it rising now, hot and bitter. “And if you can’t see that? Then maybe you’re no better than him.”

Silence.

Then, firmer: “Don’t use that tone with me.”

You scoffed, sharp and bitter. “Sure. Fine. Sorry I bothered you with my tone.”

“Don’t get sassy—”

“Whatever. Goodnight, Dad.”

You hung up before he could say another word.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.

It was loud.

Hollow.

Like something vital had been yanked out of the air.

You sat still, the phone limp in your lap, face half-lit by the cold glow of your laptop. Your fingers curled slowly into the fabric of your skirt. Across the room, the TV screen reflected your outline—tired and stiff, like a mannequin left behind in some showroom window.

You should’ve been used to this.

The weight of it.

Of always being the one who carried.

The one who booked the flights and printed the packets and smiled at men who only skimmed your resume before scanning your chest. The one who shook hands, answered emails at 1 a.m., and still showed up polished for the 8 a.m. call.

The one who climbed, alone.

Your throat tightened. You blinked hard.

You’d survived worse.

You’d given up more.

Michelle.

You saw her name in your mind like a bruise.

Michelle, with her polished claws and penthouse view. Michelle, who smiled when she stole your future when you just got it back. Michelle, when she came sliding into the bar while you were desperate.

You could’ve shut it down when Tommy questioned. When you were rereading her damn contract over and over again like it might change.

But you didn’t.

You took the hit. And you walked.

And now, if you didn’t get everything and more for Tommy and Joel out of this conference—if you didn’t leave here with a deal that made people remember who you were—then what was it all for?

Just another one-way ticket. Another chain snapping into place as it dragged you back to New York with your tail tucked and nothing to show for the war in your chest.

No.

No.

You weren’t going back empty-handed.

You wouldn’t let Joel’s fear win. You wouldn’t let your dad’s lectures cage you in. You wouldn’t let a bad night with a man like Zane define your future.

You inhaled sharply and reached for your laptop again, the edge of your blazer creasing beneath your elbow.

You checked the clock on your phone: 8:55 p.m.

Thirty-five minutes.

You exhaled slow and deep, like it would clear out the panic burning at the base of your throat.

This was it. No room for half-measures. No more backpedaling. You had your window, and you were going to wrench it wide open—even if it meant shoving Joel through it with you.

You flipped your laptop open with purpose, fingers already flying across the keys. The risky plan was still there, buried beneath the revised “safe” draft. You pulled it up and dragged it into full screen, deleting the top line with a flourish.

The revised subcontractor list came first—every name highlighted, every rate negotiated just enough to keep your margins lean. Then came the zoning maps, with overlays you had color-coded yourself to show just how damn smart this plan was. 

You adjusted three new lines on logistical scalability and built-in flexibility. Added a fourth to highlight that even if the larger contracts were slow to pay, the smaller overflow would pad their first two quarters.

Smart. Aggressive. Scalable.

You slid through every page like you were handling a loaded weapon, which, in a way, you were.

Next came the speech.

Not a full-on monologue, but something polished. Something practiced. A framework to build your delivery around. You opened a clean document and let your fingers go.

Head over to a03 to finish off the chapter (trust me, shit hits the fan)

Tag List:

@captured-memory

[warriorheart13-blog]

One Piece Benn Beckman x Reader: Start A Fire.

Cw: a bit Suggestive. This is also more female implied! But i love @jintaka-hane and everyones Beckman so i got inspired.

----------------------------

I remember when you said your father's asleep

I remember swimming as our clothes drifted off to sea

A goddess. That's what you were to Beckman. He saw you by yourself at the bar. You were writing something in a notebook.

You were the Red-Hair Pirates Chronicler. You had just joined not too long ago. But Beckman fell smitten immediately. Oh, the things he would love to do to you.

Lighting another cigarette, he let out a sigh. You were oblivious to the poor mans plight. The moonlight framed your body in such a way that Beckman was convinced you were a dream.

But you weren't oblivious. In fact, you were suffering the same fate as the first mate. It was taking all your willpower not to look at him, although you knew he was staring at you.

I remember drinking as the stars were falling

I remember dancing on the hotel's unmade bed

Shanks watched the trouble unfolding between you two in the deck. His grin was as large as ever. He could smell the sexual tension from Benn.

Hongo was frustrated just watching the normally calm and collected man seem to fumble and mess up his words.

Benn himself finally had enough. He stalked towards your office, and he slammed the door open. You jumped startled.

"Benn, what the absolute fuc-"

"Im done tiptoeing this damn line."

He said this so suddenly, and then he grabbed your chin and smashed his lips onto yours. It was needy. It was memorable. It was hot.

Your hands gripped his shirt as you kissed with the same reckless abandonment. You didn't want this to end.

"Yes..." you said to him, the question not needing to be spoken aloud.

Taking chances in the back of your car

We burn and on my radio is "Rockin' in a Free World

S.O.S.

So obsessed

Oh you make me such a mess

Why can't this just last forever, why, why, why?

When you got kidnapped, Benn felt his heart stop. You two had been together for a little over a year at this point.

When he found you tied up, barely conscious. He quickly but gently untied you. He held you close to his chest. You felt so light.

Benn suddenly felt it. A tear rolling down his cheek. He bit his lip, trying to stop it, but he couldn't. More tears fell down his face. He almost lost the one thing that kept him going. That gave him a reason to live another day.

"I dont think...ive ever seen you cry..." you mumbled into his chest.

He let out a low chuckle at your words. "You bring out a lot of firsts for me, doll. Considering you'll be my first wife. And maybe even give me my first child down the road..." he mused softly.

"Well... you can check off one of those... I meant to tell you this morning..."

His eyes widened. "Youre....??"

"I am. Didn't help when you're just too irresistible in bed. You know how to please a woman."

"Marry me." He said suddenly

"Becks?"

"Please darling...make my life complete and marry me. I need you."

"Oh Beckman, i would always say yes to you..."

He crashed his lips onto yours again. He never knew he could have something so precious in his rough life.

Also, he was such a girl dad. Wrapped around his two girls' fingers, he was. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

So wake up, wake up dreaming

And lie here with me

Wake up, wake up dreaming

And lie here with me

Here we go

Just lose control and let your body give in

To the beat

Of your heart as my hand touches your skin

Is this love

Or

Just sexual desire

We're gonna start a fire!

[whalesforhands]

that last part about making a drabble of whoever the drought is…….

the drought is definitely, undeniably and i’m definitely telling the truth when i say the drought is yandere! gojo 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

ok i believe u

this is part of the yandere mini series

“Why’d ya stop cryin’?” A hand lifts your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks as they squeeze with an intention of almost hurting. You can feel how careless he was with his hold, lithe, long appendages uncaring of the brutish care.

“I don’t remember ever asking you to.”

It hurts. It stings. It felt like he was tearing into you with visceral anger, so calm yet tainted with an hard to swallow ache.

“I-I’m sor-sorry—“ You didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to disobey him. You didn’t even know you had to keep crying to keep him satisfied, keep him docile. You blink, guilt welling up where tears had dried. You hadn’t realized he wanted the crying. That it had meant something to him; kept him settled, soothed.

“Don’t piss me off.” A smile so bright, so much more sinister than you can imagine, than you can ever hope for. His voice cuts through the silence like a knife. Sharp, jagged and inducing fear that you never knew was there.

“You of all people should know, shouldn’t you?” Softer, gentler. Like he was sorry, like he wanted- No, needed to apologize. Like a kitten licking the wound it left behind.

So you nod. Obediently, quietly.

“Good girl.” He purrs it out, whispering it into your ear, breath so cold against your skin, ice fanning against it as you tremble and shiver.

“You look prettier this way, anyway.” His arms wrap around you now, letting himself take you for his own, letting himself indulge in your warmth that you gave him.

“Why would you ever want to leave?” It’s muffled as his head rests on your shoulder, face buried into the softness of your sweater with his arms tight around your waist. It isn’t odd that he sits here holding you like this, isn’t odd that he keeps you trapped.

Here. With him.

(Because where else would you rather be?)

“You’re the only one I have left.”

The only one he has left.

“The only one who didn’t leave.”

The only one who still cares.

"Sa-Satoru... Please..." It comes out as a whimper, as a plead. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. Mercy? Salvation? An end to this cycle? You just want the weight of his presence gone. The overwhelming proof of his love more palatable, more reliable.

(Is he... Getting too much for you, too?)

“Are you saying you want to leave me?” Shaky, unsteady. A voice that sounds like a croak and a seethe through gritted teeth, unsteady, crazed blue eyes that dug into your very being clinging on like it was the only thing he had left.

Even if your eyes are empty, even if you don’t flinch, don’t even dare to move. Even if you became a lifeless doll in his arms that could only cry when told to, only do as he says... It placates him to know that you’re here. Beside him.

"No..." You gulp down the weight of your guilt. "Sorry..."

Don’t leave.

masterlist

[prismatica-the-strange]

Absolute Corruption | The Unplanned "I Do"

Warnings: 18+, tooth rotting fluff, extremely brief allusions to sex.

How do I breathe without you, if you ever go? How do I ever, ever survive?

A late-night conversation while on a trip leads to a sudden life choice that neither Hector nor Adeline will ever regret

I may have cried while writing this... a few times.

Word Count: 1.3k

Hector & Adeline's Wedding Playlist | Picrew Link | Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Adeline wakes up to the soothing feel of Hector's hand running along her spine, his fingers splayed across the skin of her back beneath her sleep shirt.

She tilts her head up, resting it against his shoulder, humming happily, "Good morning."

He kisses her forehead, making her smile, "Good morning, beautiful."

"C'mere," She cups his cheek and pulls him down to meet her lips.

He grins into the kiss, sliding her off him just enough to lean over her, hand gripping her waist.

"Amor," He breathes as he pulls away, "I have to ask you something."

"Mmm, what?"

"You said something last night," He says. He strokes her cheek, chest warming at the way her big blue eyes look up at him, "Something about... if we got married."

"Yeah?"

"You asked me if we got married if I wanted you to take my name and... Adeline, have you been thinking about getting married?"

She looks like a deer in headlights for a moment, pink quickly blossoming in her cheeks, "I-... I have."

The way he smiles is swoon-worthy before he swoops down to kiss her again, "I love you."

"I love you," She beams back.

He tugs her hips against his and pulls away just enough to press his forehead to hers, melting at the way she chases his lips.

"We should then," He murmurs and she freezes.

"Really?"

"As soon as we get home."

"Why wait?"

He looks at her confused and she tries not to laugh, "You know, the captain of a ship can legally marry people, right?"

"That sounds like something you need to book a time in advance."

"If you want the whole ceremony, sure. But, I bet if we talk to concierge, we could figure something out."

His nose squishes into her cheek when he kisses her hard, both of them laughing as they pull away.

"Are we doing this?"

"I think we are... Now go put some clothes on so I can take them off you later," She smirks, nipping at his bottom lip.

She lets out a shrill giggle when he dives down to messily kiss her neck, his voice muffled against her skin, "Fuck, I love you."

They spend the next ten or so minutes wrapped around each other as he pulls at the loose collar of her sleep shirt, kissing and biting wherever he can reach.

It isn't until a low moan spills from her mouth does she remember there isn't a wall separating their bed from where her sister is sleeping, "Where's Ro?"

"She went to breakfast an hour ago and texted that she was going to go lounge by the pool," He hums against her throat.

"Hey," She lightly tugs in his hair, softly guiding him up to her lips and he lets her, pressing kisses the whole way, "Let's go get married."

The woman at concierge is stunned when they call, to say the least. But she assures them she'll do what she can to pull the captain aside for them.

"Problem," Ada pokes her head into the bathroom where he's trimming his beard.

He looks over at her, eyes going soft when he sees her little pout, "What's wrong, my love?"

She leans against the doorway, fingers tapping against the tile, "I didn't bring anything white."

He tries to hide his smile as he wipes his face, "Is white really appropriate?"

Her eyes go wide and she slaps his shoulder, "It's Traditional."

"Since when has anything about our relationship been traditional?" He teases.

She nods with a slight shrug, sidling up to him. Her hand is warm on his chest when he pulls her close, "I have the dress I was gonna wear to dinner tonight. Do you think that'll work?"

"Amor, you could wear your pajamas and I would still think you're the most beautiful person on this ship," He purrs down at her.

"You're just saying that so I'll do that thing you like later," She scoffs. Her finger drags down his pec, blushing at his words.

He gently lifts her chin to meet his soft smile, "When have I ever made light of your own beauty for my own gain?"

"There's a first time for everything," She breathes against his lips, heart stuttering when her kisses her softly.

"Not this time, my love."

"Rowan!" Ada gasps, pulling Hector to a stop in the hall, "She needs to be there. Where did she say she was?"

"At the pool, but-" She cuts him off by tugging him in the direction of the pool deck.

"She could be soaking wet for all I care. I just want my sister there."

And she is. Still in her bathing suit, wrapped in a big towel and barefoot, Rowan stands in next to her sister, dripping on the carpet.

Ada and Hector had rushed her out of the pool so suddenly, she didn't even get to ask what was going on. But now she's excitedly bouncing on her toes because two of her favorite people are about to get married.

The blue of her dress compliments the color of his dress pants and pairs well with his dark green button-down.

They stand in front of the captain and Hector takes Ada's hands in his.

He slips her mother's wedding band from her right ring finger to her left and lifts her hand up to press the sweetest kiss to the metal.

"Hector, do you take Adeline to be your wife?"

"I do." He beams down at her.

"Adeline, do you take Hector to-"

"I do!" She answers quickly, squeezing his hands. Her cheeks warm, almost embarrassed at her own eagerness if it weren't for the hearts in his eyes.

"Well then," The Captain chuckles, "I pronounce you husband and wife."

As soon as the words leave their lips, one of Hector's arms wraps around her waist and the other holds the back of her neck as he pulls her into a deep kiss. Her feet leave the ground and she kisses back just as hard, burying her hands in his hair.

Rowan's little cheer pulls them back to the world and she suddenly throws herself at them, hugging their waists.

"You're my brother now!" She says excitedly.

He and Ada share a look before they start to laugh.

"I suppose, legally, yes, I am, Sappling," He grins, pulling both of his girls closer, "Does this make me a Rooney?"

"I think... " Ada's fingers lightly holding his chin brings his attention back solely to her, "This actually makes me an Escaton."

There's no way to describe the feeling that fills his chest, complete adoration isn't enough. He suddenly cups her cheeks and kisses her again, even deeper than the last time.

"So then, Mrs. Escaton," He grins as he pulls back, giving her lips another quick peck, "My everything... What should we do now?"

It's after dinner, Rowan has gone back to the room and the newlyweds are enjoying a drink together in one of the lounges when they hear a familiar tune being played by the band.

Hector sees the soft and almost longing look on her face and he stands, offering her his hand.

She doesn't bother trying to hide her blush as she takes it, "Since when can you read minds?"

He chuckles and pulls her to his chest, his left hand finding her waist, "I've always been able to read your mind, Adeline. You're an open book to me."

There's a few other couples on the dance floor, but to them, as she threads her fingers into his hair and lays her head on his shoulder, they're the only ones in the world.

He leans his cheek against her head, kissing her temple.

"And besides," He pulls away just enough to give her a small spin under his arm before tugging her close again, "I think it's about time we had our first dance."

She squeezes his hand tighter and hides her face against his neck. Then he hears her sniffle so he holds her closer and kisses her hair as they sway to the music.

"I love you," She says quietly, "I don't know how I ever got so lucky."

"I assure you, I'm the lucky one here."

[mishkakagehishka]

Me when i dream of lil Mika but it's another nightmare

[avvidstarion]

I love horror movies but maybe I need to stop watching them because now I’m getting stuck in anxiety thought spirals about what would happen if I was in one

[chastiefoul]

he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

[yoyokslut]

Moody Rafe

pairing: boyfriend!rafe x reader.

warnings: angst with fluffy ending.

summary: rafe has been a little stressed and snaps at you making you cry.

a/n: english isn’t my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Rafe's been busy dealing with his business so he hasn’t payed that much of attention to you these past days, he’s also been stressed, anxious and cranky, somehow avoiding you because he doesn’t want to contagious you his mood.

You entered his office, trying to get his attention 'cause you’ve missed him so much and wanna see if you can convince him of taking a break of work this time.

“Hey, baby.” You said softly approaching him slow.

He looked up at you when he heard your voice and sighed. Of course he’s missed you too, but he really needed to take care of his business and didn’t want you to see him all moody.

“Baby… I’m not done yet with this.” He said in a plead voice tryna tell you, you shouldn’t be in his office right now.

“I know, I know. I didn’t want to distract you but it’s been a long week and I miss you, Rafe.”

You said unconsciously making a small pout.

His gaze softened noticing your pout. You’d always do it when you really wanted something.

He rubbed his neck looking at you knowing you weren’t gonna like that this time he couldn’t give in.

“I can’t right now. I really can’t. I have this.”

He said motioning to his laptop and you can visibly see the second he got all tensed by just mentioning it.

“But maybe just a min-“

You couldn’t even finished what you were saying when he interrupted you harshly.

“I said I can’t. Not everything will always go your way and you need to understand that.”

You started talking in a lower voice this time knowing he wasn’t in the mood.

“One minute won’t hurt-“

“Seriously. I’ve got shit to do. Can’t just fucking drop it to please your every whim.”

He said not looking at you but at the screen.

“Please, just need to cuddle for one moment, puppy-“

He groaned when you kept pushing and snapped at you.

“And now that stupid pet name. Stop fucking calling me that cheesy annoying shit and quit pushing it. I’m busy and don’t have time for this.”

He said in a sharp voice looking at the screen.

You stared at him frowning and with teary eyes, no matter how hard he was having it he had never talked to you like that… Until now. With a nod and a small okay in a broken voice you walked out his office making your way to the bedroom.

He recognized that tone in your voice and cursed himself for upsetting you. Took a couple of minutes to calm down before going to look for you.

He entered the room looking at you all curled up on bed. Your eyes slightly red and puffy from crying. His heart shrank at the sight of you like that because of him. He slowly walked towards the bed and said gently.

“Baby? I’m sorry I talked to you like that. You don’t deserve that. I’m just with so much going on right now, of course that’s no excuse. I was an ass for talking like that and if you don’t want to forgive me you have every right. Just wanted to say I’m so, so sorry.”

He mumbled kneeled in front of you on the edge of the bed.

You gazed at him with your bottom lip slightly out.

“Oh- and what I said about the pet name? Of course I like everything you call me, my precious girl.”

He cupped your cheek stroking it with his thumb.

“Sure, I don’t see the resemblance with a puppy but I like whatever you wanna call me, I promise.”

You chuckled softly before muttering.

“You’ve got puppy eyes, baby.”

He laughed nodding.

“Yes, love. Whatever my pretty girl says.”

He sat next to you stroking your hair.

“You gonna forgive me, hm?”

“You’ll have to earn it and make it up to me.”

You voiced quietly looking into his eyes giving him an amused smile.

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want. Just name it, sweet girl.”

[skzficdump]

The Night I Let You Go (And Couldn't Breathe After)

paring: bangchan x fem!reader

gender: angst, fluff, a fight before tour puts distance between you, and bangchan can’t stop thinking about you

word count: 1.5k (1507)

warnings: nun

You knew something was wrong. Even before he walked through the door that night, you could feel it.

Bang Chan had been drowning in work for weeks — rehearsals, late-night studio sessions, choreography clean-ups, last-minute meetings with the tour team. He barely texted. He barely ate. And when he did come home, his energy was like a ghost of him — tired eyes, slumped shoulders, and a quietness that didn’t suit the man you loved.

You weren’t mad at him. You were worried. But when people are overwhelmed, they push away the ones they love — and that’s exactly what Chan was doing to you.

That night, when he finally came home close to midnight, you were waiting on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and muttered a barely audible, “I’m home,” not even meeting your eyes.

You tried to keep your voice steady, calm. “Chan… can we talk?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was stressed. “Y/N, not now. I’m exhausted.”

“I know you are,” you said gently, “but I can’t keep acting like everything’s okay when it’s not. You’re not okay. And we’re not okay either.”

That’s when his eyes finally met yours — tired, but slightly defensive.

“I’m doing everything I can. What else do you want from me?”

Ouch. That stung more than you thought it would.

“I’m not asking for more. I’m asking to be part of your life right now, even when it’s messy. You keep shutting me out, Chan.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away. “I just… don’t have time for this. For drama.”

There it was — the word that made your chest ache. Drama. He didn’t mean it. You knew he didn’t. But it still hurt.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just stood up and said, “Good luck on tour,” before walking toward your room.

You didn’t think that night would end like that. No one ever plans a goodbye to feel like a fracture. But somehow, you and Chan had broken in the worst possible way — quietly.

It wasn’t a screaming match, it wasn’t tears on the floor. It was exhaustion. Distance. The sharpness of silence when love wants to speak but pride gets in the way.

And he left the next morning without even looking back. No kiss. No message. Just… gone.

You didn’t know how much it would haunt him.

And just like that, the fight happened. Short, quiet, but sharp. And he left for the airport the next morning without saying goodbye.

He hated himself for it. The second his plane took off, he knew he messed up. He had a full tour schedule ahead of him, but his heart was stuck back in Seoul — in that quiet living room, with the look on your face when you closed the door behind you.

For the first few days of the North American tour, Chan went into “leader mode.” He buried himself in rehearsals. He kept smiling during interviews. He helped the younger members get through their jet lag and stage nerves.

But the second the lights went down and the crowd disappeared… it hit him.

You weren’t there.

You weren’t texting him "good luck" before the show. You weren’t calling him to remind him to eat. You weren’t there when he walked back into his hotel room, cold and empty and echoing too loud in the quiet.

And worst of all… He left when you were hurt. He left when he should’ve stayed. He left without fixing anything.

The first night, he told himself you both needed space. That once the tour settled, things would fall into place.

The second night, he couldn’t sleep. He stared at his phone for hours, typing messages he never sent:

I’m sorry. I messed up. Are you okay?

But he deleted all of them. Every time.

Because he didn’t know if you wanted to hear from him. He didn’t know if he deserved to.

Felix noticed first. The way Chan barely ate. How he stayed in the studio even after everyone else left. How he’d sit by the hotel window at 3 a.m., staring at nothing.

“Hyung,” Felix said gently one night, “you need to talk to her.”

Chan didn’t even look up. “She probably hates me.”

Felix shook his head. “She doesn’t. She’s hurt. That’s different.”

But Chan didn’t believe it. Not when your voice haunted him every time he tried to sleep.

“I just want to be part of your life… even when it’s messy.” “You keep shutting me out.”

You were right. You’d always been right. And now he was thousands of miles away from the one person who grounded him — who made all the chaos worth it.

He started seeing you everywhere.

Every time a fan gave him a plushie that reminded him of you. Every time he passed a street musician playing a song you loved. Every time he looked in the mirror and barely recognized the man looking back.

During the third show, when the lights dimmed before their final encore, he had a full second of panic.

You weren’t in the crowd.

You always tried to be, even when it was just as a little silhouette backstage or watching through a livestream. And now?

Gone. Because of him.

He finally broke down to Felix two nights later in the hotel room.

“I feel like there’s a hole in my chest,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I miss her so much it physically hurts.”

Felix handed him his phone.

“Then fix it. Before it’s too late.”

Chan stared at the screen… then shook his head.

“She deserves better. She deserves someone who doesn’t drag her through my storms.”

Felix smiled sadly. “She never asked for perfect skies. She asked to be there with you.”

What you didn’t know was that Chan had already started preparing a small surprise for you. Even before the fight. Just a little corner of his hotel room he wanted to decorate with your photo, your favorite snacks, and a note he planned to leave on your pillow for when you visited later in the tour.

But now the gifts stayed untouched, hidden in his suitcase. It was like they stared at him every night, reminding him of what he lost.

And you? You tried to go on with your days like normal, but everything felt off. Every time you saw a picture of him at the airport, or heard someone talking about the tour, your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t until Felix texted you two nights later that something shifted.

"Hey, Y/N. I know things are weird. But he’s not okay without you. Neither of you are. Please… come to LA. I’ll help you."

You didn’t even have to think twice. The next thing you knew, you were on a plane with your heart racing faster than the jet engines. Felix met you at the airport in a hoodie and mask, like some undercover angel, and helped sneak you into the hotel where the boys were staying.

Your hands were shaking when you reached Chan’s room.

“Don’t knock,” Felix whispered. “He’s expecting me.”

He slid the keycard into the door, opened it slightly, and gave you one last nod before disappearing down the hallway.

Inside, the lights were low — warm, soft. A candle was burning on the nightstand. And there he was. Sitting at the edge of the bed, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

When he turned and saw you… Everything cracked.

“Y/N…?”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just ran into his arms. And he held you like he’d been drowning for days and you were the only breath he had left.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over into your shoulder. “I was stupid. I was stressed and scared and I pushed you away, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I just wanted to be there for you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

He pulled back, eyes glassy. “I left without fixing it. I left when we were broken. I thought about you every second on that flight. Every second here. I was going to fly you out myself if Felix didn’t beat me to it.”

You both laughed a little through the tears.

Then he stood up and led you to the corner of the room where a tiny surprise was waiting: a little photo of you both framed on the table, next to your favorite snacks and a hand-written note.

“I miss home. And home is you.”

That night, you didn’t talk much more. You didn’t have to. You just lay curled up in bed together, his arms around you, his lips pressed to your hair as he finally — finally — slept like someone at peace.

And maybe things weren’t perfect. Maybe they never would be. But that night, in a quiet hotel room in a city far from home, you both found your way back to each other.

And that? That was everything.

[p1astr81]

baby piastri - op81

in which: Oscar is learning to take care of his new baby girl.

pairing: dad!oscar piastri x mom!reader

warnings: none I don’t think?? fluff, super short blurb

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You woke to the sound of yours and Oscar’s child crying. It’s been only three weeks since you brought her home, but it felt like ages, as you have hardly slept. Oscar usually slept through her cries. You never wanted to bother him, so you took care of it yourself despite his many protests.

Tonight was no different. You didn’t care about the time as the concept of it became irrelevant to you in the past weeks. But at some point late in the night, your little Isla started to fuss. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, walking in zombie-like motions toward the baby cradle. You yawned as you reached into her cot, but your hands were met with nothing but air.

All of your senses immediately switched on high. You became more alert than that time you had three energy drinks in one day. You followed the sound of her cries, your feet moving faster than your brain could even process.

Your movements stopped when you saw Oscar pacing around the living room. He kept his usual calm demeanor, but you knew him so well that you could tell he was internally panicking. Little isla flailed in his arms as he softly bounced her around, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. Her lungs worked overtime as she cried.

There was an open book on the coffee table. One of the books Oscar bought in preparation for the baby. A book all about parenting a new born. He leaned over to read something before turning to Isla, “You want your passy? Is that it?” He asked, offering the piece of plastic right in front of her mouth, but she swatted it away with her little hand. “No? Okay. Are you hungry then?” His voice was soft and low, overflowing with concern. “Mum isn’t awake but I’m sure there’s some food for you in the fridge.” He smiled lovingly down at your daughter.

“Oscar,” you called softly, just loud enough for him to hear you over isla’s screeching cries. His eyes met yours, an amount of remorse in them that you’d never seen before. He sighed. “I’m sorry, hon. I really didn’t want to wake you. I tried to get her to calm down.” He knew how much you’d been doing. How often you’d wake up and how little you slept. He always tried to help but you were so stubborn on being independent. His attention reverted back to the baby girl, tsk-ing out shushes as he tried to calm her.

You grabbed an unfinished bottle from the day before, and met Oscar in the middle of the room to hand it over. “I don’t know how you do it.” He chuckled and joined you on the couch. Luckily, isla clung to the bottle as soon as it was in her reach, solving the problem of her screaming. “You’ll learn,” you replied with a hum and rested your head on his shoulder. It didn’t take long for you to drift away from consciousness.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Restraint | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Oneshot 1.6k

You rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him.

Warnings: 18+ smut, if you're looking for an medical ethics this isn't it, p in v, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex, orgasm denial, dirty talk. Topping from the bottom a bit? Bucky is restrained/slightly subby Bucky if you squint, but also dominant Bucky. Bucky is horny, reader can't help herself and they're both crazy possessive.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Sam asked, his warning look at Joaquin came too late. 

“Tell me!” You turned on the younger man, “where the fuck have you put him?” 

“He's -”

“No, it's for her own safety,” Sam pulled Joaquin away, trying to dodge around you. 

“Where's Bucky? Tell me - please.” You were desperate, running through the hanger as soon as you heard he'd been hit, you needed to see him- now, needed to know he was okay. 

“I really don't think-”

“Sam I'm going to find him, I don't care if I have to search every inch of this airfield I'll find him. So you might as well just tell me and get it over with.” 

“Fine, but you've gotta leave him to it, he needs to recover and we don't know -”

“Sam!” 

“Upstairs, room 205.” 

You could hear him before you could see him, the sound of metal on metal unmistakable, and then the door to room 205 slammed shut behind a fleeing doctor and his cry of anger was released into the corridor. 

“Bucky?” You pushed the door open again, peering inside. 

“Don't, baby, just go and I'll come to you when -” he cut himself off, thrashing side to side. 

205 was somewhere between an officer's quarters and a hospital room, it was furnished like a bedroom, but away from the mess hall and regular sleeping areas downstairs. You'd expected to see Bucky hooked up to machines, maybe an IV drip, at least a monitor. 

But Bucky was handcuffed to the bed. The vibranium cuffs attached at each corner, spreading his body across the sheets. He’d shed his shirt and leather jacket, but his tactical pants still stretched over his thick thighs, his boots kicking out despite the restraints around his ankles. 

“Bucky, what happened?” 

“Doll, please -” he grit his teeth, jaw ticking, and set his head back on the pillows, “I don't want you to see me like this, go home, I'll come back.”

‘Like this’ was sweating and writhing, veins bulging in his already flexed muscles, sweat forming on his brow. 

“I can't leave you, what happened?” 

“Hit,” he tugged at his bonds again and you noticed red welts forming on his right wrist, "serum booster something, they were trying to - ugh -” he arched up, a vein in his neck pulsing, “enhance, but I - hit. We don't know - ugh - what it will do to me.”

Despite his otherwise out of control appearance, Bucky's blue eyes were clear and pleading. This was painful, you were sure, made worse by his movement in the cuffs. 

“You need to calm down, baby, stop moving.”

“Can't,” he tugged again, rattling the cuffs. 

“Let me help,” you stepped forwarding, shedding the big coat you'd pulled on when you left the house in a hurry. Your nipples pebbled under the flimsy nightdress you'd been wearing when you got the call. Bucky took a deep inhale at the sight. 

“No, no, no - I'm here because I could - fuck, baby, I could hurt someone. I don't wanna hurt you, go - fucking hell you look so damn delicious - go home!” 

But you ignored him. Instead you knelt on the end of the bed and unlaced his tactical boots, sliding them slowly off and setting them to the floor. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut. 

It did feel better to have them off though, and he rolled his ankles in relief, despite the cuffs. 

“Better, baby?” Your hand was on his leg and he managed to get out a quick nod before your hand moved higher, higher. He thrashed. 

“Seriously, you have to stop, what if I -” 

“You won't hurt me, you're a good man, Bucky. And look at you.” 

Your hand left his leg, the bed moved and he cracked his eyes open in time to see you settle in his lap. He bucked up, involuntarily he was sure, and revealed in your giggle as you grabbed his tac belt for stability. 

“Hmm, later, Bucky baby. Let me take care of you first.”

Your hands were back, sliding up his chest. He'd put on weight, since moving in with you, coming home to a hot dinner every night, desserts on the weekend, treats on dates. You liked seeing him well and happy. Beneath your hands the feel of his abs was still there, an undeniable strength, but he was so soft too and you loved that about him. The softness that he only shared with you, that he had gained through your love and care.

“Doll-” his warnings were beginning to sound whiny, pleading, and you could feel his familiar hardness growing beneath you now. 

“Just let me look after you,” you repeated, though you weren't sure if this was for him or you.

Your hands grazed higher, over his pecs, brushing your thumbs against his nipples, and up to his tense shoulders. It would hurt, you knew, to have his arms pulled like that. Especially his left, where the vibranium met skin and muscle. You'd massaged that spot enough times to know exactly where to dig your thumbs to make him say - 

“Fuck - I can't -" the cuffs rattled again, his hips driving upwards and knocking you off balance, leaving you in one of your favourite places, sprawled over his chest. He was thick beneath you, spreading your thighs wide, his cock straining against his zipper and pressing up between your legs.

“Bucky - let me take some of that pressure off, I love you so much - I” 

He tipped his head, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. Your hands clutched at his hair, turning his head to the perfect angle, lips parted you kissed him back fiercly in a whirlwind of his desperation and your need.

“We shouldn't - the doctor said -” 

Your hands were gone again, leaving his hair mussed on the pillow. 

“You're mine, Bucky, I won't have anyone else telling us how I take care of you.” 

The zip on his pants was close to splitting and so was Bucky's sanity, back arched from the bed, teeth bared. Slowly you popped the button and lowered the zip, allowing the hard length of his cock to spring free.

Like the rest of him, Bucky's cock was beautiful, thick and ready, the vein running up the side pulsed beneath your palm, precum beading at his red tip. He looked delicious.

“Do something,” Bucky's hips pumped again and again, thrusting up into your grip. You let go and he growled, low and throaty, body straining against his bonds. “Get your hands back on my dick right now.” 

You shivered, lust coursing through your body like fire. "I thought you told me to leave? Besides, wouldn’t you rather have something else?” You teased, leaning forward and licking a long stripe from his base to his weeping tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue and groaning lewdly in satisfaction. 

“Fuck!” He tugged again and the bed groaned. “Do that again.” Instinctively, you lent forwards and wrapped your lips around his head, sucking slowly and dipping your tongue into his slit. It was Bucky’s turn to groan now, head tipped back. 

He was thrusting up, trying to get himself as deep into your mouth as possible and - fuck - you loved him like this. Raw and wild and passionate. You had to have him, the need was so strong you could feel your heartbeat between your legs, arousal making your thighs slide together when you moved to sit up. 

“No, no, no, doll, please, what are you doing?” He pleaded, eyes wide in understanding when you climbed up to sit in his lap. 

Bucky’s cock lay hard against his soft stomach, your lips perfectly molded around it to push the tip against your clit when you rocked back and forth. It was delicious, this temptation, the tease. But Bucky was beyond teasing. He needed to be inside of you now.

With one last pull he broke free of the restraints. His hands, vibranium cuffs still hanging from his wrists, went straight to your waist, lifting you enough to impale you on his cock. 

He was so ready, throbbing inside of you, and the sensation of being empty and then so wonderfully full had you clenching around him immediately, teetering on the edge of an orgasm you weren't prepared for.

“No, no, Doll, this was your idea so you can fucking wait for me.” 

You wailed but clenched down, willing yourself to hold on for now.

Bucky set a bruising rhythm, holding you still as he thrust up into you, using your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Bucky I'm gonna -”

“No you're fucking not, you're gonna hold it like a good girl and cum when I say.” His voice was low, gravelly from shouting.

God. You needed it. It was like an electric shock, the power looking for an escape and ricocheting around your body until every muscle felt sore from holding back. 

“I can't, Bucky, I've got to-” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes from the effort. 

“Cum,” he grunted, holding you down and grinding you onto his cock while your body went tight, light exploding behind your eyes, “look at me.” 

You opened your eyes and met his, dark with lust, and you twitched again, milking him as he filled you in three harsh pumps.

“Fuck,” he dropped his hands to the bed and you rolled off him. 

“Well, at least you didn't get sick from the serum, right?” You flopped back onto the bed. 

Bucky rolled into his side, looking down at you with a grin on his face, hand pumping his already hard dick again. 

“No ill effects, anyway.” He laughed, before sliding back between your legs. 

[eggfriedricedwasian]

Joker Junior Tim but Tim's afraid of Harley and JJ loves Harley because that's his mom.

When Harley first found out that Tim was JJ and that the bats were the Waynes, she was torn. She wanted so bad to spend time with her son and to apologize, but she couldn't. She felt horrible for what she did.

Reason being is the first time she confronted Red Robin, or Robin at the time, while on patrol. She had found him on a roof and he had been so terrified of her he was shivering. Her heart hurt for Tim, who was scared of her.

She left him alone after that, always choosing to avoid the bird's line of sight and hearing range so he wouldn't be scared. It wasn't until one of the other bats talked to her, Oracle, that she decided to try to get close to Robin.

At first she started by sitting at the farthest end of the building where Tim was perched. She watched him for a few minutes before looking away. This happened several times.

At the point he stopped shivering and looking as tense as he used to be, she moved closer. Day by day, week by week, month by month, she got close to him till she was sitting next to him.

They had started up a friendship then. She would do most the talking, making motherly gestures here and there, till one day, he fell asleep on her. She had taken him to her house that winter night and tucked him into bed, kissing him goodnight and setting out breakfast, hot chocolate, and fresh clothes along with a bag the next morning.

He was scared, of course, this was a villain's anti-hero's house, you couldn't drop your guard too much.

He knew he shouldn't have trusted her.

"Goodmorning, kiddo. I made you some pancakes and hot chocolate. There's some clothes on the bedside and a bag for your costume, Timmy, that way you don't have to go home in that."

He stood frozen as he stared at the large stack of pancakes laid out. He slowly moved forward, taking the fork next to the plate and took a piece off of it.

He hesitated when biting it, but when he did, nothing was wrong with it. It tasted amazing.

He had almost choked several times when he scarfed down the pancakes, the best pancakes he's ever tasted if he does say so himself(sorry Alfred), and thanked her.

He changed and put his stuff in the bag before getting ready to leave, but he stopped himself.

He looked at her, and she looked confusedly at him.

"About the Joker.."

He didn't need to finish his sentence, she already knew.

She sat down and motioned him to sit in the seat next to her, so he did.

She didn't look him in the eye when she spoke. She talked for a while, told him about her relationship with the Joker, about how sorry she was about what she helped do to him, everything.

After that talk, their relationship changed. They became closer, the bats noticed.

Alfred, Bruce, and Barbara seemed indifferent to the change in their relationship, because they knew what happened. They were happy about it, even, about how well their relationship has grown.

At one point, though, things changed again. Red Robin was taken and electrocuted, triggering JJ to cone out. The bats were stuck, unable to do anything without JJ doing something in return, Red Hood was frozen in place despite himself.

It wasn't until Harley entered the scene that JJ ran to her, hugging her, calling her mama that he calmed down enough and started crying.

"Oh Junior, it's okay baby. Mommy's here."

Harley kept saying those comforts until Ivy arrived and swept them away.

"Hey!" Nightwing called out, prepared to go after them. Batman, however, stopped him, stepping up to Ivy.

"Have you got him?" he asked her. "Yes, we'll take care of him until he's better. Tomorrow's your only time I'm allowing you in my place to give him things. Your next visit is when he asks." She warned him. He nodded in return, unphased by her threat.

"B, why did you let them take him."

"There are things you don't know, about the time when Red Robin started out as Robin." Was the simple answer Batman gave them before he left, clearing out the area.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

SOMEONE TO STAY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you wanted anon :) i wasn’t sure if you meant pogue!reader or actually meant pogue!rafe so i kept this open as to not interpret it incorrectly !!

A/N: my drew starkey & characters masterlist is here !!

WARNINGS: cursing, hurricane, fear of loved ones dying, crying, panic attack, arguments, angsty love confession, angst to fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SECOND PERSON +

The storm came fast and without mercy. What had started as a mild tropical storm rapidly intensified into a Category 4 hurricane barrelling toward the Outer Banks. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for the Pogues and parts of the Cut, but for the Kooks in Figure Eight, the luxury of reinforced homes and private shelters meant hunkering down. The air felt thick with panic and pressure as everyone prepared for the worst.

Rafe had been at his father's old office on the more secure side of the island, trying to sort out some financial mess left behind by Ward, when the weather reports turned grim. His phone buzzed incessantly with texts and calls from people checking in or offering refuge. But Rafe didn't care about any of them.

He cared about one person.

"Y/N, just listen to me for once!" Rafe snapped, pacing the office as the storm began to howl outside. His voice was sharp, desperate even, as he tried to reason with his girlfriend. "Don't try to be a hero. Don't stop for anything. Just get in your car and come straight to the safe house. I'll meet you there."

"Rafe, I'll be fine," you said over the phone, your voice calm but firm. "I'm already on my way."

"You're sure? I can come get you. I should come get you," he pressed, running a hand through his hair. "This storm's getting worse by the second. I don't want you driving in this."

"I've got it under control," you reassured him, a smile in your tone even though he couldn't see it. "I'll see you soon."

But the second the line went dead, unease settled deep in Rafe's chest. He tried to tell himself you were capable, smart, and resourceful—qualities he loved about you. Still, that didn't stop the gnawing anxiety that clawed at him as he headed toward the safe house.

—

The drive was hellish. Rain lashed against your windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Floodwaters licked at the sides of the road as you maneuvered carefully toward Figure Eight. It wasn't long before you lost signal entirely, your phone cutting off mid-text to Rafe. You cursed under your breath but pressed on.

You'd been almost to the safe house when a thought struck you like lightning. Earlier that week, Rafe had been pouring over some old financial records and papers that he needed for his next move with the family business. He'd spent hours meticulously going through them, and you knew they were stored in his father's house.

Your chest tightened. If the storm destroyed everything, Rafe would lose all that work. Against better judgment, you turned onto the road leading to Tannyhill. You told yourself it wouldn't take long—just in and out.

By the time you made it to the safe house, it was well past dark, and the storm had intensified. The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows and slamming against the door as you stumbled in, soaked to the bone.

"Rafe?" you called, setting the plastic bag containing the saved papers down on a table. "I'm here."

It took less than ten seconds for him to appear. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing. The moment his eyes landed on you, relief flickered across his face—but it was quickly replaced by something far darker.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, storming toward you. His voice was a mix of anger and panic, his chest heaving as he stopped in front of you. "I've been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea—" His voice broke, and he ran a hand down his face. "I thought something happened to you."

"Rafe, I'm fine," you said, trying to placate him. "I—"

"You're not fine!" he snapped, his voice rising again. "You think this is fine? Driving through a hurricane, ignoring my calls—what were you even doing?" His eyes darted to the bag on the table, and something clicked. "You stopped for papers?"

"Rafe, I know how important they are to you—"

"Papers?" he interrupted, his voice incredulous. "You risked your life for some stupid papers?"

"They're not stupid!" you fired back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've been working so hard on this, and I didn't want you to lose it all."

"I don't care about the damn papers!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Don't you get it? I don't care about any of that fucking shit if it means losing you!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his breathing growing erratic. His hands trembled as he backed away, pressing his palms to his temples. "I can't—God, I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you were dead, Y/N. I thought I lost you out there.”

"Rafe—"

"You're all I have," he said, his voice breaking completely as tears streamed down his face. "You're all I have, and I can't lose you. I won't survive it."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the raw vulnerability in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned. You stepped toward him cautiously, reaching out to touch his arm. "Rafe, I'm here. I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm right here."

But he didn't seem to hear you, his breathing growing more rapid as he sank onto the couch. His chest heaved, and his hands gripped the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching at the sight of him falling apart. "Rafe, look at me," you said firmly, taking his hands in yours. They were cold and clammy, shaking like leaves in the storm outside. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He tried to match your breaths, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperation clawed at him, his gaze wild and unfocused. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. You guided one of his hands to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. I'm here, Rafe."

Something shifted in his eyes as he focused on the steady rhythm beneath his hand. He gripped your shirt like a lifeline, his breathing slowly evening out. "You're here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You're here."

"That's right," you said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the only sound was the quiet rise and fall of your breaths. Finally, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was just so scared."

"I know," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I should've just come straight here."

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his blue eyes searching yours. "I don't say this enough—or at all—but you mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you. You’re my whole world. Not work, not money, not anything; you. I love you, so fucking much.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were from something far warmer than fear. "I love you, too," you said, leaning into his touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms as the storm began to lose its fury. Whatever chaos the hurricane had brought, it couldn't touch the calm you found in each other.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i hope this is what you wanted anon !! this was such a cute one to write and i love me some angst to fluff😫

pls request some more angst guys !! i absolutely LOVE writing it :) and as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3