#I love the idea of their body differences

[darkredsugarcookie]

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. 

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you. 

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers? 

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said. 

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.” 

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said. 

“Her assistant? Mel?” 

“Yes. She’s on the fence.” 

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile. 

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied. 

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.” 

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered. 

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood. 

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory. 

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them. 

“He’s married?” the brunette asked. 

“In the process,” I corrected. 

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered. 

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?” 

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.” 

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.” 

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you. 

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said. 

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

word count: 7.1k

A/N: Not much to say about this one yet. It was a random idea I got and I decided to combine my two interests lol. Let me know what you think and if this is something you’d like to see play out more!

—————————————————————————

The Sparks were up by twenty-four. The starters pulled halfway through the third, and Azzi sat near the end of the bench, her legs were stretched and a towel was sitting around her neck as she casually sipped from her water bottle.

The energy in the arena had changed. The crowd was still loud but they started entertaining themselves with whatever the jumbotron fed them: dance cams, kiss cams, baby cams. Azzi’s body had cooled, but her mind still flickered with the movement on the court, tracing the plays, missed shots, moments that might’ve gone differently.

She only half-registered the familiar cadence of the courtside camera sweep. A ritual of sorts in a city like LA—celebrities shown on the jumbotron like saints. The crowd responded on cue: applause, laughter, a few cheers too loud to be genuine.

A few big house names and faces flashed across the screen—actors, influencers, former players—each one hamming it up for their moment. They didn’t pay for their court side seats for nothing.

Then the frame landed on someone who didn’t match the rest.

Blonde. A little stone-faced. She wore a cream Essentials sweatsuit, ankle resting over her knee, a few rings on her fingers, completely still.

She didn’t wave at the camera. Didn’t smile. Just stared at it like it had interrupted her thoughts—then looked right past it, completely disinterested.

Azzi blinked her eyebrows drawing together.

“…who is that?” she murmured, subtly nudging Rickea beside her.

Rickea followed her gaze and then smiled widely. “Oh that’s my Paigey wazy. She’s Cam’s god sister she’s always talking about.”

Azzi nodded. “She famous or anything?”

Rickea nodded. “She does MMA. Popular as hell in UFC right now. She’s...definitely different, I love her though.” Rickea said it and her tone was like a warning mixed with a compliment.

Azzi glanced back toward the baseline, toward the blonde who hadn’t moved since the camera left her. She didn’t fully blend in—but she didn’t look like she needed nor wanted to stand out. Unfortunately for her, the mere presence alone did the work.

When the final buzzer sounded players filtered off the court, their laughter started to echo through the tunnel, a chorus of their sneakers against the concrete. Azzi walked slowly, towel over her shoulder, thoughts already shifting to her recovery and film review.

She was halfway to the tunnel when an arm threw over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Cam said, grinning. “You’re the only one who hasn’t met her yet.”

Azzi blinked. “Met who?”

“My sister,” Cam said, casual, like it was obvious. “Well—god sister. But she’s basically blood so.”

Before Azzi could protest, Cam was already guiding her back toward the floor, past security and stragglers still lingering for selfies.

She was standing court wide on her phone, seemingly waiting for Cam. Same expressionless face. A storm sealed behind glass.

Cam stepped up beside her, nudging her gently with an elbow to get her attention. “Paige, this is Azzi I don’t think you guys have met.”

Paige looked up slowly.

Her gaze flicked over Azzi in a single sweep—measured, unreadable. No smile. No raised brow. Just a quiet recognition, like Azzi had been noted, filed, and shelved in the space of her brain.

“Hi,” Azzi offered politely, her voice warm but tempered by a slight curiosity. “Nice to meet you.”

A pause.

Then Paige gave a small nod. No handshake. No return greeting.

Just acknowledgment. As bare as it could be.

Azzi let her eyebrow raise slightly, a smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth. There was something oddly fascinating about someone so immune to her charm. Most people lit up in her presence—Paige barely flickered.

Cam chuckled, watching the exchange like it was perfectly on brand.

Then she turned back to Paige. “How was weigh-in this morning?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t change much. “Good. One thirty-five exactly.”

Cam grinned. “So you can eat again without whining about still being hungry.”

A breath of laughter left her, but Paige didn’t outwardly react—no smile, no eye roll. Just stillness. Cam barely noticed. She was used to it.

Undeterred, she kept talking, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Some of the team’s coming to the fight tomorrow. We’re sitting in your section again.”

Then Cam turned to Azzi, face brightening. “You should come.”

Azzi blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah! I swear you haven’t really seen Paige until you’ve watched her fight.”

Azzi glanced at Paige again, intrigued. “Is that right?”

Cam nodded. “Totally different energy. You might actually see her blink. You’ll love it. Rae basically got a girl crush on her after seeing her fight the first time.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, surprised by how curious she suddenly felt. She didn’t know if she’d love it—but the idea of seeing what stirred beneath that quiet, unreadable exterior intrigued her.

Her smile returned, softly, her eyes returning to Paige. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paige didn’t answer. She just nodded—precise, barely perceptible.

Cam rolled her eyes and mumbled something about Paige being a pain in the ass before she and Azzi walked toward the locker room.

…

The octagon was much bigger than Azzi expected. Not just physically—but in presence. Under the heavy lights, it felt enormous, like a coliseum dressed in modern steel. The energy inside the venue was a little unnerving, thousands of fans humming with anticipation, loud enough that it vibrated in her chest.

People packed every seat, most with eyes locked on the cage watching the current fight. Some wore merch, shouting names with beer-slicked voices. Others were dressed like they belonged on a runway, leaning into each other with glossy lips and barely hidden intentions—here less for the fights, more for whoever looked good throwing punches.

Azzi had never seen a crowd like this.

The Sparks players arrived late, just in time for the final card—Paige’s fight. Their seats gave them a clean view of the octagon, and even then, Azzi felt miles away from the quiet girl in the Essentials sweatsuit.

It didn’t feel like her world. Until it did.

The lights changed. The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena as he introduced the final card.

“Fighting out of the red corner—ten wins, three losses, three draws…”

A pulse of music filled the air. Loud and flashy. Her opponent stepped out, face painted with focus, arms raised as her corner hyped her up. The screen showed her highlight reel, knockout clips, quick hands. She worked the crowd like she was made for the attention.

Azzi watched, her arms folded, lips pressed together. She glanced at Cam. “She any good?”

Cam shrugged. “She’s fine. But she’s not Paige.”

The lights dimmed again, then roared back with Paige’s name.

“Fighting out of the blue corner—twelve wins, no losses…”

The crowd erupted. Louder than before. A different kind of loud—not hype, but reverence as fans screamed her name.

No dramatic song. No chest-thumping entourage. Just Paige.

Her bun was pulled back tight. Her expression as unreadable as ever. She didn’t play to the crowd. She didn’t acknowledge the noise. Her hands were wrapped, feet steady, and her eyes were locked straight ahead—already in the cage long before she stepped into it.

She hadn’t blinked. Not once.

Inside the cage, the difference in opponents was transparent.

Her opponent stood in the red corner, flanked by a full team—three cornermen barking last-minute instructions, one of them pounding their fist into a pad like they could transfer momentum through noise. She bounced on her toes, muscles twitching with anticipation, feeding off the crowd’s energy like it was oxygen.

Paige, by contrast, sat quietly in the blue corner with just two: her trainer crouched beside her, and a cut man leaned casually against the gate, hands folded, already knowing his night would likely be uneventful.

Her trainer murmured something low in her ear—brief. Paige didn’t respond. Just a slow nod.

No fire in her eyes. No bravado. Just a complete stillness that felt more dangerous than all the antics.

She tugged off her shirt, revealing a black UFC sports bra. Her frame was lean. She rolled her shoulders back, tilted her neck side to side until it cracked, took a steady breath then rose to her feet.

No theatrics. No psych-up routine.

Just the quiet poise of someone who already knew how this would end.

Azzi watched from the stands, her heart ticking a little faster in anticipation all of a sudden. She’d never seen someone so calm in the center of so much chaos.

The bell rang.

From the start Paige moved like water—never still, never rushed. Her stance was coiled. Calculated. From the opening seconds, it was clear she wasn’t pressing for control. She gave her opponent space, let her circle. Almost like there had been an agreement—an unspoken one—to make this last.

Azzi leaned closer, her eyebrows drawing in with confusion. “She’s…not even trying.”

“Not yet,” Cam said beside her, arms crossed tightly as she studied the blonde intently. “That’s just Paige. She reads. Waits.”

Inside the octagon, Paige’s eyes never left her opponent. Every jab that came her way was slipped or parried, her head moving just enough, her feet dancing just out of reach. Not a single clean hit landed.

Then, like a breath between beats, Paige struck.

A quick jab to the ribs and then another to the shoulder before sliding out of range like nothing had happened. Her opponent stumbled for a moment, surprised by the speed, the force.

Azzi sat forward a little in shock. “She’s fast.”

“Quicker than most,” Cam replied. “She’s still holding back. Hasn’t gotten the read she wants.”

It was strange, watching someone so calm in a cage built for violence. Paige moved with a quiet rhythm, not aggressive, not passive—just controlled. There was no adrenaline in her face. No fire. No nothing. Every attempt at a choke, every kick, punch, she slipped out of it with an ease.

The bell rang again for the start of the second round.

Paige returned to the center like nothing had changed—fluid, unhurried. The same measured steps. The same calculated distance. To anyone else, it looked like she hadn’t felt a thing in the first round. Like she still wasn’t interested in finishing the fight.

Azzi crossed her arms, shifting in her seat. “She’s still not pushing.”

“She will,” Cam said softly.

The two opponents moved around the cage. Paige throwing a few hits that landed clean, easing just out of distance every time her opponent tried to counter.

Then—snap. A right hook came quick out of nowhere and landed hard across Paige’s jaw.

The sound cracked above the crowd, a clean connection that rocked her head to the side.

The arena gasped and Cam sat up a little bit.

Azzi's breath caught. “Damn.”

Rickea leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Oh shit she’s about to be pissed.”

Paige didn’t go down. Didn’t even stagger. Her feet stayed planted, spine straight. Just the subtlest tightening in her jaw, a flicker of something in her eyes.

She stepped forward—not aggressively, but with intent. Her hands came up a little higher. She slipped a jab, ducked under a left cross, and countered with a shot to the ribs. Her opponent winced, retreating, but Paige followed—not rushing, just closing space.

Another hit—clean, to the ribs again. Then an uppercut with dominant hand that snapped her opponent’s chin up.

The crowd roared.

Azzi leaned in, almost transfixed now. Paige was still silent, still unreadable, but her body was speaking for her.

A left calf kick.

A right jab.

Then, when her opponent flinched Paige threw a final cross throw, hitting the side of her jaw like a switch being flipped.

She dropped.

The referee dove between them waving his hands.

It was over. The final card of the night meant for five rounds done in two.

The crowd exploded around her, but Paige didn’t move much. No celebration. Just a steady rise of her chest turning toward her corner, jaw set, breathing calm.

Azzi sat frozen in her seat, blinking like she’d just come out of a dream. The fight was still playing in her head—the jabs, the fluid movement—the stillness that followed.

Paige spit the slight blood from her mouth into the bucket beside her. She muttered something tight to her trainer—no emotion on her face, no victory or pride, just words exchanged, a formality.

Azzi could see it in her eyes. The flash of fire behind her cool blue orbs. A controlled anger. The flicker of frustration that didn’t quite make it to the surface.

With a final nod to her trainer, Paige stepped out of the cage, eyes forward, posture straight.

Azzi couldn’t look away for some reason.

The hallway leading to the back of the venue was buzzing—staff, security, the hum of celebration from other fighters and teams. But the air shifted the moment they rounded the corner and stepped into the private area Paige was assigned to.

Azzi heard it before she saw it—the sharp thump of fists slamming into leather, steady and forceful.

Paige stood in front of a heavy bag, wrapped hands pounding into it with methodical anger. Sweat clung to her skin, her jaw was clenched tight, and a faint bruise was already blooming across her jaw like a slow, dark sunrise.

Azzi slowed, instinctively when she felt the tenseness in the room. So did Rickea.

Only Cam kept walking like she didn’t feel the weight in the room.

“Hey,” she called out casually, stepping right into the storm.

Paige didn’t turn. Her punches came harder now. The bag jerked with every hit. The anger she never showed on her face bled through her fists instead.

“You know she’s lucky she landed that hit, right? You let her dance for a whole round and a half for the sake of entertainment and the contract.”

Still nothing.

“You pissed ‘cause she got that shot in, or ‘cause you gave her the space to?”

Another strike—harder. Paige’s shoulder tensed, her jaw tighter now.

Cam groaned, completely unfazed. “Okay, silent treatment. Classic.”

Azzi stayed near the wall, her arms crossed, gaze flicking between Cam and Paige.

Rickea leaned in and whispered, “This is how she decompresses. Last time she almost broke the damn bag.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She felt like she shouldn’t talk. Her eyes were fixed on the slow rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the focus in her face, the storm she carried so tightly under the surface.

She was beautiful, but in the way fire was beautiful—dangerous and controlled only by choice.

Azzi watched her hit the bag again, harder, sharper. Her body said what her mouth never would.

Cameron stepped closer, folding her arms as she watched Paige continue hammering the bag, knuckles snapping against leather like a ticking clock.

“You know,” Cam started, voice lighter than the atmosphere deserved, “one of these days you’re gonna hit the bag so hard it punches back.”

Paige still said nothing.

Thud.

Cam sighed. “You could at least pretend to listen. I brought people to watch you fight today.”

Thud.

“You don’t get to brood in a corner every time you get touched—”

CRACK.

The next punch landed louder, the bag swinging violently. Azzi flinched.

But Cam didn’t budge. “Seriously. It was one punch. And you won. With a knockout. Again. So let’s wrap this post-fight existential crisis up and go get a drink like normal people—”

THUD.

“Paige,” Cam said, sharper now.

Still, Paige didn’t stop.

So Cam grabbed her.

She stepped in close, hands catching Paige’s wrist mid-swing.

Paige whipped around. Her expression that was once unreadable, flared. Her jaw was clenched and her blue eyes seared through Cam like a fuse had finally been lit.

Azzi froze.

“Don’t touch me when I’m not ready Cameron,” Paige snapped.

For a moment, everything stood still but Cam held her ground not concerned by the anger.

Then, slowly, Paige pulled her wrist free, shoulders still tight, chest rising and falling with the restraint it took to pull the heat back in.

She looked away before mumbling, “Fine. I’m done.”

Cam raised her eyebrows, unfazed. “Wow. What a glowing yes.”

Paige didn’t answer. She turned and started taking off her gloves.

Cam glanced over her shoulder at Azzi and Rickea. “You see what I deal with?”

Azzi blinked, completely confused. Her gaze lingered on Paige as the blonde gathered herself, recentering.

Despite the snap in Paige’s voice, despite the way her jaw tightened when Cam grabbed her, Azzi hadn’t been afraid.

Because Cam hadn’t moved and Rickea didn’t react either.

It was clear that this wasn’t unfamiliar. Paige’s temper was a known storm. One that rumbled, but didn’t destroy the people she cared about.

Azzi found herself wanting to be the one who could calm it. Which, she admitted to herself, was probably the stupidest thought she could have. Still, the feeling settled in her chest.

Paige muttered something to Cam, the words too soft for Azzi to hear, but the way she shrugged out of her hoodie and grabbed a towel made the intention clear.

“Gonna shower.”

And just like that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the room finally exhaling.

Rickea immediately snorted, breaking the silence. “I swear, Cam…one day you’re really gonna piss that girl off.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “If she hasn’t snapped on me by now, she’s not gonna. I used to really push her buttons when I was in college.” She shrugged. “Besides, someone’s gotta rile her up a little bit here and there.”

She turned toward Azzi, a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let the glare scare you. She’s a softie. That’s just her version of agreeing to be social.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the tension softening in her shoulders. Her gaze flicked toward the closed door again, curiosity twisting like thread around her thoughts.

Social. Sure.

The three of them talked a little longer, light conversation humming to fill the space as they waited for Paige. Azzi listened, but her mind kept circling the same question. She couldn’t quite let it go.

After a pause, she finally asked, “Why was she so upset?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but before the answer could come, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steam curled into the air, and Paige stepped out, hair damp, the fresh bruise harsh along her jaw. Her expression was blank—but her eyes landed on Cam.

“Stop talking about me, Cam,” she said, her voice even and clipped, not bothering to slow her pace as she crossed the room.

“I wouldn’t have to if you pulled the pole outta your ass.”

Rickea snorted again, laughing into the back of her hand.

Azzi blinked, but she couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto her face. Paige paused for the smallest second, like she registered it—then kept walking, grabbing her phone off the bench.

Cam just shook her head. “Anyway,” she said, picking up the thread like Paige hadn’t just tried to end the conversation, “She hates getting touched in a fight. Takes it personally. She doesn’t admit it, but she’s a little vain. Hates when they mess up her face.”

Rickea laughed, sitting in a nearby chair. “That bruise is already turning purple. You’re gonna be cranky about that for days.”

Across the room, Paige sat on the bench, towel draped around her neck. She didn’t even glance over. “You’re the one who said it looked good last time.”

“Yeah,” Rickea shrugged, “but that was a black eye. This one’s different. It’s got character.”

Paige finally looked up, her gaze sliding to Rickea first. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not working.”

Rickea grinned. “I’m just saying. You still look pretty Paigey, don't worry.”

Paige snorted, quiet and barely audible—but it was there. A crack in the stone.

Azzi, still leaning against the wall, tilted her head slightly as she decided to chime in. “So it’s the face you’re protective of. Not the record?”

Those blue eyes shifted, landing on Azzi like they’d just remembered she was in the room. Her expression didn’t change, but there was something focused in the way she looked at her now.

“You ever get punched in the jaw in front of a screaming arena and ten cameras?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s smile curved. “I’ve taken elbows from girls twice my size. So maybe pretty close.”

A beat passed. Then Paige’s gaze drifted away again. “Then you kinda get it.”

Cam grinned like she’d just seen lightning hit dry land. “Wow. Full sentence and everything on the first day. That might be a record.”

Azzi laughed. “Do I get a prize?”

Paige reached for her phone, not looking up. “Don’t push your luck.”

Rickea leaned toward Azzi, whispering behind a not-so-subtle hand, “That’s basically a compliment from her.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes drifting back to Paige—who still wasn’t looking at her, but something in the quiet set of her shoulders said she was listening.

…

The restaurant had polished floors, beautiful wood tables, and a bar that stretched long under a wash of amber light. It wasn’t flashy, but perfectly familiar.

Azzi walked in followed by Cam and Rickea, all three of them caught in easy conversation. Her gaze drifted around, slowing as she caught sight of Paige already at the bar.

“How the hell did she beat us here?”

Cam didn’t bother looking. “Told you she would. She drives like a crazy person sometimes.”

Azzi felt it then—the same quiet pull she’d felt last night at the game.

They approached the bar together, Cam sliding in beside Paige with a light shoulder bump. “Look who actually showed up to be social,” she teased.

Paige didn’t look up. “Debatable.”

Rickea gave Paige a half-hug from behind that she didn’t react to before turning to Cam. “I think I saw someone James knows near the back. Come with me real quick?”

Cam looked over her shoulder, spotted what Rickea was talking about, then glanced back at Azzi. “You good here for a second?”

Azzi nodded, her eyes still on Paige. “Yeah.”

They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Azzi to ease into the empty seat beside her. Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking to her, then forward again.

Azzi took her time, letting the silence stretch as she rested her arms on the bar. Then softly, “You always this friendly?”

Paige’s lips barely moved. “You always this brave after watching someone knock somebody out?”

Azzi laughed—fullly, like it came from somewhere deeper than amusement. “So you do talk.”

“I thought we established that already,” Paige said, eyes still on the mirror behind the bar, watching the room without ever turning toward it.

Azzi’s gaze flicked to the bruise along Paige’s jaw. “Does it hurt?”

There was a pause. Paige glanced at her again, like she wasn’t used to being asked questions.

“You never really get used to being hit by someone who hits people for a living,” she said finally. Her voice was flat—but not dismissive.

Azzi winced sympathetically, then gave a small smile. “So no secret trick to making it hurt less? Ice, adrenaline, pride?”

Paige tilted her head just slightly. “Denial.”

Azzi laughed softly. “That tracks.”

There was a beat of silence as Azzi’s eyes lingered on her face—the bruising, the set of her mouth.

“So…no celebration? No smile? Not even a little shoulder shimmy like Steph?” Azzi teased gently.

Paige blinked at her once. “I don’t shimmy.”

“Everyone shimmies for something.”

“I don’t.”

Azzi grinned, leaning in a bit. “What about a smile? You got one of those, or are they pay-per-view only?”

Paige’s lips quirked—barely. It could’ve been amusement or irritation. “Expensive ticket,” she said dryly. “Most people don’t make it past the preview.”

Azzi laughed again. “You know, I think that was a joke. You might be more charming than you let on blondie.”

Before Azzi could push her luck further Rickea slid in beside Paige again with a smile as she looked at AZi. “If she’s talking to you, that’s like…step two in the Paige friendship program. Step three’s making her laugh, but I don’t think anyone’s ever made it that far.”

Paige took a sip of her drink, ignoring them. “Y’all alk too much.”

Cam grinned, dropping her bag on the bar. “Yeah, but admit it—you’d miss us if we stopped.”

Paige didn’t respond, but her silence felt a little lighter.

As time passed the bar had filled out fast, music pulsing beneath the chatter and clinking glasses. Paige sat quiet at the bar, still nursing the same drink. Azzi was leaned in, teasing something light out of her, when a sudden jolt rocked Rickea’s chair next to Paige.

A man, maybe late twenties, stumbled back with a grin, clearly not sorry. “Shit my bad,” he said with zero sincerity, eyes already scanning Rickea’s body. “Didn’t mean to bump into something so pretty.”

Rickea frowned. “Yeah, you’re good. Not interested, though.”

He leaned in closer anyway, undeterred. “That’s fine. I’m not asking for forever or nothing like that, just the rest of your night.”

Rickea once again made it clear she wasn’t interested but the man insisted.

“Damn I can’t even try the ride out? You like pussy or sum?”

Paige’s chair scraped back and she stood, calm in the way a storm is calm before it breaks open the sky.

“That’s not what she said,” Paige said, voice like gravel under pressure.

The guy turned, sizing her up—and then smirked when he caught the bruise along her jaw. “Jesus, you look like someone already handed you your ass tonight. You sure you wanna get in another round, pretty girl?”

Azzi and Rickea didn’t move, both a little terrified for the man—Paige’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack her teeth, knuckles ghosting over the edge of her seat.

Her voice was almost surgical. “You got three seconds to get the fuck outta my face before one of your friends is carrying you outside.”

She started to step forward when Cam was suddenly between them, hand braced flat against Paige’s ribs like it wasn’t the first time.

“Hey,” Cam said, firm but easy. “You don’t need another lawsuit tonight.”

Paige didn’t look at her. Her eyes stayed locked on the man’s. But she didn’t move forward either.

The guy gave a dry, uneasy laugh. “Whatever. Crazy bitches,” he muttered before melting back into the crowd.

Without saying anything, Paige picked up her glass and tossed back the last of it, ice clinking against her teeth. “I’m going home,” she muttered, already turning away. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw tight, and the bruise on her face was darker under the bar lights. None of them tried to stop her.

Cam returned a few seconds later, sliding into the chair with a sigh and grabbing a fry from Rickea’s plate. She caught the way Azzi’s eyes lingered toward the door Paige had just walked through.

“Don’t worry.” Cam said, chewing. “That wasn’t bad she’s fine.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

Cam shrugged. “She’s always been like that. Bad temper—quiet until she’s not.”

“She ever actually do anything?” Azzi asked.

“Couple of things,” Cam replied dryly. “Mostly in high school. Nothing wild, but enough that my dads best friend—her dad—got her into fighting when she was fifteen. Said if she was gonna throw punches, she might as well learn to do it right.”

Azzi nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place.

Cam grinned. “She’s probably just going home to hit a bag. With the lights off and no music on. She’s real dramatic like that when she’s pissed.”

“Guess that explains why she left without saying bye.”

Cam laughed. “She always does. Paige doesn’t do long goodbyes. Or small talk. Or...people, really.”

Azzi tilted her glass thoughtfully. “But she’s close with you two.”

Cam shrugged. “We’re not people. We’re furniture at this point.”

Rickea laughed. “Background noise she tolerates.”

Azzi huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes lingering on the door Paige had walked through. “She ever crazy a smile?”

“Sure,” Cam said, then squinted. “Like...twice a year. Usually when she knocks someone out faster than she expected or when she’s had a few drinks and a stupid dog video shows up on her phone.”

Rickea added, “Besides us, the only person she even tolerates is probably DiJonai.”

“I wouldn’t even say tolerate—she loves that girl.”

Azzi glanced between them. “DiJonai Carrington? From the Wings?”

“Mmm,” Cam nodded. “No clue how or why, but she always has Paige laughing like it’s nothing. It’s kind of freaky.”

Azzi smiled. “So it’s possible.”

Rickea chuckled. “Barely.”

Cam leaned back, watching her. “Why? You planning something?”

Azzi’s smiles “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Cam laughed into her drink. “Good luck. Just try not to lose a tooth in the process.”

Azzi grinned. “No promises.”

…

A few days later the sun hung high over Beverly Hills, casting golden light on the modern homes lining the hills. Paige’s place sat a little higher—tucked back from the others, quiet and unbothered. It was sleek, clean lines and glass, concrete softened by manicured greenery.

Cam led the way through the side gate without knocking, as if she'd done it a thousand times. Azzi followed with Rickea close behind, the faint echo of music drawing them around to the backyard. There, offset from the house, was a sleek, glass-and-metal shed—if you could even call it that—more luxury gym than anything makeshift.

Cam pushed the door open and air rolled out to greet them—along with the rhythmic snap-snap-snap of a speed bag being worked over.

Paige didn’t look up right away.

Her skin gleamed with sweat, the muscles in her shoulders shifting constantly under the light, ponytail hanging down her back. She didn’t miss a beat when they stepped in. Just kept going.

Only when she hit her final strike, hand catching the swinging bag in its path, did she glance over. Her eyes flicked to them. Then she turned away to unstrap her gloves, breathing even, back rising and falling calmly like she hadn’t just been keeping the rhythm of the speed bag for the past 15 minutes.

“Didn’t know we were making this a group thing,” Paige said, voice indifferent, like it didn’t matter—but she definitely noticed.

Cam tossed her bag down. “You knew I was someone. The more the merrier, right?”

Paige wiped her face with a towel completely unimpressed. “That’s probably the most bullshit saying I’ve ever heard.”

She finally turned toward Rickea and Azzi, giving them a small nod in greeting. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it was something.

Rickea deciding to start the day of bothering Paige smiled, eyes running over Paige purposefully. “You know, you actually look kinda pretty without the bruise blondie.”

Paige blinked once, slowly, then shook her head as she turned back to the bag. “You spend way too much time with Cam.”

Rickea just laughed, dropping to the mat with Azzi and Cam to start stretching. “That’s not a thank you, by the way.”

“I didn’t hear a compliment back either,” Cam added, reaching overhead.

“Y’all are loud as hell for two people who can’t throw a punch,” Paige mumbled, already back at the bag. The sound of her fists striking the leather echoed in the gym rhythmically—despite her bare knuckles.

Cam crossed her arms. “Gloves, Madison.”

Without missing a beat, Paige shot back, “My bank account tells me it doesn’t matter.”

Cam scoffed. “That bank account’s not gonna matter when you break your hand being hard headed.”

“Then I’ll fight southpaw. Problem solved.”

She didn’t look at anyone as she spoke, didn’t even pause her movement, but Azzi’s eyes lingered on her. It was another glimpse of her personality—dry and quietly cocky. Her expression remained unreadable, but that hint of personality cut through.

Azzi found herself smiling, just a little.

Paige didn’t look in her direction—didn’t have to. Her hands moved faster on the speed bag, before she finally spoke. “I promise you won’t survive if you don’t stretch.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow, dropping into a lunge. “You threatening me?”

One last hit. Then Paige caught the bag mid-air. She turned—just slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Warning,” she said. “Threats usually come with follow-through.”

Her tone was dry, but something flickered there—amusement? A challenge? Whatever it was, it made Azzi’s smile grow.

“You really are a sweetheart,” Azzi said softly, voice filled with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” Paige said, tone just as dry. “I really do try.”

Azzi tilted her head, continuing the banter. “No, really. The warmest presence in the room. I felt it the second we walked in. Like sunshine.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “That’s just the heat coming off the lights, but sure.”

Azzi laughed. “Do you wake up this grumpy or do you warm up to it?”

“Depends who’s talking to me before 9 a.m.,” Paige replied, catching the bag again after a few hits. She glanced at Azzi, that unreadable look still etched into her face.

Azzi pressed her some more, voice a little playful. “So I should text you at 8:59? Make sure you start the day right.”

Paige let the bag hang, tilted her head slightly. “You text me at 8:59, I’ll block you by nine.”

Azzi fake pouted saying, “Aww but I’ll miss you.”

That got a reaction—slight, but there. A dry chuckle slipped out of Paige’s mouth before she turned away like it didn’t happen. No smile. No change in expression. But it was something.

Azzi caught it. And she grinned. “Noted,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Rickea looked between them, her eyes squinted. “Did…did Paige Madison just laugh?”

Cam blinked, then grinned. “Swear I heard it too. Thought it was the ceiling creaking.”

Paige didn’t acknowledge them at first—just shook her head, grabbed her towel, and muttered, “Alright. I’m done.” She tossed it over her shoulder and jogged toward the door without another word, adding dryly as she passed them, “Keep up, or don’t bother.”

Cam laughed. “There’s the ray of sunshine we all love.”

Rickea snorted, grabbing her water bottle.

The three of them followed her out, the soft sound of their running shoes echoing through the gym as the door swung shut behind them.

The trail was quiet except for the rhythm of their sneakers hitting dirt and gravel, the cool morning air crisp against their hot skin as they ran. Paige led the group with a pace that wasn’t brutal—but definitely not gentle. No one spoke much, the silence broken only by the occasional breathless grunt or snap of twigs under their feet. After about a mile, she slowed, glanced back once, and wordlessly turned around, leading them back the way they came.

By the time they returned to the house, sweat clung to their clothes, and Paige didn’t waste a second getting them started on the workout.

The workout moved fast—jump rope intervals, rounds on the assault bike, steady sets on the rower. Paige moved through it effortlessly, only occasionally glancing over to make sure they were keeping up. No weights, no high-impact movements. Just conditioning.

Halfway through, Rickea groaned, flopping down dramatically beside the bike. “You’re evil for this. Like genuinely sick in the head.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “Cardio builds character.”

“Fuck you,” Rickea shot back.

Without missing a beat, Paige mumbled, “James prolly wouldn’t fuck with that.”

Rickea blinked, caught off guard before bursting into laughter. Cam doubled over, wheezing. Even Azzi let out a surprised laugh, looking at Paige like she was discovering a new layer.

Paige barely reacted—just adjusted her ponytail, grabbed a towel, and moved on to the next station.

After the workout they settled on the turf just outside the gym, the morning sun higher in the sky now, burning off the last of the chill. Everyone was stretched out, legs extended or crossed, bottles of water in hand. The air was quiet in that satisfied, post-workout way—tired bodies, endorphins still buzzing.

Cam sat up a little straighter, eyeing Paige from across the turf. “When’s the next one?”

Paige reached for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap without looking up. “Month and a half.”

Cam blinked, clearly shocked. “That soon?”

Azzi glanced between them, eyebrows slightly raised at Cam’s tone.

“You just fought, like…two weeks ago,” Cam said, frowning now. “Why the hell are you getting back in the cage already?”

Paige took a long gulp of her water, then looked at her. “Someone challenged me.”

Cam threw her hands up. “So? You don’t have to accept every dumbass who thinks they can hang with you.”

Paige shrugged, wiping the sweat from her neck with the towel draped over her shoulder. “You know I’m not turning down a fight Cam.”

Cam shook her head, exasperated. “Jesus. One of these days, someone’s gonna call you out just to test that stubborn ass pride of yours.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Well I’d hope they’re ready.”

Rickea, still sprawled on her back, let out a low sound. “You’re gonna give me anxiety before the playoffs.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on Paige. “Who challenged you?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to her for a moment, then back to her water. “Some girl out of Houston. Up and comer. Had six fights—all KO or TKO apparently.”

That made Cam sit up fully, the tension tightening across her shoulders. “All six? And you still said yes?”

Paige didn’t answer, just took another sip.

“Paige,” Cam pressed, voice changing. “You can’t keep signing up for these reckless ass matchups just because someone talks shit.”

“She didn’t talk,” Paige said evenly. “She signed the contract.”

“That’s even worse,” Cam shot back. “You know how this goes. They line up someone with hype and a perfect record hoping to make a name off you. You know all they care about is the damn check.”

Paige’s jaw ticked slightly, but her voice stayed level. “Then she picked the wrong name.”

Cam blew out a breath clearly frustrated. “You act like you’re invincible—”

“I’m not,” Paige cut in, eyes lifting to meet Cam’s for the first time. Her voice didn’t rise. “I know exactly what I am. And I know exactly what I can take. So if you’re trying to talk me out of it, don’t. I’m fighting.”

The group went quiet for a moment, the air thick between them. Even Rickea wasn’t cracking a joke.

Azzi, still seated on the ground with one knee pulled up, studied Paige. Trying to figure out a fraction of what she was thinking.

Finally, Cam leaned back again with a sigh. “You’re gonna give me gray hair.”

“You already got two,” Paige mumbled, tossing her towel over her shoulder again as she got up and turned toward the house.

Rickea snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

As Paige disappeared through the sliding doors back into the house, the three basketball players sat in a loose triangle on the turk, still catching their breath.

Cam ran a hand through her hair and exhaled hard. “That girl’s gonna get herself killed one day because of fuckin pride.”

Rickea leaned back on her palms, still slightly winded. “You still think she takes fights just because of pride?”

Cam nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. Paige would say it’s about proving something, about staying sharp, whatever—but really? She hates the idea of someone thinking they can take her. It’s like a switch flips.”

Azzi’s brows drew together slightly as she stretched her legs out in front of her. “So she’s been like that since you met her?”

“She’s not always like this,” Cam said, softer now. “She’s just a little more intense around fight time. Gets short. Coiled up like a rubber band about to snap.”

Azzi rubbed her thumb over her ankle, as she thought. “But she’s not reckless like that in the ring.”

“No,” Cam agreed. “She’s calculated as hell. She’s just competitive to a fault. Wants to win everything.”

Rickea snorted. “Honestly, sounds familiar.”

Azzi tilted her head. “To who?”

Rickea smirked. “To you.”

Azzi gave her a look but didn’t argue, just rolled her eyes. After a second her eyes lingered on the house where Paige had disappeared.

The three of them sat there stretching for a few more minutes but as they started packing up, Cam stood and stretched, wincing a little. “Damn, I forgot to grab the protein bars I have in there. They're in the kitchen by the fridge—Az, can you grab 'em? If I go in there it’ll be World War III.”

Azzi glanced at her, then at the house. “Sure.”

She wiped her face with a towel and walked across the backyard, slipping inside the house. The interior was just as modern and minimal as she expected—clean lines, neutral tones, cool air against her skin. The kitchen was easy to spot, but what caught her attention first was Paige, standing at the sink with her back to the room, filling a glass with water.

Azzi paused not wanting to scare her before realizing how ridiculous that sounded. Instead she decided to announce her presence by speaking. “You always put people through hell and act like it doesn’t faze you?”

Paige didn’t look over. “Would’ve gone easier if you stretched more than you looked at me.”

Azzi tilted her head and smiled. “Maybe you’re interesting to look at.”

Paige drank from her glass, then set it down. “I have blonde hair and blue eyes. You can find that all over LA.”

“It’s more interesting when it comes with a side of asshole.”

That earned her a small huff—it was the closest thing to a laugh she’d gotten. Paige still didn’t smile.

Azzi crossed the kitchen, leaning against the counter directly across from her. “Do you purposefully not smile?”

Paige looked at her. “Yes.”

“So what’s that about?”

Paige held her gaze. “Every facial expression’s a tell in fighting. So I try to control em when I can.”

“I’m gonna get you to crack a smile eventually.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, finally giving her a full look. “Why?”

Azzi shrugged, the corners of her mouth tugging up. “Because I think it’d look good on you and I like looking at pretty women.”

Paige stared at her for a moment, unreadable as ever. Then she pushed off the counter and turned toward the hallway. “Tell my sister to lock the door on the way out.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

Azzi just smiled before finally grabbing what she came in there for.

[vanilleandclove]

playoffs; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader

pittsburgh has a vibrant pub scene, being of true east coast fashion. when it’s playoff season for the steelers, that can only lead to bar brawls and broken tooths, most times. sometimes it’s bloody knuckles and misogynists. + as jack’s 49th birthday is around the corner, you book him a solo-vacation. 

warnings: violence, harassment towards women, misogyny, alcohol consumption, language, comments on body image/weight by others, talks of the menstrual cycle, trauma induced infertility, postpartum depression symptoms mentioned (non-reader), age gap: reader is 33, jack is 48. word count: 4.7k notes: these are based on two different anon requests! i merged the ideas :) — anon transcript at the end. cenote = natural watering/sinkhole, i’m from the bajío lands of mexico, michoacan to be exact- my family is purely purépecha, and have only been to a cenote twice once in michoacan & cancun. 

Winter dawned onto Pittsburgh with an iron fist, near subzero temperatures, black ice, alcohol flowing into everyone to keep their blood warm, tree lighting ceremony, and most importantly, the Steelers made the playoffs. 

It became a tradition for the Pitt’s senior employees to pass the grunt work off to anyone R3 and under for the night shift and have the new attendings run the emergency room, all to gather around and watch the first game of playoff season. 

You and Heather stood at the bar, patiently waiting for the bartender to serve the three pitchers of beer. She knew you both were regulars, you thank the entirety of 2015 and 2021 when you had Abbot troubles and she had Robby issues, all around, it made for good conversation and excessive gratuity. 

It was crowded, gross, and musty. You almost wanted to scream “Go Pac, go!” just for the shoulders of the blue collared men to stop piercing into your spine. 

“I’ll get you ladies next, as well as those fancy cherries you like hon” Sara pointed at you as she walked into the back to grab the pitchers. You loved maraschino cherries, mostly because you wanted to prove you could tie the stems with your tongue to Jack who doesn’t believe you. 

“I thought boarding was worse, Sara must be swamped” Heather spoke up, yelling a tad from the loud noise around you both that could drown out her words. 

“I know her paycheck is fat during this time of the year” you shouted back, resting your hands onto the bar, glancing down at your engagement ring. 

It's been a long year with Jack, you couldn’t wait for it to be over with just so you have the false sense of a new era starting with your lover; it made for good motivation. 10 years he’s been in your life, a decade, now that made your lower back feel as stiff as a board. 

“Care to explain why we were left out of this?” Dana scooted between both of you, Bridget already occupying the extra chair you brought out for the booth. Dana’s husband was bulky and tall, like a lumberjack- pure midwest, he beelined his way to the bathroom as Dana conversed with you and Heathers

“Since when did you let the girls out to play?” you commented, giving her a hug with your outside arm, it’s been awhile since you’ve had day shift so seeing Dana was sparse. 

“Honey it’s date night, my kids are fast asleep with my eldest babysitting, the girls get to come out” she responded, giving Heather a hug before making her way to the booth. 

You smiled as it filled you with hope. Despite all of the years, kids, stressful jobs Dana and her husband had, they still had time for themselves.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” a stranger's voice peeked through, you could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores, his T.J. Watt jersey stained.

“No we’re good, thank you” you responded faster than you could think. 

“Really not even one?” his voice was nasally, grosser than the fact that his hot breath was directly in your face, “Could make y’all have a good time” he got a little too close to your ear. 

Jack made you carry a Swiss Army Knife- specifically the Swiss Champ on you at all times, he even gave you a 30 minute lecture on how to use it, even though you were mainly concentrating on his biceps and triceps flexing at the movement. He clipped them to your car keys, when you wore your jeans he put them on a carabiner with your keys and clipped them onto the belt loop.

“What about you darling? Want a drink with me, I know the perfect way to do jell-o shots, start at the cli-“.

“Okay, I already told you no, just go dude” you cut him off, sensing Heather’s uncomfortably from behind you, “Seriously you reek” you didn’t care for the fact that he towered over you, if he was bulky and the fist he started to make could land you in a worst spot than Dana in August. 

“You have no say for your friend missy” he pressed, anchoring his next to be at eye level to you. In your peripheral, you saw Jack straighten his back, sticking one leg out of the booth, ready for anything if you needed him. “Who knows, maybe I could take both of you”.

You made sure Heather was behind you, beginning to shield her with your arm slightly just so he wouldn’t fully register. “I bet your pussy is tight, soaking from all the attention you’re getting”. 

Within seconds you clocked his jaw, the act leading him to push you by the chest into Heather hard, getting the wind knocked into. Jack and Robby immediately got up and made their way in between you, just before you pounced onto him to throw another punch directly to his nose, the punch only making him more angry to the point where the punch that was supposed to land on your abdomen missed as Robby shoved him and led the punch to land directly on Jack’s arm that shielded your chest. 

You felt the blow nonetheless, cushioned, you still heard a groan leave Jack’s mouth. Just as Jaime, the bouncer, put the man in a citizen's arrest and quickly threw him out, Sara didn’t charge you for the pitchers or cherries, even threw in espresso martinis for you and the girls.

You all sat around the booth, Bridget in the chair, watching the Steelers versus the Packers, it was barely the second quarter. “How’s your arm?” you nudged your elbow lightly into Jack’s waist as his arm draped over your shoulders, holding your free hand and playing with your engagement ring.

“It’s fine, nice punch” Jack complimented, gaining a peck from you in response, “What even happened?”.

“You don’t wanna know” you responded, his eyes not leaving yours. He took your word for it even if it did bother him of not knowing. 

“So Rambo, I guess we should add Rocky onto your list of nicknames” Robby joked, his arm draped around Heather’s shoulder. 

You chuckled, taking a sip of Jack’s beer that you swore always tasted better, “I ain’t from Philly Robby” you deadpanned sarcastically.

“What about Rocky Marciano? He's a pure Masshole” Dana’s husband budded in smoothly. 

You nodded, “Brockton ain’t Boston” you shrugged, refusing to have another nickname of a Sylvester Stallone character, “On the other hand, we could go has Rocky and Adrian for Halloween next year” you added looking at Jack.

“I’m not putting on a red beret”.

“You’re breaking my heart Adrian” you feigned a Stallone voice only for Jack to shut you up with a kiss. 

“Do you guys have a date set?” Bridget popped the question everyone was dying to ask for the past two months since he proposed in October- after three back to back surgeries and while you were eating pizza from the same place your old apartment was next to.

You half-loathed the memory as your hair was greasy and disheveled, the makeup you had on was haphazardly wiped off with the spare makeup wipes you left in your glove compartment, your reading glasses on, and you had just pounded down a Dr. Pepper and needed to burp. 

“Not yet, I’d get married to her in the damn courthouse tomorrow but this one’s insistent on a ‘longer engagement’” he mimicked you. 

You sighed, “I want to get married in Nantucket- or Rhode Island, heaven forbid I want both our families there except his brother” you breathed the last part.

“What’s wrong with Abbot’s brother?” Heather inquired, Dana nodding as she wanted to know as well.

“You wanna tell them about Thanksgiving or do I?” you pressed, looking back to Jack.

He exhaled, “My brother made a comment on her ass- told her she must be pregnant ‘cuz her hips were wider than normal”.

“Not just that!” you added on, “He told Jack’s mom only for her to touch my stomach and ask if it was a boy or girl, it was a complete hazing ritual!” you laughed as you recalled the memory.

You did take a pregnancy test that night, only for it to be negative. Jack did assure you it’s probably just your ovulation coming, he had a bad- well good habit of knowing your cycle just by your body. 

During follicular, your nipples would darken, skin become a bit firmer than usual and you felt at ease from the in between of your period to ovulation. Luteal, especially the few days leading up to your period, you craved salt, and sex- a mix of the two and you’d have him laying down as you sucked him dry, you were insatiable during the time, your breasts heavier. Your period came during the night most times, so you’d wear a pad just in case the day before, sometimes you’d beat the hormones and start first thing in the morning, he noticed your hair would dry faster after the shower and you’d sleep more peacefully with his hand right onto your bare lower stomach. Ovulation sent him on a frenzy, truth be told he didn’t care about where in your cycle you were, if you wanted him, you had him. Your breasts were fuller, you felt more energized and sure enough, your hips widened. 

“Yikes” Robby broke the silence as they all digested what was told, “So, Nantucket?”.

“He wants Martha’s Vineyard but even for both of our salaries and older families, all that accommodation may just send us straight to the gutter” you elaborated, “Should’ve gotten married when I was 30 and we weren’t on the verge of a recession” you joked. 

“Just for that, no wedding ‘til you’re forty”.

“Speaking of big birthdays, what y'all doing for your 50th?” Dana smiled and nodded towards Jack.

“Nasty sex and barbecue?” you joked, Jack pointed at you just as he was about to speak up.

“And that is why I’m marrying her” Jack laughed, “It’s in a year, we’ll figure it out”.

The Steelers ending up advancing in the playoffs, you did eventually prove to Jack the cherry tie, only under a different roof. The next day, you all were swamped during the night shift as it approached 10 pm. 

You couldn’t lie, the engagement led you to be far more touchy. At any given moment, you wanted your hands on Jack. 

“40 year old male, TMGSW, he was stable upon arrival but during transport he kept crashing, gave him 50 of fent” the EMT ran over, it was an odd night to be running the trauma rooms.

Jack loved seeing you work, technically, you were his boss after Greene handed over the trauma department to you. He got a kick out of it as he claimed it made him a trophy husband. 

As the EMTs left, you and Ellis took over as you did an exam, only to realize his blood wasn’t circulating to his legs. “Blood flows unstable, can you call and see if there’s an OR available?”.

“They’re all filled, three with general, four with peds, I think a couple are ortho” an intern responded, only gaining a ‘tsk from you. Gloria gave a briefing to the surgical department earlier this week on maintenance in the operating rooms, leading for several of them to be closed.

“Fuck it, gown me, authorized personnel only, Parker you with me on this?” you shook your head.

“Want me to get Abbot?” she clarified as the nurses gowned and gloved both of you. 

“No- I need all the interns and med students to go to Doctor Abbot or Bridget, they’ll place you on a different case” you announced, clearing the room. “Have you ever seen a thoracotomy?” you asked.

“You and Abbot did one together my intern year,” Parker responded. 

“Good, so you know I’m not bullshitting” you replied, “I need a surgical tray and rib spreader”.

It took 30 minutes for you and Parker to complete the patient’s thoracotomy, never before have you seen her that intrigued. She held a heart in her hands- a beating heart.

“Excellent work Doctor Ellis” you told her, removed your gown and gloves as you sent the man to the ICU for observation and comfortability, you forced them to give him a bed. 

“I don’t know who’s more badass, you or Abbot”.

“He’s got the combat medic thing to bring to the table, I have the magic hands” you joked, dismissing her to do her own work as you met up with Jack at the nurse’s station.

“Your future wife just did a thoracotomy successfully with Ellis” you lightly bragged, your hand finding its way to his bicep, giving it a squeeze. Jack smirked, removing his eyes from the charts. 

“You know our shift isn’t over until 7 right?” he teased.

“I’m on an adrenaline high, sorry for being so needy for my insanely sexy fiance” you breathed, only to hear the beloved voice of none other than Myrna.

“I hear congratulations are in order for the happy couple!” you both haven't seen Myrna since before the engagement, she usually spends her times with the day shift.

“Not married yet Myrna, he’s still all yours” you responded to her, your hand finding itself resting on his forearm as he continued to chart. 

“Honey, lock him down, there’s patients all over the place ready to take him” she smiled at you, “If you guys have a daughter what will her name be?”.

“Haven’t decided yet Myrna” Jack intervened, “Might just have to get those baby name books from the gift shop” he looked into your eyes as he said the last part. 

Myrna wheeled off, leaving you two to yourselves. Jack was still doing yours and his charts which he seldomly enjoyed, took the heat off him while it could. Your hand caressed up and down his forearm, a bruise was forming on where the punch landed.

“How’s the arm baby?” you whispered to him.

“Fine, a little sore, nothing I haven’t felt” he told you, “You know you’ve gotten exceptionally clingy” he added, only for you to remove your hand when you noticed, “It’s not a bad thing, the amount of years I resisted, I’m surprised I haven’t taken you in a spare room”.

“I don’t know… It just feels good” you confessed, “You’re all mine and I got something tangible to prove it”.

“Me being around all the time wasn’t tangible enough? Or the nurses gossiping about our dirty talk that’s enough for a HR complaint if this department was anyway normal?” he quirked a brow.

“Give me your children and we’ll have another tangible thing” you teased.

“Playing with fire Doctor L/n” he responded.

“Oh you love it Doctor Abbot”.

Since August you and Jack had some instances where you thought you were pregnant, ever since Heather told you about her miscarriage, you refused to see a fertility doctor until you’ve run out of every possible option. However, your gynecologist said you were in good shape fertility wise, she made the claim that the more you expect it, the less chance it’ll happen.

Nevertheless, Jack got his labs done, perfectly normal, if anything, his sperm count was high. His therapist was shocked when he brought it up last session, thinking the trauma of his job and past were enough to shock his nerves and stunt fertility. Maybe it was all just timing.

Until Jack got even more panels done, only to reveal that his therapist was correct, he was the problem. Not having the heart to tell you, he saved it for a better day to come, hoping it was all temporary. 

The shift continued on, bar brawls and black ice, in true Pittsburgh fashion during football season. He drove you both home, seeing you dozed off in the passenger seat, he loved the days he worked with you. 

Jack enjoyed carrying you, though his back would hate him for it later, came with the job description. Your bags on both sides of him and you asleep in his arms as he made his way to the bedroom.

You groaned upon him sitting you down on the living chair. Remembering the one nonnegotiable rule.

Never take work to bed- physically and metaphorically speaking. He took your scrubs off, almost ready to give you a sponge bath because you gained clarity and consciousness. You did the rest, after extensive nights, you both settled for showering together, he washed you, you washed him. He gripped onto the support bar and you, it was a routine. He loved it. Gave him a chance to feel you all alone, he loved sex with you, just as much as he loved being nonsexually intimate with you.

The man would cut your toenails if asked, when you get sick once a year he’d gladly discard the tissues filled with snot, and didn't mind a single thing about living life with you. 

As he brushed his teeth while sitting on the stool, you took it upon yourself to massage his shoulders. 

“You know when you get lab work done it gets sent to my work email?” you brought up, kneading the knots in his shoulders as your comment made him anxious. He chose to remain silent and you understood, “Baby” you honestly didn't know about the labwork until you had to contact a patient to see if she could come in for a follow up.

He spat out the toothpaste, feeling your sensitivity towards him, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath before finally choosing to speak. “It could be temporary, maybe I just need to lower my stress levels”.

You looked at him through the mirror before crouching down to be at eye level with him in your eyes, staring into his eyes. “You know I love you regardless of if we have kids or not” you told him, “Don’t beat up yourself over things that are minuscule”. 

“I want them just as much as you do” Jack sighed, resting his forehead on yours, gripping the nape of your neck, “I have an appointment on Monday, gonna see what’s going on with me”. 

You sighed, “Maybe it’s a sign for an extended vacation” you hinted, “Get away for a few weeks, come back home to me…”.

“Like I’d go anywhere without you” he scoffed, only to realize the look on your face was sure “You’re not serious are you?”.

“Babe, we're together 24/7, it’s good to have your own time. Away from sperm tests, OB-GYNEs all up in there, fuck and work, Jack Abbot you’re not a soldier anymore sir” you told him, lightly joking, “For the past month you’ve been working on adrenaline-infused autopilot. I love you, but you can rest sometimes you know?”.

When you were met with silence you decided to speak up again, handing him an envelope with a plane ticket to Tulum that you hid in your gym bag. “Take a break, relax. At least sometime in the near future, I’m not going anywhere- hell I might just have Heather fill in for you so I don’t sleep alone” 

“Baby..” he opened the envelope, “Weren’t we saving this trip for Fourth of July?”.

“Already cleared it all with Bridget and Dana, I’m taking your caseload” you shrugged, you had the idea of him going on a vacation alone since last year, knowing he needed it. “You leave in a week from today” you smiled at him as relief washed over him, “It’s only for a week but when you get back maybe you and Robby can have something together, regain your groove”.

“Honey, I have my groove” he nodded, “I can’t go to Tulum without you”.

“Eh, we’ll do Cancun during the summer, a couple weeks, go exploring” you shrugged, “Have poolside sex in the private pool, fuck me proper” you whispered in his ear. “Oh! And the food”.

“You have quite the dirty mouth”.

“I wonder who influenced me”.

Truth of the matter was, you wanted to surprise him for his birthday. Wanted to throw a bigger get together than what you both originally planned and the only way Jack wouldn’t be at home or in Pittsburgh is if you were both on vacation or his brother convinced him to spend more than 2 hours with him.

“That 400k a year really does work wonders” he commented, “You can’t just go with me?”.

“Then it wouldn’t be alone time would it?” you told him, helping him get up from the stool holding him secured by the elbow. “Let me do this for you”.

He nodded, “You sure you can handle both our caseloads though?” letting you lead the way to the bed. “It’s just a huge ask hon”.

“Nothing I haven’t had before” you shrugged, letting him sit on the edge of the bed, “Don’t worry about baby” you noticed his sense of worry, “Plus when you get back, birthday sex”

“Oh god” he groaned, smiled from the thought but also realized he will be 66 at the kid’s graduation if you guys have a kid now after doing the math.

But that would certainly be a miracle. 

“49 isn’t that big of a deal” he spoke up, placing you between his leg and stump, planting kisses on your lotioned stomach.

“It is with the year we had” you ran your fingers through his grey curls. Hands never leaving him. You weren't wrong, with Pitfest and your near breakup, this past Halloween when you got alcohol poisoning after a stressful week, the week after Thanksgiving when Jack had inconsoble back pain from stress and work. Everything positive was a big deal.

The rest of the week passed, you had dropped Jack off at the airport Tuesday night, telling him to text you when he made it to Denver for his layover. He didn’t wanna leave you, but you knew it would be best for his own sanity. 

It was an interesting week without Jack. He got hooked on facetiming you every single night, sometimes twice a day, before and after he showered. Most of the time you were swamped at work, trying to not show your stress visibly. He knew it beyond the screen, could see the stress lines form between your brows, the lack of sleep prevalent under your eyes.

“Baby just go home” he sighed, he knew Gloria was on your ass the entire week and since you were already working overtime- 2 hours to be exact, the surgical department had separate scheduling most days. The logical decision would be to book it. Jack was awake bright and early for a tour in the cenotes of Tulum, it was 7:30 for you and 6:30 for him. 

You nodded, holding your phone towards the ceiling as you talked to your patient Sadie, she came in with a kitchen knife lodged in her wrist. She was a new mom and the sleep deprivation and postpartum only led to her lack of concentration while cooking. 

“Babe, I’ll call you back when I get home, gotta check up on my new mom” you told him, he looked calm and tanned through the phone. Couldn’t deny your mind, your future husband looked perfect. He understood you better than anyone, understood your job and life. 

“Okay, stay safe, I love you” he told you over the phone, he knew you were tired to the point where it didn’t register and you just hung up, your brain on autopilot.

“Hey hon, everything okay? Want me to get you anything? Any questions?” You asked lightly, checking her I.V. and antibiotics. 

“Do you know when I’m getting discharged? My sister’s at home but she’s leaving at 6:50 before my husband gets off work” she muttered, her throat dry from the intubation tube during surgery. 

“The knife was poking near your ulnar artery, a centimeter closer, you’d be in grave danger in a matter of minutes. Your body took a considerable amount of an adrenaline boost that led your blood pressure to skyrocket and your heart to go into what we call a silent heart attack” you told her, “Thankfully we caught it as it occurred and were able to reverse any damage but two operations in less than 24 hours- especially a strenuous one in the heart, I morally and medically can’t discharge you for at least two days” you looked at her in the eye, “I’m going to ask Bridget, my charge nurse, to transfer you to the post-op wing, it’s a bigger room and more comfortable- if not, I’ll go there myself to get you a bed”. 

“You’re a godsend” she sighed, her eyes swelling up with tears, “Do you have one?”.

“Hm?”.

“A baby” she clarified. 

“Oh no- not yet” you smiled at her, standing at the edge of her bed.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother” she complimented. 

“Thank you” you breathed, “Day shift staff will be coming in a few minutes. I’ll ask my resident Doctor Mohan to check up on you, she’s a really smart and kind person, very easy to talk to” you smiled back at her. You needed a coffee, swearing you would pass out behind the wheel.

It took a few minutes while you were back at the computer ready to clock out to realize you hung up on Jack without saying “I love you”. That was enough for you to start crying at the computer, tired and overwhelmed, and just in time for Gloria and Robby to walk up to you, greeting you with a good morning.

“You okay Rocky?” Robby quirked a brow, placing a coffee cup right next to you.

“Doctor L/n, go home, you’re almost 3 hours overtime” Gloria spoke up, earning a concerned look from Dana, Heather, Robby, and Samira.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Whitaker blurted, the poor kid, heart in the right place except his shift was going to start in 5 minutes.

“Nah it’s okay kid, I’m fine” you wiped your tears, they couldn’t tell if your eyes were bloodshot from the tears or lack of sleep.

“I’m going to ask if Emery can fill in for your surgical cases, Jamie can take Jack’s workload” Dana told you, “Now get the hell out of here before we call your union rep”.

You chuckled, getting your bag from the corner of the desk, letting your hair down for the first time in hours. “Doctor Mohan, I have a new mom, accidentally stabbed herself with a kitchen knife- the adrenaline triggered her BP to boost and she had an MI while on the table. She’s in South 3, I told her you’d be the perfect doctor to talk to when I clock out. Please check up on her?” you spoke to her as you walked off.

“No problem!”.

You made your way to Jack’s truck in the parking lot, choosing his truck over your car because it smelt like him all over. 

He'll be back soon; you mumble to yourself. Made all the exhaustion and stress feel a little bit tolerable. 

dividers by @cafekitsune

anon #1: Jack Abbot x fem reader. Everyone at the Pitt is having drinks at some bar after the shift. Until some assholes got touchy and angry when one of the girls and she just defended them despite having the boys over too. Jack only observe since he knows his gf can handle it. He would interfere when things got out of hand. Badass gf, asshole, violence. Do however you want to. Thanks!!! :)))

anon #2: Hey!! Love all your fic for Jack Abbot❤️❤️ Can I request Jack Abbot x fem reader? Whoever loves language is touched and Jack just accepts the fact that she is. Especially when she visits the Pitt, she would be close to him, hold his hand/arm/back/every where she could touch and Jack just let her despite everyone who knew him, that he's never letting anyone touch him like that. Just something cute, soft, kisses, suggestive. Thanks!!! :)))

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 38

Justice League Watchtower

Danny was chilling in a random sitting room when Captain Marvel walked in.

Danny: Hey.

Billy (sounding tired): Hey.

Captain Marvel walked over to a nearby couch and fell/laid down on it.

Billy: SHAZAM!

In a flash of light Captain Marvel transformed back to his younger civilian form.

Danny: Tired?

Billy: You have no idea.

The two sat in silence for a few seconds.

Danny: How does your transformation feel like?

Billy: Hm?

Danny: I mean going from being sixteen to having the body of a twenty-five year old

Billy: Very weird, especially if I stay too long in either one. When I do and transform into the other one it takes me a solid 5 minutes to get used to the body, different center of gravity and everything. Honestly I rather just have my powers in my regular body.

Danny: Really?

Billy: Yeah.

Danny got up from his seat and walked over to Billy, who was still lying down, and sat down next to him. Danny started using his powers and patted Billy's head.

Billy (thoroughly confused): Umm...

Danny: Transform.

Billy (even more confused): What?

Danny: Transform.

Billy still very confused got up and did as Danny said.

Billy: SHAZAM!

Billy looked at himself and froze. He could feel his powers, he was in his suit, but his body didn't change, he was still in his 16-year-old body.

Billy: How did you-?

Danny: Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury all technically work for me, and I outright outrank all of them. So I just tweaked the way your powers work, everything's the same the only difference is that you don't switch bodies.

Billy: ...

Danny (worried): You don't like it?

Billy (smiling): I love it! Billy hugged Danny. Thank you!

Danny: Your welcome.

Billy: Goodness I- I look amazing!

Danny: yeah.

Billy: How- How am I going to explain this?

Danny: You can just tell the others that I helped you.

Billy: Sure that will be easy enough but what about the public?

Danny: Captain Marvel retired?

Billy: And I am was his secret protégé how he entrusted his powers.

Danny: There you go, problem solved.

Billy: I'm going to show the others! Billy grabbed Danny's hand. Let's go!

Danny (being dragged way): Oh ok, let's.

(Master Post)

[prythianpages]

If Only | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Azriel is there to comfort you after winnowing you both from Day Court.

a/n: This is pt 9 & takes place right after you asked Azriel to take you away, approx 3.3K words. Also, I have no idea how maternity care goes in Prythian, given we got little insight with Feyre so I'm just going with whatever I can think of lol. This is kind of a bit of filler part but we do get a little gender reveal in this <3

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant/ hidden pregnancy trope, reader has a panic attack

Behind you, you heard the sound of Eris breaking.

Not aloud. Not with screams or fists or flame.

But you felt it through the bond.

The wind kissed your cheeks as Azriel’s shadows dispersed, having winnowed you away from the room you stood in. You landed in a clearing somewhere deep in a forest. The canopy of the trees above swayed and you could hear the faint sounds of insects chirping and buzzing. 

It sounded peaceful…and you were anything but.

Azriel released you slowly, his arms hesitant. They remained extended around you, in case you stumbled. He was speaking but you couldn’t make sense of his words, your arms wrapping around your stomach. Your body curled in on itself as if you could hide from the emotions screaming through the bond.

Desperation, longing, regret. 

All his.

It felt like a dam had opened inside of you, Eris’s emotions and pain crashing through to you in intense waves. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Azriel’s shadows danced around you, swirling anxiously like they wanted to help but didn’t know how. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face twisted with guilt. He could only blame himself for your current state. He had been the one to let your secret slip.

A single shadow brushed against your arms. It grounded you back to the present, making you straighten up and look at Azriel.

“I’m sorry,” you heard him say through the pounding in your ears.  “I didn’t know he didn’t… I assumed, I never would've—”

You shook your head, biting your lip. That was the least of your worries. Yes, you were upset Azriel had told Eris. You weren’t planning on telling Eris, you didn’t know how. But maybe, deep down, part of you wondered if Eris finding out had been inevitable. Maybe even necessary. And if that was true, maybe there was some small silver lining to be found in it all.

You were so confused. You wanted to cry. You didn’t know what to think, what to feel.  

You had wanted Eris to find you. You’d imagined him coming, falling to his knees, begging for you back. And when he finally did, amber eyes burning with torment, you hesitated.

Why?

You loved Eris–still love him. But…no matter how much you loved him, love alone didn’t erase what he had done. You were hurt, left aching and angry. His rejection had hollowed something out in you.

Did he want you? Or was it the bond? Was it the child?

You’d heard the stories—how mating bonds could make males possessive, even obsessive. Some believed the magic behind them was tied to legacy and bloodlines, to the power of offspring. 

Was that what brought him back?

A wave of nausea rose in your throat.

Or worse—what if he meant it? What if he truly loved you, and you had just walked away from the only chance you had at a family? At mending what had broken?

You had been prepared to do this alone, facing every single fear and pushing forward on your own. But preparing to face motherhood alone was different from actually doing it.

And you didn’t want to do this alone. 

Eris’s emotions were raw and unguarded, still pouring through the bound and flooding your senses. They bled into your own until you couldn’t tell where his began and yours ended. It was too much. 

The tears finally came down. 

Your knees buckled and Azriel caught you in an instant. The moment his arms wrapped around you, you let yourself fall apart. Your hands were balled into fists against his chest, face buried into his leathers as your body shook with the sobs you had held back for too long. 

Everything spilled out. You cried for the love you felt, for the pain, for the fear of raising a child in the middle of a storm you hadn’t meant to start. You cried for the past you couldn’t return to and the future that now felt like a cliff’s edge…

“Take me back,” you were suddenly whispering. “Az, take me back.”

But there was no confidence or certainty in your tone. Even Azriel could pick up on it.

“Y/n.” His voice was low, grounding. His hands came to your face, lifting it gently. Thumbs swept away the tears streaking down your cheeks. “Breathe,” he instructed softly.

Your chest tightened, the air caught in your lungs as panic rose again. “What if I made the wrong choice?” you gasped, your eyes wide, your pulse frantic beneath your skin.

Azriel’s heart twisted with guilt and sympathy. “Hey,” he murmured, bringing you back to him. “Nothing is final. Just breathe with me.”

His eyes met yours, urging you to focus as he inhaled slowly. You followed his lead, the two of you exhaling together. One breath. Then another. 

“Don’t make any rash decisions now,” he continued, his voice calm in an attempt to soothe you further. “You’re safe. Your baby is safe. If you want to return to him after, I’ll take you to him myself. But for now, keep breathing with me, okay?”

Azriel was right. The bond between you and Eris was loud and confusing. And you didn’t trust your own thoughts when they weren’t fully yours. All you knew for certain was that the child growing inside you didn’t deserve to be born into chaos. It needed some clarity, some stability.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” you said, voice trembling.

Azriel’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head, gently bringing your forehead to rest against his shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

You wanted to believe him. By the Cauldron, you wanted to. But anxiety rose again like a wave, cresting too fast. “I don’t have anywhere to go…” 

You thought you’d had more time to plan. You hadn’t expected for Eris to turn up so suddenly. All the money you’d been saving from selling your jewelry, your belongings…it was all still in Day. You had nothing with you now.

“I know a place you can stay.”

**

Your feet touched the ground and though it was more comfortable winnowing with Azriel’s shadows, it still left you a bit disoriented. Some of his shadows stayed with you, soothing you gently. You blinked your vision clear, finding yourself standing in front of tall, iron gates.

Azriel touched the handle and after a moment, the gates opened on their own. He turned to you, motioning for you to go first. As you walked past the gates of the estate, you were immediately hit with the sweet scent of roses. Beautiful blue roses were in full bloom, their petals catching glimmers of the fading twilight. 

The house beyond the blooms was quaint and modest in size, despite the amount of land surrounding it. You didn’t know who the house belonged to, having trusted Azriel completely. But you could tell whoever lived here built this home with love.

A low meow pulled your attention to the side. A small black kitten darted from behind a bush and rubbed against Azriel’s leg, its bright eyes blinking up in slow adoration at him. He chuckled softly and crouched to greet it. Shadows slipped from his shoulders and gently patted the kitten’s head, coaxing it into a playful chase. 

When you looked back up, you noticed more cats lounging in the garden, their curious eyes blinking back at you. The door to the house opened before you could reach it.

A tall woman stepped onto the porch, her wings smaller but unmistakably Illyrian. She was strikingly beautiful. Long, dark hair fell in soft waves down her back, and those familiar hazel eyes were framed by a face that mirrored Azriel’s. They had to be related and you could only assume this was his mother.

Her gaze found the male beside you, her face brightening. 

“My son,” she breathed, confirming your thoughts. She rushed down the steps and wrapped him in a tight, fierce hug.

You watched as he melted into her embrace. Since you’d known him, you’d never seen him look so at peace. His shoulders dropped, and his arms wrapped tightly around her in return. It brought tears to your eyes—tears you quickly looked away from. 

Here I go crying again, you thought. You hoped your child would look at you the way Azriel looked at his mother.

When she pulled back, she gave Azriel a lingering, affectionate pat on the arm before turning toward you. Her smile was still warm but a little curious now.

“Hello, I’m Rosanna,” she greeted, extending her hand. “You must be Morrigan.”

You felt Azriel tense beside you. You offered a small, polite smile, even as your cheeks heated. “Um, no.”

“Oh!” Rosanna blinked, then laughed, waving a hand. “Sorry, sorry. Elain, then?”

“Also no,” you said, shaking her hand. “I’m Y/n.”

There was a flicker of something in her expression. Not judgment, just… interest and a mild surprise. And then she was smiling again, genuinely. Her other hand came to rest on top of yours, enveloping it in its warmth.

“Y/n,” she repeated, as if tasting the name. “It’s lovely to meet you. Forgive me. Azriel’s never brought a girl here before but I’ve heard of plenty–”

“Mother,” Azriel said, interrupting her with a slight wince. “Can I talk to you in private?”

Rosanna nodded and beckoned you both inside. You followed hesitantly, your fingers twitching at your sides. You felt awkward and out of place all of a sudden. And somehow, they both sensed it—Rosanna, who gave you a reassuring nod, and Azriel, whose shadows gently nudged the small of your back.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Rosanna said kindly. “Would you like tea? Or warm milk?”

“I’m okay,” you murmured and after more reassuring, they disappeared into the kitchen.

The inside of the house was as lovely as the garden that surrounded it. The furniture didn’t exactly match yet it went well together. A soft, knitted blanket was draped over the back of the couch, and a few well-loved books sat stacked beside a reading chair.

Your eyes caught on a framed painting above the fireplace.

It was unmistakably the work of a child. Two stick figures with wings—one tall with long hair, holding the hand of a smaller one. Wisps of black trailed from the smaller figure’s wings. In blue paint, scrawled beneath them: I love you mom.

Your heart clenched, mouth forming a silent “awe.”  You turned away before you could cry again and sank onto the couch. A couple of minutes passed as you sat there, watching the shadows lengthen across the walls, before Azriel returned.

“So,” you said, rising to your feet. “You must have a lot of girls, huh?”

“She was exaggerating,” Azriel replied with a casual shrug but his ears flushed slightly.

You found it too amusing to let it go. “Sure she was,” you said, dragging out the words with a small smile. “Most males don't have a lineup long enough to confuse their own mother. Sounds like player behavior…”

Azriel’s shadows danced around his shoulders in a teasing manner, almost like they were agreeing along with you. He gave them an accusing glance, swatting at them. “I’m not,” he said with a small huff.

“Well, player or not, I hope your love life is faring much better than mine,” you said.

Azriel was quiet for a beat too long.

“It’s not,” he then admitted.

“Oh,” your smile immediately dropped, taken off guard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s alright,” he said quickly, gaze dropping. “I do get a bit of female attention but...I have a habit of falling for the ones I can’t have.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His shadows curled around him like they were trying to comfort him, so different to the way they had been moving earlier. You had no idea you were both hurting in different ways and suddenly you felt bad.

Azriel has been such a good friend to you–your only friend, actually. And now you felt like you had neglected your end of the friendship that been brewing between you, too caught up in your heartache to notice his.

Before you could say something meaningful—or worse, sappy—you heard Rosanna’s voice call from the kitchen.

“Come on, you two! There's some tea and also sweet bread…I heard it pairs well with troubled hearts!”

You and Azriel blinked at each other, the same small, understanding smile tugging at both your lips. “She’s not wrong,” he murmured. “Her bread does make one feel better.”

**

Azriel had excused himself after finishing the entirety of his mother's sweet bread, earning a small scolding from her for not leaving any leftovers for tomorrow's breakfast.

That’s when you found out he didn’t live here with his mother but in another city within the Night Court. He would return in a couple of days with a healer to properly assess you. Before leaving, he had also assured you that no magic could trace you back to this place. Wards had been layered here by his High Lord himself, all to protect his mother—and now, you.

Rosanna had been nothing but kind and welcoming, but after learning this was her sanctuary, that intruding feeling crept back in. You were a pregnant stranger with a confused heart and a million fears. Of course, she had assured you that she didn’t mind, adding in that she longed for some company.

The days of waiting for Azriel to return passed slowly. You kept to yourself at first, making yourself as inconspicuous as possible in Rosanna’s space. You took to speaking only when spoken to, offering polite smiles and helping with small tasks around the estate. 

Rosanna didn’t seem to mind your silence. In fact, she had a way of making space for you without demanding anything in return. She had a few quirks that reminded you of Azriel. You found it endearing and her warmth infectious.

Then, just as promised, Azriel returned with a healer, a female with warm eyes and silver streaks in her hair. 

The moment you saw her, panic and worry stirred in your chest. You hadn’t had a single official check-up. You didn’t even know how far along you were. And there had been so many sleepless nights, clutched around the ache in your chest, thinking of what you had lost and everything you were now responsible for.

What if your sadness had soaked into the child? What if your heartache had done something wrong?

“Y/n, this is Madja.” Azriel said as he approached where you sat on the bed.  “She’s the best there is. She’s brought me back from the brink of death more times than I’d like to admit.”

Madja arched a brow and gave Azriel a dry look. “And yet somehow, he still insists on throwing himself into danger like it’s a paid hobby.” 

“Because it kind of is.” Azriel replied with some humor in his hazel eyes. “Perks of being the Night Court’s spymaster and all.”

“Perks,” Rosanna said with a huff, both her and Madja fixing him with identical unimpressed stares. Even his shadows paused mid-drift, their inky tendrils hovering above him in silent judgment. If your nerves weren’t on edge, you might’ve laughed at the scene before you.

Then, Madja turned to you with a small smile. “May I?” She asked, motioning to the space next to your bed.

You nodded, unsure if your voice would work even if you tried. Azriel and Rosanna took the cue to excuse themselves, slipping quietly out of the room to give you privacy.

Madja sat next to you, her movements steady and practiced. She pulled out some ointment from her worn leather bag before settling it down on the floor. She gave you a kind look, the kind only time and experience could carve into a healer’s face.

“You’ll feel some pressure,” she said as she applied a bit of the glowing salve to her hand. “But it shouldn’t hurt.”

You forced a breath into your lungs. “Okay,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. You couldn’t tell if your heart was pounding from fear or excitement or something in between.

Madja motioned for you to sit back and you followed her instructions, lifting your gown up to expose your stomach to her. She placed a firm hand on your stomach and you could feel her magic pulse beneath her fingertips, a warm sensation spreading over you. 

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Then—movement.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt your baby move before but not like this. This felt stronger than the usual, delicate flutter you’d feel every now and then. 

“There,” Madja said softly. “Did you feel that?”

You nodded again, stunned. The life inside of you, moving eagerly beneath Madja’s touch. Your baby was very much alive and growing. Maybe, just maybe, despite all your sadness, your baby was okay.

But then Madja’s expression shifted. Her brows furrowed faintly and your heart skipped a beat.  “What is it?” you asked, fearing the worst.

Madja didn’t answer at first. She was still, palm still flat to your belly. Her gaze was distant as if she was sensing something. She exhaled slowly, her eyes lifting to meet yours.

“The babe has fire in their blood.”

“What…," you struggled with the right words, too many worrying thoughts clouding your mind. "What does that mean?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” she said carefully. “But to feel that kind of magic pulsing through this early…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes moved over you again, her gaze calculating. “It means the baby will be strong and gifted. Like the—”

Madja stopped herself, sensing your growing unease.

But she didn’t need to finish. Like the father, she was going to say. Like–like Eris.

Madja hadn’t known but she knew it was not you who was able to wield fire. There was no reason to tell her about the father. Or at least, you didn’t think there’d be. You could see it click into place for her, who the father must be, for the child to radiate that kind of power. Her eyes lingered on yours with a silent understanding.

“As for your progress,” she continued, shifting her tone to something lighter, more clinical, though the wary look hadn’t left her eyes, “you’re nearly at the halfway mark.”

Your thoughts reeled, scrambling for the math. Your heart plummeted as your suspicions were confirmed. It was that night. The night Eris broke your heart. The night he pushed you away and you’d been too distraught to remember the tonic the following morning.

You swallowed hard, the ache pressing behind your eyes. 

“But the baby is okay, right?”

“Oh, yes.” Madja’s nod was immediate, certain enough to ease some of the weight off your chest. She pressed her hand a little more, and your baby stirred again in response. A soft, gentle smile curved her lips. “Would you like to know the gender?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” you echoed in wonder, tears pricking your eyes.

You were having a girl. A daughter. 

You could already imagine her, soft and perfect, curled in your arms. You felt yourself smile, even as tears slipped free. The words lit something in your chest. Something so tender and bright. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this–this moment of peace and hope. 

You were so overwhelmed with emotion that you hadn’t realized you’d sent them down through the bond until you felt a response. A tug. Eris. You felt the flicker of his confusion, maybe even concern.

Your chest tightened, your hand resting protectively over your stomach. Would he be as happy as you were, knowing the life you carried inside was a daughter?

a/n: I debated on waiting on revealing the gender until reader gave birth but decided why wait? Eris, however, can wait a little longer to know. How do we think he'd react to a daughter?

I dropped some hints for the next part 👀

Also, I am just as bad as SJM with names, so I figured Az's mom name should be related to Rose, considering she lives in Rosehall. Hope you enjoyed me including Az & his mom being cat lovers ❤️

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamarancianne, @daemyratwst, @ratgirl2020 @balufy

[prettydaisygirl]

please more streamer james!! maybe he flies her out to meet in person and she’s off camera behind him during one of his streams and he can’t focus :)

Hello, my love! Thank you so much for taking the time to send me a request, I appreciate it! I am OBSESSED with streamer!James <3333 I changed it up a bit to have reader surprise James because I had an idea, hope you enjoy it lovie! :)

streamer!James Potter x fem!superfan!reader who surprises James at a convention ✿ 1.2k words

cw: fem reader, marauders as live-streamers, reader is obsessed with Prongs/James, James is in love with reader, established relationship, suggestive

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

previous part

Your whole body is shaking. Not from fear or adrenaline. From excitement.

You had just gotten off of your plane, landing in Los Angeles. Your boyfriend didn’t know, but you had bought tickets to his favorite convention to surprise him in person. James, as well as the other Marauders, have their own panel and meet and greet set up there. James doesn’t know that you bought tickets…

But Remus does. Since you and James have become more official, you’ve gotten to know the other Marauders more personally. When you came up with your brilliant idea to surprise James, you knew Remus was the one to go to. He helped arrange your flight, discussed the plan, and even arranged another room for you and James tonight so you don’t have to sleep with the four of them. He’s very sweet, and you understand why he has such a big audience. 

You get your things settled in your hotel room, checking your appearance in the mirror. You feel extra pretty today, and you’re relieved. You’re practically bouncing off the wall with excitement. Honestly, you’re worried you might have to hold yourself back from jumping James’ bones. 

You make your way to the convention hall, in awe of the different panels and booths. There are thousands of people here, some in costumes, some you recognize from their videos or streams. It’s amazing and overwhelming at the same time. 

Your heart stops when you spot it. The Marauders panel stage. You see the line of people waiting for the meet and greet, a small area to the side of the main stage for fans to stand with the Marauders, say hello and get pictures. Remus told you to wait to be last in line, that way you could get a few extra minutes with James. Remus really thought of everything. 

You wait in line, hood pulled up just to make sure James doesn’t see you before you reach the front. You watch the other fans in front of you, some of them girls that seem very excited to meet your boyfriend. You would feel jealous except you know James only has eyes for you, he’s very open with his feelings and affection for you.

The line moves slowly, but you don’t mind. You watch James interact with fans, adoring the way he smiles brightly for every single photo. The four of them really seem to care about their fans and supporters, you admire that. The closer you get to the front of the line, the more nervous you are. Your body trembles lightly with anticipation. 

You finally reach the front of the line, only for James to step away for a drink of water. You shrug at the other boys, who laugh brightly. Sirius even throws an arm around your shoulder. 

“You come all the way here, and he doesn’t even look at you!” Sirius calls out loudly to get James’ attention, but he seems focused on gulping water from his excessively large water bottle. He probably assumes you’re just another eager fan waiting for him, thinking you can wait a moment. 

“I know!” You say back to Sirius in jest, “Ridiculous!” 

It’s your voice that gets his attention. James’ head snaps in your direction, water spilling down his chin and over his shirt. He doesn’t waste another moment even closing his water bottle, tossing it down onto the table and running at you. He throws his arms around you, picking you up and spinning you around. You giggle happily, hugging him back tightly. 

“Oh my God,” James is breathless, and he leans down to kiss you for the first time. It’s perfect, it takes your breath away, and he tightens his arms around you like he can’t believe you’re really wrapped up in them. “Bloody hell, angel.” His words are muffled between kisses and the other Marauders wolf whistle at the two of you. You’re sure other fans notice, that they are taking pictures or recording, but in this moment neither of you care. 

He lets out soft moans into your mouth as he kisses you, his hands feeling anywhere and everywhere they can on your body. When he seems to finally be able to control himself again, placing several pecks on your lips before pulling away, he is completely lovestruck. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, cupping your cheek with both hands before one slides through your hair. His eyes take in all of you, and your arms are still wrapped around his back tightly. 

“Remus helped me get tickets,” You tell him, and James shoots Remus a thankful grin. “He got us a hotel room too.”

James’ lips part and he looks down at you. He tugs you close, brushing his lips over your cheek before he’s whispering in your ear. “I can’t wait to see what your boobs look like in person.”

You laugh out loud at his words, and James grins but his eyes shine with an obvious hint of desire. His lips are on yours again and you know the two of you are probably already trending.

You stay wrapped up in James’ arms, whispering sweet nothings to each other until he has to go on stage for the Marauders panel. He presses his lips to yours over and over again, not wanting to pull away. He keeps his fingers linked with yours until the very last second and as he steps on stage he calls out to you “sit in the front row!”

You do sit in the front row. 

James watches you with heart eyes full of adoration for the entire panel. The audience laughs when he gets distracted by you while answering a question. A few of the fans ask about you and James spends far too long answering those questions that Sirius or Remus have to cut him off. 

The internet is already shipping the two of you, it’s obvious how in love you are with each other. There are pictures of the two of you kissing and hugging that are trending, and girls are swooning at the way ‘Prongs’ looks at you. 

James hops off the stage the moment the panel comes to an end, gathering you in his arms again. His lips are all over your skin, his hands grasping at you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, relishing in the physical feel of him actually here in front of you. 

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” James says softly, and you nod. He slides a hand down to take yours, interlacing your fingers. He tugs you toward the door but pauses when Remus calls out for him. 

“Prongs!” James stops, turning back to look at his friend. Remus has a knowing look in his eyes and James grins brightly. “Don’t forget we have another panel in the morning.”

“Okay, Moony!” James calls back with a thumbs up, tugging you closer. He laughs loudly when Sirius calls out this time, his voice behind the two of you as you head toward the exit, hand in hand.

“Don’t stay up too late shagging!”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Falcon & the Machine

summary: joaquin confronts you about your attempt to “protect” him.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!assassin!reader

contents: mentions of canon typical violence, angst, pining/longing, kissing, happyish ending

wc: 1,652

an: i just love the idea of joaquin and his lover being on the opposite side of things or having different morals. idk it makes their love that much better to me 🫶🏾🤭

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The car stops somewhere deep in the Virginia woods—far enough from the base to mean it’s not casual, close enough to mean someone wanted this private but not remote. It has your alarm bells ringing.

You narrow your eyes at Sam through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said this was a tactical meeting.”

“It is,” he says, his voice too casual and smooth. “Tactical for your emotional wellbeing.”

He’s out the car and your door opens before you can snap something back. You step out, instincts sharp even when you’re exhausted. The world around you is quiet, deceptively peaceful. The trees, the sound of wind stirring through the leaves, the birds distant but constant and everything feels still.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know how to feel still anymore. Not after everything.

You see Joaquin as you keep walking, and all of your practiced cold, all your walls fall away like a sheet of glass hit from the inside.

He’s standing in a clearing, arms crossed, Falcon wings holstered tight to his back. You can’t see his eyes yet, but you know he’s looking at you. You can feel that same raw tension in his gaze, the same pull between you that neither of you can ignore.

You haven’t answered his calls in three weeks, or let him near you since the mission in Turkey went sideways. Since the extraction turned into a bloodbath, bodies hitting the floor from your hands. That’s when the questions started to follow you—yes as always— but him too.

Questions that could ruin everything Joaquin’s shed blood, sweat and tears for.

The second hardest part of all this isn’t having to kill the people that come after you, the people they send to ask questions or torture you. Its the way you saw the fear in Joaquin’s eyes when he realized how far into the dark you were willing to go to protect him, and everyone else. He saw the worst of you. And still…he never wanted to walk away, he never turned away.

The hardest part? Letting him.

Because your file isn’t redacted, you can’t hide in the shadows while living this full life. People know who you are and what you do. You’re a fixer—not in the clean, shiny way that heroes are. You don’t wear the white hat, you don’t dawn the stars and stripes.

You’re someone who does the dirty work when governments, organizations, or even the Avengers themselves need it done. You erase people and trade lives like currency and manipulate systems from the inside out. You’re good at it, but it’s not who you are. At least, not the person you want to be—not when you’ve been given someone like Joaquin by the grace of the universe to stand beside you.

But the world isn’t kind to ghosts, to those who lurk in the shadows. And Joaquin… he’s everything you’re not.

He’s visible. He’s everything that is right and pure and true in the world. People believe in him and they believe in his future. Not in yours, not in the mess that’s followed you around all your life.

“Seriously?” you mutter, glaring at Sam, but he’s already slipping away from you, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Talk to him or don’t. But, if I hear either of you whining and brooding one more time, I’m putting you both in a room with Bucky. You know he’s tryna therapize everybody now that he has a shrink.”

You roll your eyes, but his words sit with you long after Sam disappears back into the trees. Talk to him or don’t…did you truly have a choice? He’s right, neither of you have stopped talking about the other. You turn toward Joaquin, who hasn’t moved an inch.

His face is collected, but it’s not just the expression—it’s the way he stands. There’s an edge to him now, something rough, jagged in his posture that makes your heart tighten.

You don’t give him the chance to speak. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you explain, your voice shaking under the weight of the tension.

Sam must’ve told him about the way you’d broken down earlier in the week, how much of a toll trying to do right by him took on you.

He lets out a dry laugh, one that starts to give away that he’s hurting too. You hear in the way his voice cracks. “You mean seeing you be real? Not that— that machine you become. Not worrying about who you are and who I am, just feeling it?”

You flinch, but he doesn’t look at you with judgment. It’s just the truth in his words—raw and impossible to deny. You’ve always tried to protect him from that. From you.

“I meant what I said, Joaquin,” you say, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. “You have a future.

“We had a future.”

“Did we? You’re the Falcon– you’re Captain America’s right hand. People need you.”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes flash as they finally meet yours, the intensity there almost too much to bear. “And you don’t?”

“I’m one person. People believe in you. They trust in you.”

He already has a complicated relationship with the pressure of being a superhero. Could he keep something? Not his privacy or his image but you? Or would living his dream take everything from him?

“And they wouldn’t if they knew that I love you? That you love me too?” he asks, voice quieter but no less fierce.

You bite down on your lip, trying to steady yourself trembling under the depth of his words. Your own pour out of you almost frantically. “If they knew what I’ve done? If they knew what I still do? I torture and kill for a living, Joaquin. I’ve crossed lines you can’t even imagine. There’s so much that I can never tell you. If the wrong person finds out about me, about us, everything you’ve worked for could be gone in an instant. Your reputation, your team, your wings, maybe even Sam’s shield. I won’t do that to you.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your words hang in the air, unspoken truths that neither of you wants to face.

He doesn’t look angry and he doesn’t look scared either. But he looks tired—in the way people look when they’ve spent too long running from something that was always going to catch up with them.

“I don’t care,” he says finally. The words come out rough, a quiet certainty threading through his voice.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“I said I don’t care what they say,” Joaquín continues, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, each word carrying weight, but with something else behind it—something real. Something charged that makes butterflies swirl in your stomach. “I don’t care about politics, or optics, or keeping it clean for the cameras. I care about you, I love you. What matters more to me is you. Not the job or the title. Not the wings—you.”

Your chest feels tight, the weight of his words pushing you down, making your breath catch.You want to pull away, to let the distance between you both grow to protect him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing there—when he’s been so damn sure about you from the first time he laid eyes on you.

“I’m not good for you,” you whisper brokenly, the vulnerability you’ve been trying to shield yourself from finally breaking through.

“Maybe,” he says, eyes never leaving yours, his voice softer, like he’s holding onto every syllable. “But I want you.”

Before you can respond, he’s there. On you, surrounding you. His lips are on yours, pulling you into a kiss that’s fierce and desperate, raw with need. Your hands find his chest, and then his arms, gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. The world around you becomes nothing but noise and movement. The distant rustle of the leaves, the pounding of your heart. The overwhelming rush of warmth, heat, and everything that makes this moment feel like it’s been years in the making.

He presses you against the rough bark of the tree, his body flush against yours, his hands moving over your skin with a care and hunger that makes you ache. His lips leave yours only for a moment, just long enough for him to speak, his breath warm against your ear.

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs.

You don’t know how to respond but you don’t have to because he’s kissing you; no consuming you. The fear in your chest starts to melt into something else—that deep, raw desire that you’ve been trying to bury under the fear of ruining the one pure thing in your life. But the way he’s holding you, the way his fingers press into your chin and throat as he holds you, grounds you—he’s not letting go.

Not of you. Not of any of this. He’ll be damned.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice breathless from the kiss, from how warm his mouth feels as it skates against the skin of your throat.

“I’ll show you how,” Joaquin says, his voice steady, confident between kisses. “One step at a time. Just trust me. You trust me right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m doing. Trust that I know I meant to choose you. Can you do that for me?”

You nod and close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat settle against your own. You don’t think you’re ready for this, for everything that comes with it. But maybe, you can trust him to help you figure it out. Because with him, you’re not a ghost, not just a handler or a murderer or whatever the contract names you to be.

You’re just you. Just his.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @seraphibunni, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl, @blackwomanchronicles

[merakiui]

Okay Azul who manages to secure you as his girlfriend after all his calculated efforts. You date for awhile but Azul is confused cause you seem frustrated with him recently. Especially when he walks you home and leaves with just a polite peck on the cheek. He vents this to the Leech twins who have a laugh at his expense.

"She wants you to fuck her boss~"

Fuck? Fuck?! As in SEX? MATING?! They've been dating only a few months surely you... okay apparently humans were more casual about this thing than merfolk were! His face is burning red thinking about it, sure he learned about his new reproductive organs in human boot camp but he never really considered... he composes himself, he doesn't want to loose you so he does what he does best, he researches!

Cut to Azul watching human porn for hours on end. At first he's covering his face with how flustered he is watching then he becomes morbidly intrigued branching out into kinks and- HUMANS WERE ONTO TENTACLES?! Why has no one told him about this?! He sits stewing with ideas on what to do with this new information.

His search history becomes like:

"Do human males have to pee after sex or is that just women?"

"Best foreplay techniques"

"What is cunnalingus?"

"Contraceptive items for human males"

"What penis sizes do XL condoms fit?"

"What penis sizes do L condoms fit?"

"What sizes do M condoms fit?"

The culmination if his research has him rutting against a pile of pillows he's pretending is you. He's also walking home from the store with a bag full of grapefruits for... practice. Increasing his endurance, timing himself to see how long he can fuck into an onahole without Cumming: 2min , 5min, 10 min...

When the day comes, he wants to be ready for you! He wants to melt your brain in his human form so you never even think of leaving him! And then after that... well maybe you can explore this tentacle kink he's heard so much about.

Omg these thoughts are so perfect!!!!! I love Azul doing an absurd amount of research and preparation hehe. All of those hours spent researching, only to fall apart the minute you’re underneath him and he’s pushing inside and,,, fuck. T_T he’s the one melting; it’s too much. He’s falling apart so pathetically. This position is so intimate and you’ve wrapped your legs around him,, and you’re looking at him with your beautiful eyes, a patient smile on your face. It was different when it was the onahole and he was edging himself, but now that you’re here and so close it’s much harder to keep his composure. Your body is pressed against his, and he can smell you and feel your warmth with this proximity.

He managed to slide the condom on without any blunders. Although his hands were shaking, they settled when you grabbed hold of them and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 🥺🥺 he’s honored to be your boyfriend. You truly are a dream come true for him.

Azul who is so overwhelmed from every sensation, emotional and physical, that he inks in human form. >_< oh, he’s MORTIFIED. Ink dribbling out of his mouth and he’s panicking because this is definitely going to throw off the mood!!! He’s kicking himself internally. He should’ve researched more. Prepared more!! Clearly he wasn’t ready. He’s going to let you down and then maybe you’ll break up with him from the disappointment and then—

But all those self-deprecating thoughts are cut short when you cup his face in your hands and bring his mouth to yours, kissing his inky lips to taste it for yourself. >:) and just like that he’s gone. Blacking out from the best orgasm of his life. OTL

[oldermenfucker]

Beautiful Reflection | J. Abbot

summary: Jack shows you what happens when you are mean to the body he worships daily.

warnings: 18+ mdni! CHUBBY!reader (chubby or plus sized, no difference just a gorgeous girl who has stomach rolls and love handles and thick thighs teehe) Smut, porn without plot, Jack being a MUNCH, oral(f), p in v, biceps choking, mirror sex, just Jack being a gorgeous dom to his chubby girl, body image issues, body dysmorphia, creampie, no protection, fingering, insecurities, stretch marks, Jack 🤝🏻 nasty backshots, mentions of Jack’s amputation, NO BETA!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 2.1k+

an: FIRST JACK FIC YES LETS GO AAAAAAAAA!!!! I’m also deeply open to discuss ideas and write drabbles!! this one was pretty self indulged because I just needed to write sth about my fave being like this 😭😭

comments and reblogs are so appreciated!!

It is strange to go from covering yourself with Jack’s very, very baggy hoodies and avoiding the mirrors around the house to clutching Jack’s head as he feasts on you with abandon, fully naked and withering under his touch.

  You have been pushing Jack away for the past few months, and he, ever the gentleman, respected your wishes, but when he found you today on the verge of tears as you poked around your body, looking at the new red stretch marks forming on your love handles, he had enough.

  That is what got you into this position; legs spread, Jack’s thin lips sucking harshly on your clit while he kneads the fat of your thighs, growling like a dog in heat when you squeeze your legs, trying to close them around his head.

  “Fuckin’ perfect,” his words come out in a groan, flattening his tongue on your folds as he laps up your essence like he has been left thirsty for days, “Tastes like nectar, baby.”

  “Jack—“ you gasp, bucking your hips desperately into his face, threading your fingers through the salt and pepper curls on his head as he detaches himself from you, grinning devilishly when you whine at the loss of contact.

  “What happened, baby?” He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you playfully, tapping your thighs with his palms, “You want me to stop?”

  “No! No!” You rush the words out, trying to drag him down to your heat again, but he does not budge, craning his neck back to catch your wrist with his lips, kissing his way up to your fingers, taking them into his mouth while locking his hazel eyes with your glassy ones, twirling his tongue around the digits.

  “Jack, please!”

  “Please, what, baby?” He lets go of your fingers with a lewd ‘pop’ and you watch his grin widen when you throw your head back in frustration, “Did you learn your lesson or should I continue?”

  “Ngh, please, just let me come!” You cry out, letting go of his hair to fist the sheets when he blows gently on your throbbing clit, the cold air making you tremble slightly.

  Jack Abbot is a menace in bed; he gives and gives until he is sure he has nothing to offer, and for you to feel fulfilled for days, he gets an undeniable satisfaction of being the only one who can do that to you.

  But now, he is on a mission. He can’t take you being mean to yourself, not today, not ever. He has done everything during your relationship to make you feel safe, loved, and appreciated, and he has done an excellent job, but even he can’t stop the destructive thoughts from tumbling their way into your head sometimes.

  Time to put a stop to that.

  “I asked you a question,” he slaps the back of your thoughts gently, just rough enough to make a delicious sting across your skin, “And I need an answer, cause, baby, ain’t no way someone’s gonna be mean to the body I fucking adore and I let it slide.”

  “Please— fuck, okay! Okay!” You groan, chest heaving as you try to sit up on your elbows, looking into Jack’s eyes with a silent plea, “I learned my lesson. Please, I need to come—“

  “Did you now?” He chuckles darkly, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh deep enough to earn a delicious moan from you, pulling back to see his bite mark forming on your flesh, “I don’t think you did, though, baby.”

  “I swear!” You reply quickly, eyes wide and needy, and the sight of Jack’s unraveled curly hair and handsome face between your legs is making your heart beat so much faster, “I’ll never do that again—“

  “Let’s see how much of a good girl you can be for me,” he whispers against your soaked pussy lips, his warm breath fanning over your sex, “Because I’d be so so sad if I don’t get to come inside my pretty girl tonight. Now, are you my pretty girl?”

  “Yeah,” you nod, one hand reaching for his face, biting your lip as you stroke the stubble on his cheek, “I’m your pretty girl.”

  “I don’t think you believe in it as much as I do,” he kisses his teeth, kissing your navel before diving back inside, licking a stripe from your entrance up to your clit, making your hands clench into his hair, “But don’t worry, baby, it’s my job to show you how fucking perfect you actually are.”

  He presses his face into your cunt, moving his tongue in motions that have you falling back on the mattress, one hand in his hair and the other trying to ground you by digging into the bedsheets.

  You throw your head back when he pushes a finger inside you, and your eyes widen when you notice the full-length mirror standing right next to the wall. 

  The image is lewd, pornographic even; you can see the arch of your back with how high you are thrusting your hips into Jack’s face, and Jack… fuck, only his gray hair is visible but knowing who is between your thighs, fucking you with a finger and a mouth that can do magics is enough to make your head spin.

  “Fuck, Jack! I need to come, please,” you whine in pleasure when he adds a second finger inside you, curling them in and fucking you faster with them, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

  He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly on the bundle of nerves. You can feel his smirk as your legs begin to shake around his head, and he takes pride in giving you what you truly deserve.

  Your orgasm washes over you, euphoria crashing against your veins as you quiver and drop back on the bed, arms falling limply next to your body as he keeps going and going to the point you have to literally pull him off by the roots of his hair.

  “I wish I could feast on you every day,” he whispers as he trails his kisses up your stomach, his rough fingers gliding over your skin gently, sucking love marks on every inch he can reach.

  “You already do that, love,” you sigh, biting your lip as you try to catch your breath, enjoying the contrast of the t-shirt he is still wearing against your exposed chest, but the urge to feel his skin overcomes you suddenly, “Take it off, please?”

  “Whatever my pretty baby says,” he kisses the line of your breast one last time before he sits on his knees between your spread legs, grabbing the back of his t-shirt before pulling it off in one move, sighing as the air in the room his his heated body.

  He nearly laughs out loud when he sees how you desperately reach for his chest. So he leans down completely, kissing your forehead while you caress the soft gray chest hairs, slowly moving down the hem of his boxers, biting your lips when you notice how hard he is for you.

  He looks down, tracing your stretch marks with the tip of his fingers, smiling when he notices your little gasp, leaning down to kiss on the marks, leaving his own red marks next to them as if he is drawing on the canvas of your body.

  “Jack…”

  “Shh, let me appreciate you,” he fixes you with a quick glare, kissing the new red lines, following the path from your upper thigh to your hips, “Fucking hell, baby, I would tie you up next time if you hide this from me.”

  “If a threat, then why does it sound like a promise?” You bite your lip, looking up at him, matching his grin shyly, but your smile soon turns into a shocked gasp when Jack closes your legs and grabs your sides, flipping you over on your stomach.

  “Watch it,” he grabs your hips and pulls them up, groaning when his eyes fall on the globes of your ass, kneading them roughly before he leans down to kiss the curve of your spine, “Maybe I should fuck some sense into you, yeah? Make sure you know how gorgeous you are, hmm?”

  “Please,” you wiggle against him, resting your forehead on the cold sheets under you, feeling how he presses his covered cock against your slit, “Need it, Jack. Need to feel pretty…”

  “I got you, baby,” he says and takes his boxers off, dropping them on the floor before he grabs himself by the base, stroking his cock before he lines himself up with your dripping entrance, “Gonna give you the best dick of your life, my prettiest girl.”

  “Yes, ah…” You moan when he pushes inside slowly, not stopping until he is fully sheathed inside you. You both take a deep breath, trying not to lose yourself in pleasure before you can even start.

  “Look at yourself in the mirror,” Jack groans, pulling his hips back before he thrusts forward, his thighs lower abdomen slapping against your asscheeks, “Look at my pretty girl, look how pretty she takes my cock.”

  You look up, finding yourself and Jack in the most obscene position; your lips are swollen, eyes hazy with pure pleasure, and Jack looking like a god with his broad chest and strong arms, fucking you like his only purpose in life is making you peak.

  His grip tightens on your love handles, quickening his pace as he fucks you with a newfound passion, driving his cock further into your cunt, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your upperbody lying flat on the bed as Jack fucks you.

  “I said, look at yourself.” You don’t listen, you can’t, because honestly, how could you? How could you concentrate on anything but the way his fat cock is driving inside your cunt.

  He snaps his hips harder into yours, the sensation of your tight warm walls consuming him, making him throw his head back and groan, but when you don’t answer, he pushes your ass down with his hands, leaning down until his entire chest is pressed to your back.

  “I said look at yourself,” he groans into your ear, wrapping his arm around your neck gently, your chin resting over his biceps as he presses in slowly, testing the waters but when he sees how your lips fall apart and you moan his name, he flexes his arm further, “Be good and look how pretty you look when you get fucked.”

  His words have you clenching around him, making him groan loudly into your ear, his forehead resting on the side of your head, moving his hips faster and rougher back and forth, grinding himself into you as if he wishes to carve the shape of his cock inside you.

  You open your eyes as best as you can, nearly drooling at the sight of his bulging biceps against your neck, restricting your airway enough to make your mind go blank with pleasure.

  The tight knot in your lower stomach finally breaks and you gush around Jack’s thick cock, coming with a scream of his name, biting down his muscles to muffle the loud cries of his name.

  “Fuck, fuck, baby—“ he groans, his breath catching in his throat as he groans into your ear, thrusting his cock into your cunt before his movement halts and you feel his warm cum filling you. His dick twitches inside you, shooting ropes of his seed into you, giving you everything he has to offer.

  He lies on top of you for a few minutes, both of you trying to catch your breath while he distracts himself by kissing your shoulder, moving to your face, gently pushing the hair off your face to peck the corner of your mouth.

  “Look,” he gently moves his arm so he can grab your jaw in his palm softly, pressing his cheek against yours as the two of you look at your reflection, “Look how pretty you are.”

  “Jack,” your lips wobble as he looks at you through the mirror, his hazel eyes holding nothing but undying love and devotion, “I love you.”

  “I love you so much,” he smiles, rubbing the roughness of his stubble on your cheek, making you giggle, “Never shy away from me. It doesn’t matter how many times you slip away, I will grab you and pull you back because you are… fucking perfect. The most beautiful, the most perfect face with the… gosh, the prettiest body. I’ve never seen anyone as blindingly beautiful as you.”

  He kisses the single tear that falls from your lashes, letting his lips linger on your cheek before he takes most of his weight off you, never breaking eye contact in the mirror.

  “You do the same when I nearly trip over the edge of the hospital’s roof. You give me hope, a reason to keep going. You chose me, an amputee, a vet, a wounded soldier, you see the beauty in me at the times I can’t, and I want you to see the same in yourself.”

[dannyriccsystem]

Hey sweetheart!💕

Hope you have a lovely day! ✨

I‘d love to read something about George with 24, 34 and 35, please!

Take your time, thank you already!🫶🏼

I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE MY BABY ALONE

1K SPECIAL - GR63

Semi-public sex + “Feel that? It’s just for you.” + Size difference

SUMMARY: George can’t seem to hold himself back during your date.

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

WARNINGS: Semi public, P in V, size difference, reader is implied to be short, doing it in a bathroom, dry humping if you squint

FEATURING: George Russell x Reader

YOU LIKED TO KEEP THINGS CLASSY, even when it came to your boyfriend. He was an old money type of guy, dressing in fancy suits with his hair slicked back. He was a gentleman at heart— George Russell was the type of guy to pick you up and drop you off at the exact times he said he would, not a minute too early or a minute too late.

He loved you meticulously. It was in his nature to be ten steps ahead when it came to love, keeping you under his control. It wasn’t corrupt, it just kept him satisfied. He liked knowing what to expect, and he liked that you’d never confuse his intentions.

Tonight was an important gala for your line of work. It was meant to be a high end event, meaning all guests were required to dress to the nines. With George as your plus one, this wouldn’t be an issue for the two of you. If you weren’t serving at all times, then were you really being true to yourself? Surely not.

Neither one of you went too out of the way. Sure, you like to look nice, but you didn’t want every pair of eyes on you. Just one pair, preferably from the tall brit you so adored. You found him adjusting the cuffs of his simple, smooth, black suit. He paired it with a navy blue tie to match your dress, connecting your outfits in a way that was both discreet and cute.

He pivoted on his heel; George shot you a slow, crooked grin that lingered as your eyes locked. He straightened out his lapels before gracefully stepping towards you, taking one hand and raising it to his lips. The taller man kissed your knuckles whilst maintaining sultry eye contact. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You beamed back at him, showing off all your teeth. He was one of very few people you felt comfortable with— At least enough to bear your vulnerable joy. “You’re quite dashing yourself.”

YOU COULD FEEL HIS EYES ON YOU THE ENTIRE NIGHT. He was watching from afar, waiting for the proper moment to strike. You looked too damn good in that dress— It was a floor length, off-the-shoulder dress with a sweetheart neckline. It hugged your body until it flared out just below the knee: a mermaid embellishment.

You chatted to your colleagues with such ease. At the start, George stood proudly at your side as you introduced him to all the individuals you worked with. He was eager to be shown off, finally stepping up to fulfill the title of a man you nonstop talked about. Everyone in your department knew about him, whether it be just from personal accounts or from his own success. George Russell was not an unfamiliar name. But as the night progressed, he slinked back into the shadows, idly sitting at tables pushed into corners of the large ballroom, staring at you fiercely.

You dismiss yourself from whatever boring conversation had been occupying you. The bottom of your dress lightly drags against the pristine flooring of the room whilst you glide over to wear the much taller brit sat, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. He cocked a smile at you, tilting his head to the side ever so innocently. You occupied every corner of his mind, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Sorry this event is so boring,” You say in a hushed tone. George rises to his full height, somewhat towering over your smaller frame. Your eyes shifted around the room before you grabbed his hand. “Come on.” He didn’t know where you were taking him, but he was willing to follow. He was always willing to follow you, even to the ends of the earth.

The idea started to form when you hurriedly ushered him into a family bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you. He didn’t have to ask questions, because there was only one thing that shoving him into a single stall bathroom could lead to. The one thing he had been craving all night.

You.

You acted so nonchalant as you stood in front of the sink, briefly fixing your hair. His hands slithered around you from behind, flesh born tools resting on your stomach layered in navy blue fabric. The peak of your head barely hit his chin as he rested it atop you, shamelessly staring.

One of George’s sky palms slid back to your waist, pulling your hips back against him, and pushing your upper body forward. Gasping with surprise, you gripped the sink for support. Your boyfriend hunched over your form, his nose buried so deep within your hair with the intent of breathing in the intoxicating smell of shampoo.

He moved his hips, and you groaned almost instantly. Your pleasured sound was stifled shortly after, and all it took was a quiet, “Shhh.” The acoustics within the small bathroom were impeccable for a singer, but when two bored guests at a gala they were forced to attend were looking to get at it, the sound quality was rather poor, in their expert opinions.

“If you’re too loud, someone will hear us,” He explains in a low whisper, moving your hair aside to press a series of sincere kisses to the back of your neck. You look up into the mirror, mouth drawn into a look of surprise at the sight. He looked like he was starving for you. His attention traveled to your exposed shoulders, which was his last stop before he pulled back.

His slender digits tugged at the zipper on the back of your dress, until it jolted to a stop at your hips. As considerate as ever, George took his time with you. He slipped the item off painfully slow, leaving you in just a pair of frilly panties and the matching bra, your beautiful gown crumpled up at your feet carelessly. Not that you cared about anything right now.

You were damn near stark naked for him, but George wasn’t ready to finish with his relentless teasing. It all had purpose— To dive in without first preparing you went against his moral conduct as your boyfriend. You deserved proper foreplay, even if proper foreplay implied a bit of grinding and groping on his end.

His slacks were visibly tight, a tent forming at his crotch. He held your hips steady, pressing his growing erection against the curve of your ass, squeezed softly into your panties. He shuddered, eyes slowly closing as he savored the sensation. It was hard to keep quiet, which is why a quiet groan managed to slip past his parted lips. He inhaled shakily, reeling his hips back just to press them against you once more. “You feel that?” He murmured like filth into your ear, “All for you.”

He pulled at the waistband of your underwear, before letting it snap back against your unsuspecting skin. Choosing to be nice, given the rush to finish up quietly, George pulls your underwear down to your ankles, letting them settle at the straps of your heels. He, in comparison to you, is adorned with a lot more coverage as he slips his own clothes off just enough to make room for his large dick. He’s long with an impressive girth that stretches you good as he pushes his way into your fluttering cunt.

He can’t fit himself in entirely, about an inch of his poor cock unable to squeeze its way inside. You’re barely holding yourself up as is with your forearms pressed tightly against the cold tile of the sink, sending a chill down your spine.His thrusts are slow, allowing you time to get used to his inhumane size. He knows he’s big, but thankfully he also knows how to handle it. With ease.

George presses his hands against your stomach, unable to hold back the grin that flashes across his lips. There’s a large bulge visible, outlining his length as he thrusts in and out, quickening his rate with every other thrust. “Look at that,” He muttered, hypnotized by the sight he was observing in the reflection, peeking out from beneath your breasts in your hunched over pose.

You wanted to, but it was damn near impossible to open your eyes when he was hitting every sensitive spot imaginable. You wanted to hold out, trying to stifle and settle the sensation of your rising orgasm. It was damn near impossible; you could feel the moan bubbling in your throat, waiting for its time.

“You feel so good,” He groaned into your ear. You loved when George praised you, because his tone was always so soft in comparison to the harsh hammering of his hips. He loved pounding into your tight cunt, stretched around his girth, all while telling you how good you were for him. Anything to woo you, his beautiful girl.

It didn’t take much to make you come, because George knew what he was doing at all times. He was an expert when it came to your body, and he wouldn’t dare disappoint in his area of expertise. His long fingers rubbed circles into your clit, lips attacking your neck to decorate it in hickeys.

Yeah. You two were going to have to get out of there real fast.

“I’m-” He didn’t get much of a warning before you suddenly squeezed him, your walls closing in as your body spasmed. You caught you at the hips, keeping you steady back against him as you finally reached your peak. “Coming!” You squeaked out afterwards, nearly choking on your words.

“Good job, sweetheart.” He pulled out slowly, his still erect cock slapping against your ass. He gave it a few delicate strokes, coating your backside in the sticky substance. He raised a brow at your reflection. “Did this make the night more enjoyable?”

You used the paper towels in the bathroom to clean up your mess. He wiped down your back with a towel soaked in water, and then patted it dry before helping you shimmy back into your elegant dress. Despite his filthy acts, George held his arm out for you, allowing you to intertwine your limbs.

“Shall we?” He smirked, bowing his head politely.

“We shall.”

[actuallybean]

Truth Hurts* | Part One

When a witch curses you to spill the truth and nothing but the truth, your biggest secret slips—you're hopelessly, shamelessly into both Winchesters. Good news? They’re just as into sharing as you are. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, threesome with brothers Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester Part Two Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The motel room smelled like cheap coffee and gun oil, and the rain outside tapped against the windows like a metronome counting down the moments before everything came undone.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a local police report on your laptop. Sam paced behind you, reading aloud from the thick journal he’d been annotating since breakfast. Dean was slouched in the armchair by the window, polishing one of his pistols with casual precision—and absolutely not looking at your bare legs, even though you were sure he had at least three times already.

“Weird symbols carved into the chest,” Sam muttered, flipping a page. “Victim found in a locked room. No forced entry.”

“Witch,” you said, not looking up.

Dean smirked. “You say that like it’s your personal vendetta.”

“It is.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “You weren’t the one who spent three hours coughing up beetles the last time we dealt with one.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, yeah. That was gross. But I did hold your hair while you threw up, so I think I deserve partial trauma credit.”

Sam snorted. “That’s not how trauma works.”

Dean gestured vaguely with the gun oil rag. “Tell that to my dry-cleaning bill.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart warmed. This was your favorite part of the job—quiet, close, the three of you orbiting each other like gravity didn’t apply anywhere but here. You felt safe with them. Anchored. Loved, in a way that had never been spoken aloud but radiated from every shared glance, every brush of Sam’s hand when he handed you a file, every cup of coffee Dean slid silently across the table when you looked tired.

Still, the unsaid things weighed heavier than the salt rounds in your duffel.

Like how Dean’s gaze lingered a beat too long on your mouth when you smiled. Or how Sam’s fingertips would rest against your lower back for just a second more than necessary when you passed each other in tight spaces. Or how your heart ached for both of them, in different ways—but equally, deeply, stupidly.

You were too afraid to ruin it. So you didn’t say a word.

“Okay,” Sam said, snapping the journal shut. “There’s a pattern. Victims all worked at the same antique shop downtown. We go in tonight, after hours. Check for hex bags, maybe a cursed object.”

Dean cocked his gun and stood. “Cool. Witch-hunting on a Wednesday. Guess I’m skipping karaoke night.”

You laughed, stuffing silver bullets into your belt. “Since when do you sing in tune?”

Dean held a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Sam slung his bag over one shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can sing to the witch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That a kink I didn’t know about, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You grabbed your jacket, walking between them, hyper-aware of the heat that radiated from their bodies on either side of you. Dean opened the door and you stepped into the rain, your skin already tingling—not from the cold, but from the tension hanging thick between the three of you. Fragile. Unspoken.

Something was about to break.

And you had no idea that in less than 24 hours, you’d spill every secret you’d tried so hard to swallow—and they’d both be there to catch every single one.

✦

The antique store sat at the corner of a quiet block, shadowed by overgrown trees and cloaked in moonlight. The sign above the door was barely visible, letters faded and warped: Griffin’s Relics – Est. 1889. The air felt thick here, like something ancient was watching.

Dean jimmied the back door open with practiced ease while you and Sam kept watch, guns loaded with silver rounds just in case. The second you stepped inside, the hairs on your arms stood on end.

“This place smells like regret and lavender,” you whispered, nose wrinkling.

“Definitely witchy,” Dean muttered, flashlight cutting a path through the gloom.

Sam nodded toward the far corner. “Back there. Office space. That’s where the last victim was found.”

You moved as a unit—sweeping, scanning, breath tight. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with dusty jewelry, doll heads, rusted blades. The air hummed with residual magic, and you could feel it crawling along your skin like static.

“This place is a freakin’ cursed-object buffet,” Dean said, shining his light over an old porcelain mask. “I vote we torch it and grab burgers.”

You crouched beside a display case. “Hold on. These runes—they’re Norse. Protection and binding magic.”

Sam joined you, brow furrowed. “Definitely witch work. But why those? Protection for what?”

That’s when the trap triggered.

The second Dean stepped over the threshold into the office, the air snapped—like a rubber band pulled too tight. A sigil on the floor flared crimson, and an invisible force slammed the door shut behind him. You and Sam rushed forward, but it was too late—the room was sealed.

“Dean!” you shouted, hands on the doorknob. It was burning hot.

Dean’s voice was muffled from the other side. “I’m fine! Just pissed off—son of a bitch warded the room!”

Sam turned to the wall of shelves, searching for anything remotely magical. “There—look!”

You followed his gaze to a wooden idol—small, horned, its mouth carved open in a twisted grin. You both reached for it at once, and the moment your fingers touched it, a shockwave pulsed through the room.

Your knees hit the floor hard, vision swimming. You could hear Sam calling your name, feel Dean pounding on the door—but none of it made sense. There was a rush of heat, then cold, then—

Your chest heaved as the pressure faded, and Sam knelt beside you, wide-eyed and pale.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

Dean burst through the now-unguarded doorway, eyes wild. “What the hell was that?!”

You stood shakily. “It was cursed. Some kind of defense charm.”

Dean looked you over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I… I think so,” you breathed, blinking. “Everything feels weird.”

Sam hovered beside Dean. “It was a curse. Some kind of magical tripwire.”

Dean’s hand slid to the back of your neck, grounding. “What kind of curse?”

You looked at them, heart pounding, and tried to say “I don’t know.” But what came out was: “I ate the last slice of pie last night and I blamed it on Sam.”

Dead silence.

Dean blinked. “…What?”

You clapped your hands over your mouth. “That’s not what I meant to say!”

Sam’s brow furrowed, curious. “Wait. Try again. Say something you know isn’t true.”

You hesitated. “I hate coffee.”

You tried, but instead what came out was: “I once stole one of Dean’s flannels and sleep in it when I miss him.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Dean made a sound that was absolutely not appropriate for the middle of a witch hunt.

“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “You’re cursed. It’s a truth-binding spell. Classic magical compulsion—you can’t lie.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

Dean looked entirely too amused. “So, just to clarify… you did eat the last slice of my pie.”

You glared at him. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam chuckled under his breath, but you could see the tightness behind his eyes—the worry. He wasn’t laughing at you. He was already working through how to fix it.

“We need to break the curse,” he said, scanning the shelves. “There’s probably a totem somewhere. Something binding the magic. If we find it—”

Dean nudged you gently, leaning in close. “You okay handling this until then? We won’t push.”

You nodded. “As long as no one asks me anything deep, I should survive.”

Dean smirked, but didn’t press.

Sam gave your shoulder a brief squeeze before stepping toward the back room. “Let’s find the source before you start telling us how you really feel.”

You smiled tightly, following them. They didn’t know it yet—but that was exactly what scared you most.

[joelmillers-wife]

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter six

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: your mind a mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings, you find solace in an unexpected person wc: 3.3k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters  chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, maria and tommy family time, talk of feelings, angst-ish, fluff-ish, brief mentions of the loss of children, (there’s no joel in this one I’M SORRY), reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn a/n: a short, early surprise chapter :) ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon)

VI. UNDER PRESSURE

'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word And love dares you to care for The people on the (People on streets) edge of the night And love (People on streets) dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves

Winter had come and gone, and you had figured that spending two winters in Jackson would get you used to the cold, but it did not. Somehow it felt more brutal than the last, as if the weather evolved each year as the infection would—a constant mutating monster that got worse as time went on. 

With the spring, your plans to build that garden in your backyard were brought to life—Joel still being a part of that plan. You constantly reassured him he was not obligated to help, but you were always met with the same response. “I wanna help. Let me do this.”

Because, despite the seasons changing, Joel’s presence around you did not waver. He had kept good on his promise to fix that broken light in your house. And that one chance that he got to fix something inside your house only invited him to work on other things inside. You didn’t want to feel as if you were complaining—you appreciated the help and the company, and figured these were just things he had to do to keep himself busy when he had free time. 

You just couldn’t shake some feeling inside you, a feeling you still couldn’t quite place. People’s comments on Joel being around you had burrowed under your skin and created a warm and unpleasant pit in your stomach, making you try to figure out why him being around you made you feel so odd all of a sudden. Why people noticing this makes you feel weird.

Regardless, the time you spent together in your home only grew as you would offer him meals or to stay for a drink after work was done. He never let you pay him directly for the help by doing something for him in return, but you still wanted to give him something to reciprocate his kindness. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. You don’t ever gotta owe me anythin’,” he’d say.

And, yeah. That word has still stuck around when he speaks to you—another thing that made you feel… warm. That pit in your stomach only started to grow until it ended up keeping you awake for longer than your usual anxiety kept you. 

You couldn’t figure out what to do with it—how to fix it. The first place your mind went to was asking Tommy about it, leaning into the fact that he would know why Joel is like this more than anyone, but the idea of that didn’t sit right. It felt odd going to Tommy for something so personal that regards his brother, and you definitely couldn’t go to Ellie about it. So, that left you with one last person you thought could help.

You shuffle back and forth on your feet as you stand waiting for the front door to open after knocking. As a few seconds pass, your insecurity begins brewing. This was a stupid idea… What the fuck were you thinking? 

Quickly, you decide that no one is probably home and turn to leave, when you hear a noise behind the door before it opens.

You twist your body back to face the door, one foot already backed up ready to leave. Maria stands there looking surprised, but not upset at your appearance before speaking your name, her voice lifting up at the end in question.

“Hey,” you breathe out, suddenly unsure of your decision to come here. “Is, uh—is Tommy home?”

She looks out behind you before saying, “No, I’m sorry, honey, you just missed him. He went out in town to get Benjamin some fresh air while I worked on some things at home. He should be back in an hour if you wanted to wait here?”

You shake your head gently. “Oh, no that’s alright. I actually, um… I wanted to talk to you on your own for a bit. Only if you aren’t too busy.”

Her eyebrows raise momentarily before a warm smile appears on her face. That’s why you wanted to come to her, you realize—her natural ability to make you feel safe.

“Not at all. I need a break from working on these damn blueprints,” Maria says before gesturing to you to come in. “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”

Maria steps aside a bit, allowing you the space to walk inside before she shuts the door softly behind you. A brief touch on your shoulder as she passes by indicates for you to begin following her into the living area, where you find papers laying out on the coffee table.

“Do you want me to make you any tea or coffee?” She offers.

“Tea, please,” you say with a grateful smile. She nods once before turning into the kitchen to make the drinks. Taking a second to look around while nervously fidgeting with your hands, your body gravitates to the fireplace mantle where a small chalkboard is placed in the center of the shelf. Written on the board are the names Kevin and Sarah, with the respective dates below it—the memorial of their lives. 

Maria had spoken about her son before the outbreak, Kevin, and you of course knew of Sarah. You remember the first time you came here, you didn’t know about Joel’s daughter, and assumed the memorial was some family member to either Tommy or Maria, considering you never took a closer look at the dates out of respect. Now, knowing what you do, the sight of the board makes your heart ache.

You’ve been over here a few times before—enjoying dinners with the couple and their child, or coming over for small meetings with some other members of the community. You just couldn’t recall a time where you spoke only with Maria, let alone about matters that didn’t regard things in town.

The sound of the tea kettle whistling grabs your attention, and you walk into the kitchen to find Maria preparing the mugs for the two of you. Hearing your presence, she turns around briefly to smile at you, gesturing at the table for you to sit down. 

“Make yourself at home. Sorry for the mess,” she says, referring to the array of blueprints and clipboards sprawled across the dining table, similar to the living room table. “We’ve been needing to build a lot more houses and space recently with all the newcomers. I thank God for marrying an ex-contractor, and getting my brother-in-law, even if he pisses me off most of the time.”

You chuckle softly at Maria’s teasing talk of Joel—the mention of him bringing a smile to your face without even thinking, before the same feeling in your gut warns again and you’re reminded of why you are here.

As you move to sit down at one of the seats, Maria brushes away some of the papers to make room for the two of you. She makes her way over to the fridge, asking, “Are you a milk or honey person with your tea?”

“Milk, please, and sugar if you have it.”

A soft nod can be seen from behind her as she pulls the milk jug and begins to prepare the tea for the two of you. 

Rounding the table to set one down in front of your seat before settling herself in the chair across from you, she asks you, “Is everything okay? Is there an issue with your house or something with the work?” 

You quickly settle her concern. “No, everything is perfect with that, thank you.” You look down to your mug, rubbing your fingers over the handle of it as your nerves take over more and that insecurity begins to build again.

God… Why does this feel so awkward?

“I actually—I wanted to talk to you about something a bit more… personal, I suppose.”

A slight look of shock fills her features before it gets overtaken with a more serious expression—Maria sitting up straighter in her chair and leaning her arms on the table to show you she’s paying attention. The sight calms you a bit as you recognize that same trusting, yet stern, look she had given you that first day in Jackson. “Of course, sweetheart. You can share anything you’d like, whenever you’re ready.”

Her reassurance washes over you, quieting the noise in your mind and calming the anxiety brewing in you. It’s the push you need before sighing and blurting it out.

“Why does Joel always spend time with me?”

Maria doesn’t react at first, before doing a double take, tilting her head towards you with confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

You sigh before looking back down to your mug, tracing your fingers over the ridges from the floral design surrounding it, before all the words you’ve had trapped inside you just comes out. 

“He, recently, is always at my house. He started doing it by saying that Ellie would tell him about things I need fixed at my house—stuff in my yard or front porch. But then, at the Christmas party, I told Ellie thanks for letting him know, and she said she didn’t bring anything up.”

You look down, frowning at the mug in your hand as you recall Ellie’s words. “She said that Joel would tell her about things he noticed regarding me. And a little before that night, people in town were whispering and giggling over Joel being around me a lot, saying that he’s always near. I didn’t believe that, but then when Ellie told me that stuff, I realized that he really does kinda just… show up? I mean I don’t think I’m bothered by it. Just that… I don’t know, it feels weird for some reason. And I didn’t know who to talk to about it because it felt weird to go to Tommy or Ellie with this, and you’re the only other person I think would know him the most. And… frankly, you’re someone I trust the most around here.” 

Taking a deep breath after the end of your rambling, the trembling feeling that’s been growing in you for months seems to settle into an afterthought—as if voicing everything has brought you a sense of peace, even if briefly.

You look up to face Maria again, but the reaction you see isn’t one you were expecting. Her brows were completely shot up, eyes slightly wide and her lips parted open and twitching up a bit at the corners.

Great. She was laughing at you.

Filled with embarrassment, you shake your head and move to get up. “I’m sorry, this was dumb, I shouldn’t have—”

Maria straightens up and grabs your arm to keep you seated, shaking her head.“Sweetie, no, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I promise.”

Still uneasy, you feel tense as you wait to see what she has to say, hesitantly lowering yourself back into your seat, bracing your mind for whatever words she has to say. Your body sinks into the chair, as if you want to burrow deep into the wood and away from this moment.

Maria slouches back into her seat almost comically and looks off to the side, softly huffing out a laugh before turning to look at you. “Joel—oh god, um… Joel, from what I know of him, struggles with showing people he cares.” She pauses to look at you, her eyebrows raised and head tilted in hopes that you understand what she’s trying to say. 

You shake your head, feeling clueless. “I… I mean I knew that, but… what does that have to do with me?”

She smiles and sighs, closing her eyes briefly to formulate her words. “The only two people I’ve seen Joel be comfortable around are Tommy and Ellie. Even then, there’s this wall between him and them—thin, almost as if it’s through a veil. Something that slightly clouds the vulnerability between him and the ones closest to him.”

Maria frowns for a moment, but her face shifts into something resembling sympathy. “No one here in town has had a conversation longer than a few minutes with Joel before—me included. Our talks are strictly business or cordial. Now he knows I’m not the biggest fan of him and his… past, but I know when he does care because I see him with that little girl or my husband. Joel shows his love for those two by doing things for them or getting gifts he thinks that Ellie would like.”

You wait a moment for her to continue, but she just looks at you expectantly, as if you were meant to catch on by now. That was true, you suppose—you’ve seen Joel go out of his way to get things to make Ellie happy, or do things that contribute to the community simply because Tommy and Maria asked of him. 

That was expected, though. He loves them—they’re his family. 

Your thoughts leading you nowhere, you shake your head slowly at Maria in confusion until she reaches over to grab your hand. Cautiously, as if unsure how to speak to you, Maria asks, “Honey… have you ever liked someone?”

Your confusion only deepens as you try to piece together why she asked that. “Of course I have. I like many people here.”

Her lips quirk up again. “I mean, have you ever liked someone? Romantically?”

Oh.

Your eyes widen. No… this isn’t that. 

She speaks up before your anxiety takes over completely, her hands held out in front of her cautiously as if trying to calm a wild animal. “There’s nothing wrong with that, I promise. I’m not saying that you necessarily have those feelings for Joel, but more so that I think he has feelings for you. I just don’t think he knows how to show it.”

You look back down to the mug in front of you, trying to focus on the swirling patterns the milk has made with the tea—trying to focus on anything to distract from whatever the fuck is running through your mind.

Maria speaks your name softly, making you force yourself to look at her. “When you said it makes you feel weird, is it like there’s butterflies in your stomach?” She asks.

“More like a blizzard.”

She lets out a laugh. “Oh I know that feeling all too well,” she says, before her face settles into a more serious expression. “I think you may like Joel in the same way that I think he likes you. You don’t need to do anything with that right now, though. If you aren’t sure what is going on then you do not need to rush and figure it out. I’m just offering what I think is happening and what it may mean.”

You take in her words and consider what you know about romantic feelings—a crush, as you have heard. She wasn’t wrong to ask if you ever felt something like that before, because… you haven’t. The state of life made the notion of a crush not be something that had ever crossed your mind. It was almost a fairytale. Something that always felt so out of reach—not something tangible to you. It makes sense that you wouldn’t recognize what the feeling was yourself, let alone know what it looked like on someone else. 

You briefly recall some moments that happened when you had first arrived in Jackson, a few instances at the mess hall or bar where men had come up to talk to you. You had taken it as them being polite to newcomers, but the giggling and whispering from other women around had made you feel uneasy. Embarrassingly, the person who had to tell you what their real intentions were, was the damn teenager you had befriended. 

“Dude. You’re hot. They’re flirting with you. Come on,” Ellie would say. The realization made you feel odd and caused you to avoid interacting with them for too long, coming up with an excuse to leave. It hadn’t happened for the past few months though, thank god—

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes widen as you realize something while sitting there processing what Maria had said. Those moments with the men in town had stopped a few months ago… when Joel and you had become friends.

He’s always near you.

Maria notices your expression and gives you a knowing smile. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry to have thrown this at you at once.”

Shaking your head, you tell her, “No this… this isn’t your fault. I mean, thank you, ya know, for telling me all this in the first place.”

Her hand soothingly rubs up and down your arm that plays on the table. “Of course. I hope you know you can come to me about anything like this whenever, okay?”

You subconsciously nod at her, your mind still reeling with all the thoughts racing through you as you try to piece everything together.

The sound of the front door opening pulls you away from your thoughts, causing you to straighten up and look more present.

You hear the sounds of a child giggling before you see Tommy appear in the doorway with Benjamin held on his hip. He looks at his wife with a smile before his gaze lands on you with a surprised expression. “Hey, m’sorry to barge in—didn’t know it was a girls day today.”

Maria laughs before standing up and collecting your two now-empty mugs, bringing them over to the kitchen counter. “No worries, honey. Seems like my mind was read by her because she gave me a much needed break,” you hear her voice travel as she walks. 

You stand from your seat as you get ready to head out. “Yeah, sorry… I should’ve given you a heads up before coming over. I don’t mean to keep you too long while you’re busy.”

Walking back into the dining area, Maria shakes her head. “Believe me, you do not need to ever apologize for stopping by.” She gives you a pointed look, with understanding in her eyes. “You’re always more than welcome here. We appreciate the company, truly.”

Tommy gives you a nod as well, silently reaffirming the sincerity that Maria conveyed to you. You take a second to look at them in front of you—Tommy holding their son while looking at Maria lovingly. The ease they both share around each other. The home they’ve built together, both physically and emotionally. 

It makes your throat tighten for a moment, taking in their words as they offer you the right to be a part of their lives so openly. It’s a feeling of comfort you haven’t had in a long time, and one you didn’t think you were deserving of—one you didn’t even think was possible for you in this lifetime. A fairytale.

Maria looks at you for confirmation that you believe her, you nod your head with a small smile—your eyes watery. “Thank you, Maria.” She returns your smile before offering for you to stay for a bit while Tommy makes dinner.

“No, thank you. I told myself I’d get some organizing done on my few days off, so I need to get back home to do that.”

She nods in understanding and walks you over to the door, stopping to hug Tommy and say your goodbyes to him and Benjamin on the way.

As you reach the door where Maria waits for you, you give her a hug as well when she leans in to whisper in your ear. “You tell me if you need anything in this situation—I happen to be sorta good at giving love advice.” She pulls away with a soft smirk before her face hardens, transitioning into one more serious.

“And just… be careful when it comes to him, alright?”

You pull away from her, the last thing she said confusing you for a moment as your eyebrows lightly twitching. Not mentioning it, you quietly thank her again for the advice and say goodbye to her before heading outside.

That word she had said before you left, love, ringing in your ears the whole walk home. With it, the idea of that fairytale begins to fill your mind and slip into your dreams.

a/n: surprise! wanted to post this short chapter before I post chapter seven this saturday, hope you guys enjoy <3

follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates! I’m still doing my tag list for now, but they’ve been kinda wonky recently so I apologize if it doesn’t work! <3 I’ve gotten some people saying it keeps glitching and tagging repeatedly, or my post goes away and comes back?? so I am so sorry I don’t know how to fix this but hope it stops :(( if I miss anyone’s tags, please let me know!

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[scribblecon]

Your latest Megatron x Reader fic is stuck on my head, thinking about it repeatedly. I love if so much.

I am excited for the next chapter

The wait is finally over!! Here’s part two :)) also want to thank my buddy @peachypede for letting me bombard her with ideas for this and sharing her thoughts on them 💖

SFW, GN reader

part 1

Cultural Exchange Part Two

—

It’s time for another meeting with Megatron. Yesterday ended with you impulsively forming a book club for two and now you get to find out if he actually read a romance novel on your recommendation or not. You take a deep breath and enter the room, taking your usual seat near the doorway, body tense. He’s already sat in his corner of the room, of course. Waiting.

“I read the novel.”

“You actually read Pride and Prejudice?” Blinking in surprise, you weren’t expecting him to keep his word.

“Yes.”

“… What did you think?”

“The fixation on ‘marriage’ makes little sense. Surely there are more important things for the Bennett sisters to focus on than finding a sparkmate.”

“That’s a pretty dismissive reading.”

“What else is there to say? It’s a frivolous story about a group of people with too much time on their hands, shamelessly chasing romantic relationships.”

You stare at him open mouthed, trying to think of a response. He can’t be serious. His expression gives away nothing as he waits for you to speak and you can feel your face heat with frustration. You offer up a potential conversation topic because he isn’t willing to come up with one himself and this is all he has to say? Rude. Extremely rude. The tension in your body increases as you shift from nervousness to indignation.

“I suggested you read one of the most well-known novels in human history and you’re writing it off just like that? Did you actually read the story or did you download it into your brain module and call it a day?” You glare at Megatron, voice sharp. “Because it sounds to me like you didn’t even try to understand the point of the story.”

The corners of his lips quirk upwards in amusement at your reaction, wondering if it’s normal for humans to get so precious over a mere work of fiction. He’s never known his fellow cybertronians to act this way, though he struggles to recall the last time any of his kind published a novel in the first place, let alone one worth fussing over.

You know that getting angry isn’t going to make interacting with him any easier. Reminding yourself that you’re doing a job, that it’s only for an hour, you turn his words over in your mind. Need to think of something constructive to say. It’s true marriage and romance are the main themes of the story, but calling the entire cast shamelessly obsessed is a bit extreme. Either he’s a total prude or there’s a cultural difference getting in the way. You exhale, letting go of your remaining frustration before speaking again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

“I’ve been told that conjunx endurae are your species equivalent to marriage, but is there anything legally binding about entering that sort of relationship for cybertronians?”

“No.” His expression turns to a frown.

“And how common is it for cybertronians to become conjunx?”

“Most of us never do.” Megatron’s frown deepens, the line of enquiry at risk of becoming too personal too fast for his liking. Needs to shut it down. “More importantly, those kinds of relationships are considered private affairs. It isn’t usually something to be discussed openly.”

Come to think of it, you’ve been part of the Lost Light’s crew since before Megatron joined and romance hasn’t cropped up in conversation much, if at all, since you’ve started hanging out with cybertronians. Maybe romance just isn’t a priority for a race that doesn’t reproduce? At least this gives you something to work with.

“That’s so different to humans… a lot of us see getting married as the ultimate symbol of romantic love, but really it’s just a legal contract and the ceremony part is optional.” You can feel yourself relaxing as you continue. Somehow it’s easier to talk when you have something you can teach. “Back in the regency period, marriage was about financial security and social standing over and above anything else. Due to laws at the time, if a woman didn’t find a suitable husband she’d be at risk of becoming destitute. You didn’t pick up on that at all?”

“That’s why Mrs Bennett was so insistent on Elizabeth marrying Mr Collins…”

So he was paying attention after all�� you allow a small smile to grace your lips. “She didn’t want her family to be rendered homeless upon her husband’s death, so, yeah in her eyes it was the best case scenario to marry Elizabeth off.”

“By that logic, Elizabeth was naïve and a fool to reject him.”

“Yes, but would you be happy spending the rest of your life attached to someone like that? Their personalities were a terrible match. They’d have been extremely unhappy together.”

Megatron thinks for a moment, snippets of dialogue from the book coming back to him. Something about Mr Collins’s sycophancy towards Lady de Bourghs does feel familiar... He knew there was a reason he stopped communicating with Tarn directly millennia ago.

“In a way, I already have…” He mumbles to himself, barely audible from where you’re sitting on the other side of the room.

“What was that?”

Megatron clears his intake, ignoring your question. “So which is more important to a successful marriage, security or happiness? This is unnecessarily complicated.”

“It depends on the person? I hate to break it to you, but much like cybertronians, humans are very complicated creatures. Consider Charlotte…”

—

“… now do you understand why marriage is so important in this story?”

Megatron nods in confirmation, appearing deep in thought. Having just spent the better part of the hour going over every relationship in Pride and Prejudice with him, you’ve been attempting to make him understand some of the myriad reasons as to why humans might get married. It became fairly obvious to you while discussing Mr Collins that he had, in fact, read the novel more closely than he initially let on. You don’t care if you’re just explaining things he’s already figured out though. A conversation is happening and you finally have something to say to Ultra Magnus. It’s not much, but he’ll probably be pleased with even a millimetre of progress right now.

Megatron is mildly impressed by you. Granted, he’s not exactly trying very hard, so naturally you’d be the one leading the conversation. But with a little provocation and something to focus on, you seem to lose any sense of fear towards him — watching you flare with indignation at his dismissive remarks before shifting to curiosity was nothing short of amusing. So small, yet more than willing to stand your ground, even over something as inconsequential as a work of fiction.

He also has to admit that this Jane Austen’s writing was of a better quality than he expected. The continuous discussions of relationships were initially jarring and uncomfortable, so completely different to cybertronian customs, but the prose and humour were enjoyable enough. He’d even go so far as to call the main dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy compelling, though he has no interest in voicing these opinions out loud for the time being.

The sound of an alarm goes off, interrupting his thoughts.

“Well,” you say, standing up and stretching your arms above your head. “Time for me to go.”

“Not going to suggest I read another human novel before you leave?”

You pause, nose crinkling as you turn to look back at him. “I did pretty much all the talking today so… you pick something.”

Without waiting for a response, you walk out the room. When the door closes behind you, he can hear your footsteps break into a run until they fade into the distance. Clearly, as much as you enjoy talking about literature, you still dislike being around him more. And that’s fine. He hardly knows what to make of you either.

[ajaxsbeloved]

stygianoir asked:

"A part two of don’t give me that look with Dainsleif, Xiao and Scaramouche plz"

-: don't gimmie that look III :-

part 1 — part 2

feat. dainsleif, alhhaitham, and aether (xiao and scaramouche are in part 2!)

genre. suggestive

summary. the genshin men react to you giving them the “fuck me” eyes accidentally

warnings. dainsleif has fake lore since there's not much we know about him, dains reader uses she/her, dains section is kinda long my bad, khaenri'ahn body guard dain, reader is khaenri'ahn royality or something??, lore players pls don't kill me i'm just writing random shit, dains ending does NOT imply sex after i'm sorry y'all, reader is a scholar at the academiya with alhaitham, aether abyss prince au, more fake lore for aether because we don’t know anything abt the abyss yet

authors note. this series has short circuited my brain 😭😭😭 unfortunately i will NOT be doing a part 4 but please stick around my blog and thank you all for the amount of love you've given this series it means so much to me :( <3 // also this was reuploaded and tagged by @aventurinesweetheart bc i forgot to do it the first time

dainsleif

if dainsleif was anything it was good at his job. not to mention completely and utterly devoted to you...

of course the good part is that you Are his job

Khaenri'ah is a thriving nation, one built on technology and innovation. before the teyvat we knew, before the archons and before the heavenly principles

your father was a strict man, he was always stubborn and strongly believed in learning the right lesson at the right time

dain was a beloved member of the khaenri'ahn guard, having been a member of the guards history since before he was born. dainsleif's father and his father before him had all served the royal family, naturally dain would grow up to do the same thing

when he first became a knight he was proud, even if he wasn't yet protecting members of the royal family he was still happy doing regular guard duties and he was honored to even be a part of the group that would defend their nation

at the ripe age of 18 dainsleif was promoted, he wasn't scared though. no in fact he was extremely excited, he had been waiting for this his whole life and nothing could change the fact that he was proud to carry on his families legacy

he was assigned to protect the khaenri'ahn princess, the oldest of them at least who happened to be the same age as him. he had never actually met her though, sure he had seen her in public as she did royal things with her family like orientation of nobles and knighting new guards

but this was completely different, seeing royalty and befriending royalty were definitely not the same thing

when he first met you he wasn't surprised, you seemed like the typical royal princess. you were calm and put together, you were well articulated and held your head high as any proper royalty should do

it wasn't until a few months into being your specific guard that dainsleif noticed anything unique about you, the truth was that despite all your honorary behaviors and taught attitude, there was a kind and loving person behind it all

at first this was a little shocking to dain, he had no idea that royalty could be so... so human.

you may have been what he expected at first but after knowing you? you were a whole new person to him, not just someone he was hired to protect but you grew to be someone he wanted to protect

eventually the two of you grew rather close, becoming sort of like best friends. dainsleif was never one to socialize much as he had to focus on his job and you were kind of isolated from the world since being put on a pedastal made it hard for you to make friends out of regular everyday people

so from then on the duo was practically inseparable, glued to each other and always running to each other whenever anything remotely interesting happens

until one day, one day dain goes to your bedroom. he was worried, you had missed breakfast and didn't attend your behavior classes. this worried your parents too of course but no one truly cared for you the way dainsleif did

when you didn't answer after he knocked he warned that he was coming in and pushed open the door with a little bit of force only to find that you weren't there, in fact the bed room was completely empty and one of the windows by your bedside was wide open

the worst situation came into dainsleif's mind, had you run away? did someone take you? how was he ever supposed to protect you if he doesn't know where you are?

he immediately sprints to tell your parents and siblings only to find them already in the meeting hall with concerned expressions on their faces and a note in their hands

the note reads as follows "I have your daughter, bring me 100,000 dollars or i will cut off her hands. you have until 12AM, send only 1 guard and the money to this location."

the letter then had a map attached to it with a meeting point, your family was freaking out and insisted that they go to the meeting point with a full guard squad and the money just in case; the money

but dainsleif knew this was a bad idea, he knew that if the royal family sent a whole team of guards that they would never get you back and that the kidnapper would do horrible unimaginable things to you

the thought alone infuriated dain and he somehow managed to convince your family that it was him who needed to go with the money and bring you home safely

so he went, he brought the money and the kidnapper was there with you next to him. there was tape over your mouth and your hands were bound in rope, the sight was hard to look at but dainsleif mustered up all his courage to get you out of this situation

he went to give the kidnapper money and as he did so he managed to knock him out cold, how you may ask? don't. i don't know how he did it LMAO

you quickly ran up to dain and he cut off the ropes that bound your wrists as well as took the tape off of your mouth, thankful to even be alive you engulfed him in the tighest hug you could manage with the strength you had left

dainsleif was shocked, though you were friends you had never seemed to share a hug or been in physical contact so he was taken by surprise at your eager show of affection

he looked down at you and felt his body flood with warmth when he saw you were looking back at him, your eyes glittering in admiration at your hero and the widest toothiest grin on your face

dainsleif felt energy rejuvenate throughout his body, as if looking at you had somehow made him bounce back from all the worry and concern he had at the situation

there you were, looking at him like he was the best man in the world, like he was your hero. he couldn't help but smile back at you, your joyous expression apparently contagious

"let's get you home (y/n)."

alhaitham

being a scholar in the nation of knowledge was no easy feat, there were many and many people who were immensely smart and experienced with researching

alhaitham was no exception, he was of course extremely intelligent not to mention observant and caring (though he would never admit to it)

you had met alhaitham when you first joined the academiya, being in similar fields of study you were able to bond over things like professors or assignments that you struggled with

however alhaitham never struggled, he always found each task easy to complete and he did every assignment well enough to earn perfect grades

you spent countless hours in the library studying til you collapsed over the tests and exams that you had nearly every week, you could spend days and days in the computer lab trying to find sources for your papers and articles about the topics you were assigned for research

alhaitham always came along with you, finding any excuse not to be at home just in case kaveh happened to be there. besides it’s not like he ever had much to do, he had plenty of free time and for whatever reason he preferred spending it with you

even if you were truly spending your time “together”, it was often found that you had your nose in notes and scribbled diagrams while alhaitham sat quietly across from you reading a thick book that had at least 250 pages

sometimes you’d fall asleep studying or you’d have to take a few bathroom breaks, you’d always come back to find alhaitham in the same spot with the same neutral expression as he flipped the pages of his books

sometimes you’d try to talk with him, asking him about how his studies were going or what kaveh was up to. he always got rather annoyed by the questions regarding kaveh, he would get defensive or start bad mouthing kaveh as he tried to make himself look better

“kaveh is a lazy baboon who can hardly get his work done and eat throughout the day while i have to do all the chores around the house and manage to do my duties as the scribe… pfft it’s almost pathetic.”

he’d role his eyes at the thought of kaveh and go on and on complaining about how he hates being at home because he can’t stand being around kaveh, he’d sometimes mentioned hanging out at your place to avoid going home

“after studying we should grab something to eat and head to your house, i’d rather study more with you then go home and deal with my actual roommate.”

despite the way alhaitham talked about kaveh you knew they were actually good friends, they just clashed heads and bickered more than most people….. yeah… more than most….

so one day you let alhaitham come over after studying, you had gotten take out and some alcohol to have at your place while you relaxed after exams

you ate and laughed, though alhaitham seems stoic he’s a rather funny guy. not that he tries to be funny but he just says things so bluntly and isn’t afraid to gossip with you about people in your lives

you were drunk and enjoying yourself from across the table, eventually the laughter died down and the conversation came to a halt

the silence filled the air and alhaitham (who wasn’t drunk because he can hold his alcohol extremely well) was looking around your apartment as opposed to you

you sat there looking at alhaitham and taking in everything about him, from the way he hair framed his face to his gorgeous eyes and toned chest, even the way he smelled like wood

without even realizing you started giggling at him, finding your own thoughts about how good looking his was amusing and unexpected

hearing your laughter alhaitham turn his eyes to you, he froze at the sight before him

there you were sitting across the table from him with a light blush on your face and adorable smile on your lips

you were so perfect, from your teeth to your eyebrows and the way your nose scrunched as you laughed at him made his stomach turn in on itself

truthfully he didn’t understand, what were you laughing about? why did he find you so attractive right now? and how could you laugh so carefree like that? was it because of him?

“what’re you laughing for?”

“you silly! you’re so funny y’know that?”

that was it, that was the straw that broke the camels back. alhaitham didn’t know what it was that made him do flips in his head but he knew if he didn’t do something about it soon it would leave him a wreck

he got up the table swiftly, surprising you as you let out a noise of confusion, he made his way over to your side of the table and grabbed your hand

pulling you up you let out a “wha-“ and before you knew it he was dragging you around the house, to a place you were well familiar with which was of course, your bedroom

he led you quietly and once you arrived he closed the door, pushing you against it and locking lips with you

you were surprised but certainly not disappointed, you leaned into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck would made him groan as you smiled against him

“i need to be more than just your study buddy.”

aether

the abyss was a rather strict organization, there weren’t many humans who were a part of it yet you find yourself aligning with their views and climbing up the ranks

today was an important day, today was a mission that the abyss took very seriously. you were chosen to retrieve information on the tsaritsa’s plan to steal the gnosis’ and bring the plans back to headquarters

everything was going just right, you were able to infiltrate a fatui agency successfully and managed to gain access to some information that most fatui weren’t even able to be aware of

you gathered the files you obtained and started to make your way out of the fatui agency when suddenly a man stopped you

“you. i don’t think i’ve seen you anyway around here before, who are you and what is your clearance?”

you were put on the spot, but not to worry because this was something you trained for, this was something you were expecting

“you haven’t seen me because i outrank you. don’t talk down to your captains, i have important business. now if you’ll excuse me i need to take these files to the knave, interrupt me again and i’ll make sure she hears about how you interfered with her collection of information.”

the man in front of you froze upon hearing the knaves name, he took a nervous gulp and apologized for intruding on your collection of data

you acted snarky, scoffing at this innocent lower level employee and giving him a dirty look to which he squealed at

you successfully exited the building and travelled back to abyssal headquarters to report your findings to the high council, hoping that perhaps you’d get promoted or at least a raise

you strutted into headquarters proudly, holding your head high and nodding at those who greeted you and welcomed you back

you may your way to the high council meeting room and presented the information you collected, spilling all the details of your mission and how the fatui managed to not suspect anything of you

the council was impressed and satisfied with your report, the most notable being the prince. aether was very pleased with your abilities and was prideful to have such an intelligent and skilled agent on his side of the war

“come here, i shall award you an honor not many have been able to accomplish.”

you walk closer to his throne and find yourself in front of the prince himself who was not only powerful and smart but also extremely handsome

“on your knees.”

you knelt carefully, placing your hand on your chest and closing your eyes to listen to your prince

aether took out his sword from its sheath and you shivered hearing the blade scrape against the metal cover, more gently than expected, the prince brought his sword to your shoulders and announced you a knight, one of the highest honors among the abyssal kingdom

“congratulations, you have become a knight and you will fight by my side, do not disappoint me. i trust in your abilities.”

you open your eyes and lift your head to look aether in the eyes, meeting him as he looked down at your kneeling figure

aether felt his heart pang at the sight, you who looked up at him as if he was the world, like you would do anything for him

your eyes glossed and your steady breathing causing your chest to rise up and down, the image was practically burned into his mind as he felt himself warm up within a matter of seconds

you were breathtaking, it was something he always knew but seeing you before him so willingly and effortlessly he found himself enamored with your beauty

“stand” he said firmly

despite his firm tone and professionalism, aether was dying on the inside fighting an army of nerves and trying to ignore the way his cheeks melted like ice cream

you slowly stood, keeping your hand to your chest and eyes in his. though you had no idea what he was going to say next you didn’t seem to care when looking at him, as if he had put you in a trance and made it impossible to look away

“let’s discuss your promotion in private quarters shall we?”

tagged: @aventurinesweetheart @z3nitsusgf @stygianoir

[piccxzell]

High Honor Arthur Morgan Headcanons :3

Lowkey NSFW under the cut so…urm you have been warned

➴➵➶GENERAL HCS➴➵➶➴➵➶

Arthur loves to draw his partner, in any state, sleeping, awake, happy, sad. He wants to capture every movement and every moment. He loves going back and seeing how you looked one day as opposed to another.

If Arthur is upset or on edge about something i think he would actively avoid eating. Like not starving himself exactly….just avoiding eating. Not actively seeking out food or anything, would eat if offered something, but wouldn’t go out of his way to get food for himself.

Spends way too long critiquing himself in the mirror, picking and plucking at his hair to get it to sit right, biting his nails down to look more “masculine”, practicing facial expressions to make sure he doesn’t look like a fool.

I think he purposely hides his face with his hat, it could be dark as night, he could be inside, and he would keep his gaze down. Either too insecure to look up, or feeling as if hes too intimidating for the moment.

He likes when his partner bathes him and vice-versa. He’ll talk about whatever, Dutch’s plan, Micah’s insolence, the reverend’s refusal to get better, Sadie’s gunslinging. Anything. When hes in the bath, hes very emotionally vulnerable.

Hes so grabby. By the waist, by the hand, by the belt loop. forehead kisses, nips to the neck or shoulder, hand on his partner’s head.

Does the thumb thing idc.

He doesn’t really know how to settle down, so he isnt very good at reading people’s needs, but the second his partner mentions wanting something hes on top of it. “𝚘𝚑, 𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚡,𝚢,𝚣) 𝚎𝚟𝚎��𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎….” and the next morning its on their bedside table.

If he gets particularly comfortable, he would show his partner some of his drawings, maybe just the small ones, like the drawings of animals he finds, or plants. The whole time he just mutters about how bad they are or how he “hardly spent time on it” which makes his partner even more impressed.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆personal headcanons based off MY gameplay⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Always, always, ALWAYS has some sort of fresh fruit on him, cant STAND the taste of canned fruit after eating them for months straight, thinks the sugar level is too much and can’t handle it anymore.

talks to his horse probably more than he talks to most people. Just any horse really. He’ll sit on the porches of businesses and just talk to the horses hitched there.

Rarely steals anymore, but if he’s really low on money, he might. Of course, the second Dutch claims to have a plan hes robbing left and right. But personally, he doesnt see the appeal much anymore. Will definitely loot people who tried to shoot him though.

Loves exploring, will spend days on the trail, in different states and environments just seeing what he can. Though, he once came upon an old shack just west of a river and got so sick he had to stay back at camp for a few weeks.

Loots old abandoned buildings. Doesn’t matter if its filled with only stale bread and ammo, sometimes if he’s lucky he’ll find a few dollars and he likes the idea of holding onto it to give someone in the future.

Claims he trusts Dutch’s plan, but has never once contributed money for camp. Well, one time he did. A few cents. But only because Grimshaw had gotten upset with him. Always makes sure everyone has food though.

Spends a lot of time around camp, often times neglecting tasks in favor of just being around the gang. Besides, it pushes them to contribute too.

He rarely cuts his hair. Keeps his beard low, but prefers having long hair. Claims it covers his neck to protect him from the heat, but just likes how it covers more of his body.

sleeps for either 38 hours uninterrupted or doesn’t sleep for a week. No in between at all.

⋆ ݁. ˖ 𖠰 ݁↟𐂂 ݁↟𖠰 ˖ . ݁⋆ Freaky HC🤤⋆ ݁. ˖ 𖠰 ݁↟𐂂 ݁↟𖠰 ˖ . ݁⋆

Bites his partners lip, thinks it the hottest thing in the world. He loved seeing his partners face scrunch up with temporary pain before he kisses it all better.

Says the sweetest things in the most condescending way. “Oh…well now look atchu darlin’…” “…hush now, sweet thing, yer bein’ too loud.” “Thats it, sugar…take it.”

does the knee thing. (idc if this is canon. This is real to ME!)

Such a sucker for seeing his partner on their knees. He loves the eye contact. Thinks eyes are the window to the soul and absolutely just melts whenever he sees his partners eyes looking up at him.

Grips the headboard.

He likes to hold his partner’s hands during missionary, just one, both, holding their hands above their head. He loves it, he loves running his thumb over their veins while he does it.

Kneads his partner’s thighs when he’s between them.

He has a whole lot of self control. Stops the second he sees hes doing something wrong. His partner looks just a little too uncomfortable, hes paused. “Darlin’..? alright?” “Theres my good girl/boy.”

Keeps a pretty consistent pace. But the second he feels nails dig into his back or hands grip his hair, his hips stutter and his next few thrusts get all sloppy.

I think he would be VERY good at tying his partner up. Though it isnt really his thing, he absolutely would if they asked.

He growls, he pants. Animalistic sounds are absolutely his thing. Loves making noise.

Cant do quickies, he tried once. Left him feeling so unfinished and unfulfilled.

Hes been with women before, had a kid before, he absolutely knows what hes doing, and has discussed the possibility of kids, but inevitably came to the conclusion that if it didn’t happen by accident he didn’t want to bring a little one into this world. (Though one major point for wanting one was seeing how well his partner was with Jack.)

Absolutely will NOT do knife or gun play, worried he might hurt you. (unlike low honor Arthur who i think would love that kind of stuff.)

[exitingmusic]

Yours

Caleb x reader

Warnings: suicidal ideas, depression, slight self-harm, language, obsessive Caleb (slight yandere, not too ooc), lil bit of angst :)

AN: This is a pretty long one I've had in my drafts and the beginning isn't great but I swear it gets better I SWEAR I'll do the HC after this I just really wanted to write this before I forgot :)

WC: 8.6k

After a big argument with Caleb about him locking you in his house, tensions were high. He was leaving tomorrow for a new exploration mission with the Farspace Fleet, but you refused to let yourself be upset that he was leaving again. Not when he had locked you up. Not when he had given you sleeping pills instead of medicine so you wouldn’t sneak out. 

He approaches you, a smile on his face as he takes your hand. “I’m about to leave, it’d be nice if we could have a meal together.”

You yank your hand away, snapping, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

Hurt crosses his expression as you turn on your heel, heading for the living room. He follows you, standing in front of you as you sit on the couch and scowl up at him.

“Your life has threats around every corner. The people who are after your power, who want to hurt you? They should all just disappear.” Leaning forward, he presses his hand against the cushion beside your head. “You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

A gentle smile tugs at his lips, the soft feeling not reaching his cold eyes. It falls quickly though when you respond, “I’d rather face danger head on than live ‘safely’ like this! I don’t need you—“

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” he says, cutting you off with a disbelieving laugh. Leaning forward, he grabs one of your wrists. “Alright. What do you need? You can tell me. We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together.”

His voice turns pleading as he continues, “I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want, it will have the most beautiful, stunning gardens you’ve ever seen. No threat will ever be able to find you again. I’ll protect you forever.” His words are soft, his eyes so familiar and yet so wrong, somehow. A slight smile curves his mouth, so normal and yet different that it makes your heart ache.

“Caleb, I lived this long without you, I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bird locked in a cage, even if it is with you,” you pleaded, carefully watching his every reaction.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes his eyes, clearly struggling to remain calm and not snap. He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself as he opens his eyes again to look at you.

“You think I care about your freedom or free will right now? The only thing I care about is protecting you. The rest doesn’t matter.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and paces away from you, his expression conflicted. “Why do you even want that freedom when you could have safety here, with me?”

“Am I just supposed to stay here, acting happy all my life? Surrounded by the same walls? The same things? Never see or talk to anyone else?” You continued, your voice raising, “because I can't do that Caleb, no matter how safe I'd be. I couldn’t stand it.”

Caleb’s jaw is clenched tight, the anger in his words barely contained. He turns and takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and pull you up from the couch. “I don’t give a damn how ‘happy’ you are, or if you feel ‘trapped’. I just. Need. You. Safe.” His hand tightens on your arm as he presses close to you, every line of his body tense at the argument.

“It doesn’t matter if I lock you up or keep you under my watch,” he says, his gaze pinning yours as he growls, “As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters,” he mutters, releasing your arm, but still standing close enough to tower over you, his violet gaze locked on yours. “Why can’t you understand I’m doing this because I love you? I can’t let anything happen to you, no matter the cost.”

You didn’t recognize this man in front of you, eyes hard and cold, determined to clip your wings and trap you in this gilded cage. You weren’t angry at him, no, it just hurt seeing the boy you loved so dearly so detached and uncaring, towards you no less.

Anger fading, you look at him with saddened eyes, “You're not my Caleb.”

Caleb freezes, staring at you, looking like you stabbed him in the chest before his expression hardens again, the air growing tense as he says, “What are you talking about?”

His hand gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he can search your expression as he says, “Of course I’m the same Caleb, your Caleb. The one who’s been here, protecting you, worrying for you, and who loves you. Who else could I be?”

“My Caleb wouldn't have done this. He would've happily followed me to the ends of the universe to keep me safe and happy. He wouldn't lock me away…” you said defiantly, raising your chin.

He releases your chin and steps back, something cold hardening in his expression. “Your Caleb, huh? That sounds like some kind of ideal to me. He sounds like a spineless, love sick idiot who’s willing to risk your life for you to be happy.”

He begins to pace in front of you, his expression turning bitter as he says, “You think he would’ve preferred letting you run around, putting yourself in danger, all because of what?! Your happiness?”

“But I loved that Caleb, I still do. I couldn't give a shit if he was a spineless, love sick idiot. He was my Caleb and I'd have him no other way,” you say loyally, your voice quiet but unwavering.

He freezes, something painful flashing across his expression before he quickly turns from you. One of his hands clenches into a fist as he snaps, “Well that Caleb is dead and gone.” He’s stiff, his shoulders are tense, a muscle in his jaw moving as he stands silently.

Even though he’s turned away from him, your face doesn’t hide your disappointment, “Clearly,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. You can’t help the sliver of satisfaction that you feel as he clenches his jaw, teeth gritting. 

“So why do you keep talking about him? He’s dead, and everything you want doesn’t matter anymore.” He turns and walks towards you, standing just in front of you with a bitter, cold expression. His voice is fragile as he asks you, “Why can’t you stop talking about him and see me?”

You hold no anger, only pity for him, “Because you’re trying to force me to see you, to choose you over everything else in my life. You’re making yourself the bad guy.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter and harsh. “The bad guy? Is that what you think I am?”

‘Caleb’ cups a hand on your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are hard, no trace of the soft, kind boy you used to know.

“Let me tell you what I think, sweetheart. I think your judgement is clouded by sentiment. Your idea of who your old Caleb is has blinded you, your idea for who I should be.”

That was your breaking point, “Well maybe it’s because I’m locked in this house and now I’m not allowed to see my friends, to go places, hell, I’m not even allowed to go outside,” you spat, glaring up at Cal- no, the Colonel. 

He scoffs and gently pushes you back down into the couch, his expression angry as he says, “You expect me to care? You’re not miserable. You’re not hungry, you’re not uncomfortable. You have everything here, but all you can focus on is that you’re missing your freedom, like some kind of animal.”

He shakes his head and looks away, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’re lucky I even let you have this much. You could be locked up, actually locked up in a cell with no contact.”

Your eyes narrow, an expression of disgust on your face, “You’re right my Caleb is dead,” you grit out, brushing past him to your room. 

His jaw tightens, annoyance clear in his expression as he yells after you, “And what does that mean? Your Caleb is dead, sweetheart. This is the only version of me you’ll ever have now.”

Turning back, you bare your teeth, “I might not die out there, but I sure as hell will wither away in here. Thank you, Colonel, I feel so safe,” you spat the title out venomously, slamming the door, paying no mind to his recoil at the rank.

He lets out a low growl and slams a hand on the door, his voice rising in a sharp, cold snap. “You’re going to open this door right now.”

“We don't all get what we want, Colonel,” you say, voice empty as you glare at the door.  “Remember? Safety over happiness?”

He steps back and takes a deep, calming breath. With sharp, angry strides, he walks into the living room and sits on the couch, every movement radiating anger.

“Happiness will pass,” he grinds out, his gaze cold as steel fixated on the wall. “Safety is permanent.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Over the next 2 days, fury is the only thing you feel, it consumes you. You don’t sleep, don’t eat, you can’t breathe from the anger running through your veins. After the first couple of hours, your room is completely trashed, everything that decorated her room was either broken or on the floor. Your books were bent, pages torn out and crumpled. Your plants were turned on their sides, pots broken as soil spilled out. Pictures of Caleb and you, drawings you had made of each other, laughed over were taken out of their frames and torn to pieces, the frames crumpled and dented. The pretty vase of flowers Caleb got you? Smashed to pieces, the petals shredded and stems ripped. The pillows and blankets you bought together? Ripped, the stuffing leaking, just how your pain leaked oozed from every pore. The jackets, shirts, and sweatshirts he gave you were tossed in the hall. Every gift he ever got you was either broken, ripped, shredded or shoved away from your sight. Everything you enjoyed was broken beyond repair.

Even the plushies weren’t safe from your wrath, a couple being so dented from how many times your fist flew into the soft material. The only thing that remained untouched was a dinosaur model that the two of you spent nearly a week on before he “died”. It was also the first time he ever kissed you, right after he placed the final piece, he jumped up, excited, pure joy on his face as Caleb spun you around and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours.

Now, you couldn’t even look at it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of crushing it, so it sat on the windowsill, hidden behind the blinds that were always shut tightly, preventing any glimpse of the outside.

The Colonel didn’t do that, you did. You couldn’t bear to see freedom so close, yet so far. The sun would shine on the grass and trees outside your window, birds flying over and nesting in the big oak tree in the back. Each night, when the sun set, the sky would be ablaze with the most vibrant pinks, purples, and oranges. Wispy clouds trailed their fingertips through the sea of the sky, curling around each other and floating whichever way the wind carried them. 

You felt like a caged animal, being taunted by having to watch your freedom and life slip past right in front of you.

On day 2, you realized that your anger wasn’t getting you free. Defeated, you fell back onto your mattress, a heavy weight on your chest, like this invisible force was smothering you. 

You couldn’t cry, it was like the comfort of tears had forsaken you as well as the life you were once so excited to continue, adventuring around the planet freely, meeting people, fighting wanderers and just having the freedom to make your own decisions. 

You just felt so empty, the anger had burned out all of your motivation, all of your feelings, leaving you a hollow, blank shell. 

A part of you died with Caleb when he vanished in the explosion, coming back as someone you could barely recognize. Your mind was tricked by his physical appearance that you didn’t notice that the kindness and joy had all been leached out. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, lost in your own mind before the door opened. Even though you didn’t look, you could still sense he was standing there.

You didn’t react, not when he sucked in a breath at the mess, not when he came closer or when he peered at you.

“Come, I made you food,” he says stiffly, eyes sweeping over the crushed memories, precious items that weren’t too special to anyone except you.

Standing up, you avoided his eyes and walked past him, shoulders curled inwards as you sat down in front of the plate set up for you.

You couldn’t even feel your hunger, your mouth didn’t water as the scent of his braised chicken wings filled the air. Sides of wonton soup, Har gow, and stir fry sat on the counter, all your favorites.

You ate robotically, the food turning to ash in your mouth. Normally when you ate Caleb’s cooking, you’d be shoveling it in your mouth as fast as possible, trying to eat as much as you could before you got a stomach ache.

But normally you wouldn’t be locked inside.

You could tell Cale-, no, Colonel was a little concerned as he watched you eat slowly, completely blank, a harsh contrast from your torn apart room. 

He cleared his throat, “Is the food okay?” The Colonel asks, his voice hesitant. 

“S’fine,” you muttered, staring at the plate.

He didn’t try to talk to you again but he sat there, watching you with sharp eyes.

After you finished, you took your dishes over, rinsing the residue off and setting them next to the sink before you went back to your room, shrinking away from the windows, like a phantom.

And that’s what you were, a ghost, a wraith. A spirit that haunts the halls of the house, staring blankly for hours on end. And wherever she drifts, the curtains fall shut, clouding the house in darkness once more. Darkness that was reflected under your eyes.

You grow paler, thinner, your hair messy and clothes hanging off your body like rags. You only ate when he made you, only slept when he made you, only spoke when he asked you something. All your other time was spent locked in your mind, staring off into space. 

The Colonel had attempted to bring you back to life. He had cleaned up most of your room, replaced books, framed new pictures, and bought you new pillows and blankets. He tried to talk to you, tried to get you to do things together, but you only responded with simple answers or refusal. 

He tried to get you to cook with him, playing music while he waited for you to come out of your room and help him or even just sit at the counter. He tried to give you new plants, but you never watered them, your room was already too dark for them to live long. He gave you all the comforts you could want, but nothing changed.

A cage was still a cage no matter how pretty it was.

Only you couldn’t bear to look outside of it. 

You could tell the Colonel was getting frustrated, he stopped trying to sweet talk you into spending time with him or having a conversation. He stopped putting so much effort into cooking, realizing that you weren’t enjoying it. He stopped trying to breathe life into your room, stopped adding old pictures, stopped setting plants on the shelf, leaving the other ones to wilt away.

It was ironic, you and the plants were both wilting away from the sun, dying slowly.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Like usual, you were laying on your bed, looking at the ceiling and imagining the bright blue sky and the fluffy clouds with birds flying overhead, trying to bring you some comfort, to ground you and to bring you some form of happiness.

It had been months. Five months since you’ve been outside, five months since you’ve seen anyone but him, five months since you’ve seen anything else but the same walls. 

You didn’t care anymore, you barely ate, just laid in bed, numb. Your hands were bloody from how often you picked your cuticles, your nails were just nubs, bitten down to the skin. Every time anything would scab over, you picked it immediately. 

It was a reminder, a reminder that you were still real, that you could feel, no matter how much you didn’t want to. No matter how many times that she felt like she wasn’t here, the pain would bring her crashing back down. 

He watched your slow retreat over the next few months. As much as he tried to talk to you, to coax you back to something like your old self, he made no ground. You were like a shell of your former self, just a hollow echo with no fire in its soul. 

With every week that passed, he grew more and more desperate. He tried bringing your favorite foods in, tried to talk you into listening to music again, but none of it had any effect.

He tried to keep a blank expression around you, but as the months passed and he noticed that you were beginning to wilt away, the hard lines in his expression would soften to concern.

He attempted to give you things to do, books to read and such, but everytime he was met with either you ignoring him or just reading the words without actually comprehending them. 

By the time a couple of months had passed, your old self was gone, replaced with this empty, soulless shell.

After another month, he was at his wit’s end. You never talked, you never attempted to do anything, you were just a shell. All your fire, your brightness, your life, was gone. 

He watched over you constantly, his worry and agitation growing. It was like he was taking care of a robot or a puppet, rather than the person he loved. 

On one particular day, he stands in front of you with a conflicted look on his face as he says, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You just walked by him towards your room, “I told you.”

He follows you into the room, his expression hardening as he says, “Don’t you even care anymore? You’ve given up on everything.”

“No, I don’t care.”

He scoffs in disbelief, crossing his arms. “Damn it, you’re not even going to try and fight this?” he says, his voice sharp and bitter.

You sigh, finally turning to him, “There’s no point.”

He goes silent, his gaze fixed on you, taking in your changed appearance. There was a time when he would’ve admired everything about you, how fiery you were, how full of life. 

Now, now you were thin and limp and lifeless. Like a puppet without its strings, he felt like he’d broken you down to nothing but a shell of your former self.

After a few moments, he lets out a sigh and mutters, “You look terrible.”

“I'm safe,” you say simply, her words having no bite, just as lifeless as you. Crawling into bed, you faced the ceiling.

He squeezes his eyes shut as you speak, his heart twisting in his chest at your tone. 

He’s never heard you sound so lifeless before, so dull, almost like everything inside you has died. His hand gently shifts to the nape of your neck, his touch almost tender.

“This isn’t what I wanted. You’re acting like a doll, not like yourself.”

You turned away from him, “My safety matters most,” you say robotically.

He falls silent. It was a statement he had said, and yet… 

He sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Safety isn’t everything. What’s the point if you’re left miserable?” he said tiredly.

You didn’t bother agreeing, not when it took him this long to understand.

He runs a hand through his hair and scoffs, anger rising in him. “You’re supposed to argue! You’re supposed to get mad at me, yell at me!”

The Colonel’s hand clenches into a fist and he looks down at you, irritation filling his gaze. “You’re not this, you’re supposed to be all bright and happy, damn it!”

“I tried,” you mutter.

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You tried? Hah. You didn’t even fight it in the end, you just let yourself crumble and now I’m stuck with this-“ he waves a hand at you, “-this empty husk.”

You gave him a tired look, “I can’t fight forever.”

He sighs and shakes his head, his expression growing cold. “Bullshit. You could’ve kept fighting, you could’ve still been resisting but instead you just… gave up.”

His lip curls into a sneer, his anger flaring. “You just gave up and let me break you.”

“I just wanted to go outside,” you say, your voice broken as you turn towards the closed curtain.

His expression twists into a scowl, his anger still there but more muted. He takes a step forward, his gaze on you as he says, “Outside? That’s what this is about? You want to go out there? Do you have any idea what’s like for you outside? Why do I have to keep you here? It’s for your own safety. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t want to live anymore,” you whisper, completely and utterly broken.

He’s taken aback, his anger instantly vanishing into thin air. He stands there in stunned silence, his jaw clenched tightly. The words hit him like a freight train, each syllable a sharp stab into their chests. He knew, he knew he’d driven you to the brink of depression, but hearing it out loud… he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there. “You don’t mean that,” he finally murmurs.

The Colonel comes forward and kneels at the side of the bed, reaching out a hand slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare you away. He gently brushes a strand of your hair away from your face, his touch a tender, gentle one. “You can’t mean that,” he says again, his voice quiet and broken, “Tell me you didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, “I’m done.”

He takes your hand in his, clasping it firmly on his own. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading. “Don’t say that. You’re not done. You’re just lost, I can help you find your way back, I can fix this, I can fix you.”

You avoid his gaze, “I don’t think anyone can.”

He refuses to believe that, his grip on your hand tightening as he says firmly, “I can. Anything that can be broken can be fixed. You’re just… confused. I can help you, I can fix you.”

“It’s been months.”

He can’t deny that, and he knows it. It was his fault, his fault that you were like this. Still, he shakes his head and looks you in the eye, determined. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You’re broken, and I’m going to fix you. I don’t care what I have to do.”

He releases your hand and stands, towering over you with a determined expression. “I will fix you,” he repeats firmly, his jaw clenched tight. “I just need to find the right method. I’ll fix you. You just have to let me.”

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whispered shakily.

The Colonel scoffs, his impatience flaring. “You don’t get to decide that. I know you’re in there, somewhere, you’re just hiding! You’re just…” He rubs a hand down his face, his frustration growing as he tries to find the right words. “You just need to be reminded of what you had. What we had.”

“I had a life.”

He looks at you, his expression hardening. “You have a life. You’re alive. You’re living, breathing, safe. That’s what matters, not you going out and running risks.”

“There’s nothing left for me,” you say, picking at your bloody hands, trying to ground yourself.

He grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him as he says, “Are you listening to yourself? We’ve been through so much. You are my world, my everything. I love you with all my heart. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand?”

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes hardening, “Why can’t you understand me?”

He shakes you a little, his fingers almost digging into your shoulders. “I’m trying!” he growls out, his anger flaring again. “But you’re just so damn stubborn, refusing to listen and understand what I’m doing is for your own good.”

And just like a flip of a switch you turn away from him, the little emotion and vulnerability you showed vanished, tucked away and extinguished. 

He’s left standing there, your expressionless body turned away from him. Frustration, irritation, anger, helplessness, guilt, all well up inside him. In a moment of blind frustration, he grabs a nearby pillow and lets out a yell as he throws it across the room.

You don’t react, don’t flinch, you just lie there, already retreating back into the corner of your mind. 

He stands and stares at your still body for a few moments, his chest heaving. He wants to shake you, to yell at you, to get something back, any semblance of his beloved and fiery girlfriend. But you’ve already retreated back into your emotionless shell, leaving him standing there and feeling more powerless than ever.

He falls to his knees and presses his palms to his eyes, his mind spinning as his emotions overwhelm him. The guilt in his chest is threatening to choke him, the sight of you lying there, barely even alive, all his fault. At that moment, he doesn’t feel like a man, much less a military colonel. He just feels like a boy who had broken the woman he loved into nothing. The woman who loved him even when he didn’t deserve it. The woman who had always been there, letting him cry on his shoulder ever since they were kids. 

You try to drown him out, picking at the peeling scabs on your fingers, staring at the covered window.

He drops his hands from his face, his expression tired, guilt, frustration, and even self loathing filling his gaze. He rises slowly and comes to stand by you, his movements almost wary. He eyes your body on the bed, so thin and pale, and his hand automatically comes out to touch your hair like he’s done a hundred times before, but he hesitates, his hand hovering just above your head.

Without warning, you feel his arms around you, picking you up. You don’t ask, don’t protest, don’t even move, just lie there in his arms, eyes staring straight forward.

He picks you up bridal style, one arm under your thighs and the other under your shoulders. Your frame is too light in his arms as he heads out of the room with you. You’re limp, pliant as a doll, as he carries you through the house.

He walks outside and down the porch steps, his footsteps quick and precise as he walks across the lawn to the other side of his sprawling property. 

As soon as the fresh air hits you, you tense, squinting at the sun. 

You were outside.

You were outside for the first time in nearly 6 months. It was better than you ever could’ve dreamed. The smell of grass and fresh air fills your senses. You could hear the steady pace of the Colonel’s feet as he walked through the field, could hear the chirp of the birds, could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind. The warmth of the sun shone on your skin, a sharp contrast from the artificial temperature of the AC or heater.

He sees tension take over your limbs, your gaze squinting up at the sunlight. He’s hit with another wave of guilt, realizing that this might be the first time in months you’d been outside, in the sunlight.

Your eyes dart around, observing everything you can, eyes wide like this was your last chance to take it all in. 

He carries you to the big oak tree at the end of his property, overlooking the hills and valleys towards the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon.

He gently sets you down in the shade, sitting a little bit behind you, leaving you to soak up what you’d been missing.

Instantly, your hands thread through the grass, clutching it like a lifeline. Your eyes are glued to the scenery in front of you. Rolling hills of all shades of green, from a deep hunter to a pale lime, trees and shrubs scattered the valleys, framing the thin silvery stream running down the middle. Wildflowers and weeds dotted the fields, their bright bursts of yellow, purples, oranges, and reds making the crystal sky so much clearer. Big fluffy tufts of white floated leisurely along the heavens, breaking up the sun into bright patches, shining on the bright grass below.

You're so absorbed in looking around that you don’t feel the tears dripping down her face, hands shaking from your tight grip on the poor grass.

Once you let in a shaky breath, he pauses, eyeing you like a ticking time bomb. His eyes widen as the realization hits him, watching the tears roll down your cheeks. He hadn’t seen you cry in years, ever since you had failed that test before you graduated. In all the time he knew you, you’ve been strong and fiery, fighting against the challenges that life handed to you. He can’t remember the last time he saw you cry, and seeing you now… he hates the sight of it.

He moves closer, his arms encircling you, his chest firm against your back. He leans you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. He murmurs softly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re outside.”

In your moment of weakness, you lean back into him, tears coming faster as you choked out, “It’s so fucking pretty.”

He can’t stop the frown on his expression as you cry, your body shuddering. It hurts, more than anything else, seeing you cry. He pulls you closer, one of his hands gently stroking your hair as he murmurs, “It’s just the same old trees and grass. You’ve seen them before.”

You shake your head, unable to express the rawness of your feelings, only able to clutch his arm as you sobbed. Your relief at being able to feel the world again, it was overwhelming. But so was the fear, the fear that it’d be snatched away again.

His frown deepens as he watches you, feeling even more guilty as he continues to hear you cry. He pulls you into his lap, one of his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed against him. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, his voice quiet as he murmurs, “It’s okay… cry it out, sweetheart.”

You nestle yourself back into his chest, unable to tear your eyes away, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He follows your gaze, staring out at the horizon, a pang hitting his heart as he’s reminded of how you used to look at everything with wonder. His arms wrap a little tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, “And to think… you’ve been living without this for months.”

You flinch slightly at his words, sniffling and trying to hold your sobs in.

The bitter irony of the situation hits him harder than anything. Months of keeping you safe, of keeping you inside, all to keep you protected, but now just the act of you sitting outside is enough to bring you alive. He turns his gaze back to you, taking in your tear stained face, his jaw clenching tight in frustration at himself and this whole situation.

You nod, getting distracted as you see the birds flying overhead, going to their nest in the tree above your head. Letting out shaky breaths, you try to stabilize yourself, not wanting to scare the creatures away.

He shifts closer to you, keeping a slight distance, but still within arms reach. He follows your gaze to the birds and grimaces again. 

His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he asks, “You want to get closer to them, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your voice a rasp, “No, I don’t want to scare them away.”

He lets out a soft huff, his gaze softening as he hears your raspy voice again. It’s the most he’s heard you speak today, if not in days.

He watches you for a few moments, noticing the slight tremble in your hands, before his voice is soft, almost pleading, “You’re trembling, darling.” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to comfort you, but he restrains himself. “Let me hold you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

His voice has a hint of desperation in it now, seeing the tremble in your body. It pains him to see you like this, especially considering it’s all because of him. 

He moves closer, slowly, his hand hovering over your shoulder, “Please. Let me hold you, sweetheart.”

“I just need to see,” you plead, voice cracking. 

He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes to keep himself from losing it when he hears your words. He knows you’re not just talking about the birds, that this is about needing space, needing freedom.

And it kills him.

He reaches out anyway, unable to stand the sight of your trembling hands. He gently grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, positioning you so you’re leaning against his chest.

He holds you against his chest tightly, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to regain control of himself. 

He can’t help the broken words that escape him as he whispers, his voice strangled, “Oh sweetheart, what did I do to you…?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his chest tight as he feels your body tremble against his. His voice is desperate as he speaks, his heart feeling like it’s being shredded with every word, “Please, please *please* don't be like this anymore. I need you to smile, to laugh, to yell at me, *anything* at this point. That blank look, the silence… it’s killing me.”

“I’ll try, just- just don’t keep me in there,” you beg.

He lets out a choked noise, his hold on you tightening a bit. He’d do anything to bring the life back into your eyes, to hear your voice. 

His voice is strained as he says, his head resting on your shoulder, “Anything you want, sweetheart. You won’t be locked in anywhere again, I promise. Just please… stop being like this. I need you back… you.”

He shifts, gently turning you so you’re facing him. His eyes roam your expression, taking in the tear tracks, the broken eyes, the trembling body. He lifts his hand, gently wiping at your cheeks and wiping away the tears. His voice is a strangled plea as he says, his fingers tracing your cheek tenderly, “Please… stop crying.”

He reaches up a hand, gently wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I hate seeing you cry,” he murmurs, his expression still full of guilt as he continues, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You should smile, not sit here sobbing.”

He gently turns you around, tilting your chin up to see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t cry before I came out here,” your voice broke, “I couldn’t even feel anything.”

He shakes his head and holds you tighter, guilt continuing to build inside him. “You shouldn’t cry like this… you should be happy, enjoying the fresh air. Not crying over the very simple things I’ve taken away from you.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head on top of yours as he continues stroking your hair. He murmurs, “I knew you’d be happy to be outside, I knew it’d be different… I just didn’t know it’d be like this. I didn’t think you’d be crying like your world finally came back.”

“I just-“ his voice breaks off as he tries to find the words to say, guilt and frustration and regret warring within him. He takes in every detail of your form, and the guilt washes over him in waves. He feels like he’s broken you, even as he holds you tightly in his arms.

He holds you tighter at your words, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. Your words are like a dagger to his heart; the way you try to reassure *him* with them instead of the other way around.

His grip on you almost becomes bruising as he speaks, his voice rough, “You’re free, darling. You’re safe. I won’t ever lock you away again, I promise.”

The guilt is so strong he’s nauseous, trying to keep himself together as he keeps you in his lap, trying to savor every second of this. Knowing that you probably hate him, but can’t even fight him in this moment, just sitting there and crying and staring out at the world he locked you away from. He knows that he’s changed your life forever, and he can’t even blame you for hating him right now.

You pause, hiccupping and debating your next words, “Thank you… Caleb,” you say hesitantly, lingering a bit longer on the syllables of his name. Syllables you hadn’t said in months, hell, you hadn’t even let yourself think of the name unless it was about the old Caleb.

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, and he almost doesn’t reply for a moment due to shock. He didn’t think he’d be hearing you saying his name, let alone thanking him. He takes a second to swallow the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “You’re thanking me…?”

The sun starts to slip below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. Magnificent reds and orange and pinks lighting up the pale sky, dark clouds acting like smoke. It almost looked like the sun was melting, setting the green, lush valley on fire below. 

Your sobs slow to hiccups, body shuddering.

His hand continues to rub your back gently as he feels your sobs slow down, the sound being replaced with hiccups. He presses a gentle kiss to your head again, his hold on you still tight.

He murmurs quietly into your ear as he speaks, his voice still ragged, “That’s right, just breathe, pips. Take deep breaths…. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

He cradles you against him, holding you tightly as you rest your head against his chest. He buries his face in your hair again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

His thumb rubs your arm tenderly, the motion gentle and almost soothing. He sits there silently, listening to the sound of your ragged breaths slowly even out.

Caleb’s suddenly hit with the realization that he’ll most likely have to bring you back inside eventually, and he lets out a silent grimace at the thought of it. A heavy feeling settles in his chest, the thought of making you go back to that emotionless, depressed shell of yourself making him feel nauseous. He tries to ignore it, shoving that thought away and focusing on his hand stroking your hair. He takes in a deep breath and murmurs, “Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” You murmur, nearly half asleep against him, watching the setting sun. 

He takes another deep breath, steeling his nerves and continuing, his voice low and steady. “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

Caleb gently turns your chin to face him, taking another deep breath and looks you dead in the eye, his gaze fierce and determined as he asks, “If it wasn’t for me, if you were free to do whatever, go wherever you wanted… would you leave me?”

You hesitate, afraid that he wouldn’t like your answer, “If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d stay with you, just not holed up in the house forever.”

He relaxes fractionally, the tense lines in his expression smoothening just a bit, but his jaw is still clenched tight. His next question comes out hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. “You… would stay with me, but not if I kept you inside like this, correct?”

You nod, not knowing what else to say.

There’s an undeniable sense of relief in his expression, a weight seemingly lifted off his chest at your response. He takes another deep breath, his voice a low murmur as he continues with the questions. “So, if I told you I’d let you go out as long as you promise me you’d come home every night…?”

“Then I’d stay,” you whispered, afraid to get your hopes up.

Caleb watches you, his gaze sharp and serious. He lets out a shaky exhale, feeling almost like he’s on the verge of a panic attack with how fast his heart is racing. His hand is shaking on your chin, but he manages to keep his expression as steady as possible as he continues, “No matter what, you promise you’ll come back. You promise you won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” you murmur, your voice shaky with hope.

His hand on your chin slowly relaxes, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He holds your gaze for a few more seconds, staring at your face intently. After a moment, he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

Your face lights up and you spin around, crushing him in a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Caleb.”

He lets out a surprised huff, but his body immediately relaxes, and he wraps his arms tight around you in return. He burrows his head into your shoulder as your arms cling to him, his own hands gripping your shirt in a vice-like grip. For a few moments, he just sits there, revelling in the feeling of you holding him tight, those words you said bouncing around in his head. He was finally getting you back, even though it wasn’t much, it was still progress.

He’s on the verge of sobbing, but he manages to compose himself, instead holding you tighter and asking, “You swear you’ll come back? Every night, you swear it?”

Nodding frantically, you refuse to let go, your face buried in his shirt.

Caleb lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes clamped shut as he leans down and presses his forehead against your hair. He murmurs into it, his voice low and hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve done that to you.”

His body is tense against yours, his arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He continues his murmured apologies, a mix of guilt and desperation lacing his words. He continues to bury his face into your hair, his voice now rough and hoarse. “I never should’ve done that to you, I should never have kept you locked up and trapped like that. It was never meant to be that way, I just… I just wanted to keep you safe, but I ended up destroying you. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You're nearly too dizzy from your newfound freedom to respond, barely choking out, “S’okay, we’re okay, I’m okay.”

He can’t help it, a harsh sob escaping from his lips at your words. He can’t stop himself as he pulls you closer, burrowing his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder, his words coming out choppy and broken as he speaks through his tears. “No, no, it’s not okay, it’s not okay. I was supposed to be your protector, but I ended up hurting you worse than I probably protected you.” Caleb’s hold on you tightens even more, almost borderline painful in how much his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s crying now, full on crying, something he hadn’t done in years. He presses his face into your neck, his entire body shaking as he murmurs through his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You were slightly surprised at his clinginess, but nonetheless, you gently raked your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the broken boy holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his breaths coming out in hiccuping sobs, his tears wetting your skin as he continues to mumble, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s completely crumbling in your arms, the strong, stoic facade he had for the past months shattering and crumbling to pieces. He buries his face into your neck, his body shaking uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving with sobs as he holds onto you like a lifeline and repeats his apologies over and over again. “Please, please… don’t leave me... please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry…”

“Shh, you’re okay baby, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I ain’t going nowhere,” you soothe, your voice hoarse from your own crying session.

He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries his best to quell the sobs still escaping him. His breath is hot and ragged, his grip on you still painfully tight. He manages to control it enough to stop the sobs, now he’s shuddering slightly as he whispers, “Baby… don’t hate me… don’t leave me…”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, no matter what you do,” you admit, voice shaking. “C’mon, you wanna go inside? It’s getting dark and cold out.”

He lets out a shaky exhale at your words, a wave of relief and gratitude passing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself, before letting out a deep exhale and nodding, his voice still trembling as he murmurs, “Yeah, let’s go inside…” and begins the slow process of detaching his limbs from around you and standing up.

Caleb lifts you up like you weigh nothing, both of you leaning on each other and hands interlaced as you head back towards the house.

He carries you most of the way, refusing to let you get your feet muddy, pausing as he holds you in the living room, “Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart? Where do you want to sleep?”

“Your bed, just leave the window and door open… please,” you murmur, barely opening your eyes.

He nods silently, his grip on you shifting slightly so he can readjust his hold.Caleb then begins walking down the hallway, making his way to his room. Once in the room, he walks to the bed and gently sets you down on it, shifting a bit so he’s sitting next to you. He pauses there, simply looking at you for a few seconds before speaking, “I’ll get the window and door, alright darling?”

You nod, curling into his bed and inhaling the scent of him.

He stands, reluctantly letting go of you so he can walk around the room, opening the window and the door before turning back to you.

He looks at you again, hesitating for a few moments before murmuring, “I’ll be right outside. Just… call for me if you need me, okay?”

You sit up, confused, “Where do you think you’re going?”

He pauses at that, looking at you for a few moments before answering, his voice soft, “Just outside the room, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you, I’m just… staying out there, in case you need me.”

“Damn right you're not leaving me, now get in the bed,” you say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter at the command, his heart feeling just a little lighter at the bossy tone you were using.

Caleb walks over to the bed and slowly lays down across it, staying as close to the edge as he can, still keeping his distance from you.

You huff, amused at his cautiousness. You scoot over and pull him towards the center of the bed, staying close to him just like you did befor- no, don’t think of that, he’s here and you’re free.

He lets out another soft huff, unable to fight the small smile that appears at your actions. He slides across the bed until he’s directly next to you, though he keeps his hands to himself, not making any move to touch you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly, resting your head on his chest, using him as a squishie.

He tenses momentarily at your sudden move, before relaxing and letting you wrap yourself around him, a soft huff escaping him, “You broke all your plushies so you're using me as one.”

You shrug, holding him tighter, “Maybee.”

Caleb chuckles, “Don’t worry, we can go to the arcade sometime this week, maybe go shopping or out to eat and I’ll get you more, a bunch more.”

Letting out a content hum and melt into him, closing your eyes.

He slowly relaxes further, his arms slowly lifting and wrapping around you in turn. He holds you against him, one hand gently resting on your back and the other in your hair, his fingers running through the soft strands. Caleb’s hand runs down your back in tender motions, his touch tender, almost worshipful as his fingers softly trace across your back. He listens to your breathing, letting it soothe his nerves, his grip on you slowly tightening as he continues to run his fingers through your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper, half asleep.

He pulls you closer to him as you speak, his breath shaky as he absorbs the weight of your words, the feel of your body against his, how you’re willingly staying in his arms, how you say his name.

His grip tightens even more, almost painful, desperate to know that this is real, that you’re not going to disappear. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, his words quiet, barely more than a whisper, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

As you drift off, he closes his eyes, listening to your soft, even breathing. The sound is like a balm to his soul. He lets himself doze in and out of sleep, too happy to see you like this to allow himself to rest completely. 

His arms loosen a bit, enough so he can maneuver his body so that his entire upper half is wrapped around you, almost shielding you from the world itself. And he would continue to, he’d continue to shield you from the harsh world, but, he wouldn’t imprison you, wouldn’t try to tame you. He’d let you burn, even if you incinerated him, he’d die with a smile on your face. Because he was your Caleb, no matter what could happen.