#I should probably stop talking in the tags

[steveseddie]

you pick me up every time

written for the @steddiebingo splash into summer mini event and the round one main card | prompts: the hideout & road | rated: t | wc: 3,1 k | cw: alcohol | tags: steve pov, drunk eddie, pining, the corroded coffin guys being Done

read on ao3

When Steve’s phone rings in the middle of the night, he wakes up with a start. 

He’s out of the bed and running down the stairs in seconds, his brain going through countless nightmarish scenarios as he wonders who could be calling him so late, and more importantly, why.

Steve reaches the phone on the last ring, panting into the receiver, slightly out of breath. “Hello?”

He expects anyone from Robin to Dustin or one of the kids on the other side. Maybe Nancy or Eddie. He even entertains the thought of his parents being the ones calling, maybe to inform him that they’re staying away for another week–

“Harrington?”

He expects literally anyone except for the person he hears on the other end of the line. 

Eyebrows knitted together, Steve stares at the phone like it’s somehow playing a prank on him. “Gareth?”

It is, in fact, Gareth who sighs in relief and says, “Oh, thank fuck you’re awake.” 

So he was actually calling Steve, he didn’t accidentally dial his number– but why would Gareth want to reach him in the middle of the night? 

It’s true that in the last couple of months, Steve has spent plenty of time with Eddie’s friends– a direct consequence of him and Eddie growing close. He’s been to their shows at The Hideout and hung out with them during band rehearsals or Hellfire meetings. By now, they don’t act surprised when Steve shows up and they’ll even strike up a conversation with him, having finally accepted that Steve actually likes Eddie and isn’t trying to prank him. However, that acceptance hardly translates to being the kind of friends who call each other in the middle of the night or at any hour for that matter, not unless–

Unless something happened to Eddie. 

Steve’s stomach churns at the thought. “Why? What happened? Is everything okay? Is Eddie–” 

“Dude, calm down,” Gareth interrupts with a snort. “Eddie’s fine. Thought you jocks were supposed to be chill and laid back, man.”

“Fuck off, Emerson,” Steve snarks, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wills his heart to stop hammering, repeating Gareth’s words in his head– Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine.

“Geez, remind me to never interrupt your beauty sleep again,” he says with a laugh, the sound almost muffled by the noise in the background. There’s actually a lot of noise coming from the other end of the line and Steve wonders where Gareth is calling him from. 

And why. 

“So if this isn’t about Eddie, then why are you calling me?” 

“I didn’t say this wasn’t about Eddie,” Gareth retorts, confusing Steve further.

“I thought you said he was fine–” 

“And he is, but he’s also a pain in the ass.”

Steve can’t help but snort. “You’re his best friend, you should know that by now. What makes you think I can do something about that?”

It’s Gareth’s turn to snort. “Please, man, you could bat your eyelashes and get Eddie to do whatever. Under normal circumstances, at least.”

Stomach fluttering at Gareth’s words, Steve feels himself blush. “Uh, what do you mean– ‘normal circumstances’?”

“Well, your boy is currently drunk off his ass,” he explains. More color creeps up on his cheeks when Gareth calls Eddie his boy. He’s infinitely grateful that they’re having this conversation on the phone. “And he’s asking for you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm, he says he’s not leaving until Steve– sorry, Stevie comes to pick him up.”

The nickname sounds weird coming from Gareth, who only ever refers to him as Harrington and it makes Steve scrunch up his nose. 

The noise in the background suddenly grows louder before it becomes slightly muffled again. Someone probably opened the door of whatever place Gareth is holed up in. “Where are you guys?”

“The Hideout. Had to talk Lenny into letting me use the phone in the back, now I owe him.” In the background, Steve hears a gagging sound, and then Gareth adds, “I’d like to not owe him a new couch if Eddie throws up on this one, so can you come get him?”

Steve checks the clock hanging from the wall. It’s twenty minutes past midnight. “Are you serious, man?”  

“Well, I didn’t call you just to chat, Harrington.”

Ignoring the remark, he says, “Can’t you just drag him out of there?” 

Eddie’s friends are all nerds not jocks, but Eddie is also built like a twig. If they set their minds to it, they probably can move him to one of their cars.

“And take him where? He might suffocate if we drop him off at the trailer.”

“Then take him back to yours.”

“Yeah, no. My parents are home. Can’t do that, man. ‘Sides, I told you. He refuses to go with us. Hear for yourself.”

He must hold the phone away from his ear because suddenly, Steve can hear Jeff trying to talk someone into getting in the car.

“No!” Another voice says. Eddie’s voice, a stubborn tilt to it that Steve has heard before, as well as a faint slur to his words.

“Eddie, come on,” Jeff insists with a sigh.

“No, Jeffrey, I’m not leaving without Stevie,” Eddie says, his voice becoming softer when he says Steve’s name.

“Eddie, Steve isn’t here,” Dougie says, probably not for the first time. “He didn’t come tonight.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, and even through the phone, Steve can hear his pout.

Eddie knows that Steve wanted to go to their show tonight. He’a not one to miss seeing him on stage. He told him as much before explaining that he had already promised to have dinner with Robin and her parents.

But that doesn’t stop Eddie from sounding miserable about Steve not being there. 

“I don’t know, dude,” Jeff says, fumbling for an answer. “But hey, he can come to the next one.”

Eddie sighs loudly. “I miss him.”

“You literally saw him yesterday at rehearsal, man,” Dougie says in a bored tone. 

“Well, I want to see him now!” Eddie snaps. “And I’m not leaving until he gets here!”

“He’s not coming–” Jeff starts, but he’s interrupted by Eddie yelling so loud Steve flinches away from the phone.

“I want Steeeeeve!”

He can’t hear what Jeff or Dougie say to him because Gareth presses the phone back against his ear. “See? He’s close to chaining himself to the door, man. Do us all a favor and come get him.”

Steve sighs, brushing his hair back. It does sound like Eddie isn’t changing his mind any time soon, and even if the guys manage to get him in a car, he doesn’t like the idea of a drunk Eddie being alone in his trailer. 

He’s also a weak man for Eddie, and hearing how much he misses him makes it impossible for him to say no.

“Okay, fine. Fine. I’m on my way.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Harrington,” Gareth says, then without hanging up the phone, he says, “Hear that, Eddie? Your Stevie is on his way!”

There’s the sound of clumsy footsteps followed by some swearing as the phone is wrestled out of Gareth’s hand, and then Eddie’s voice– “Stevie?” 

“Hey, Eds,” he says, his own voice softening. 

“Are you really coming or is Gare fucking with me?”

Steve chuckles as he pictures Eddie glaring at Gareth. “He’s not, I’m coming to get you. He says you’re being a pain in his ass.”

“The only ass I want to be a pain in is yours, big boy,” he retorts, pitching his voice lower seductively before letting out a snigger. 

Steve thinks he hears Gareth snort in the background, but he can’t be sure because of the blood rushing through his ears at Eddie’s words. 

“Um, I’ll– I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says when he fails to come up with a reply. “Drink some water in the meantime, please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Eddie purrs and sends Steve’s stomach flip flopping. There’s a sudden loud noise as Eddie unceremoniously drops the phone, yelling at Jeff to get him some water. 

Steve is about to hang up so he can head out when Gareth picks the phone back up. “Guess even in these circumstances you can get him to do anything,” he teases, and Steve doesn’t know him that well, but he thinks he can hear the smirk on his lips. 

Steve sputters uselessly. “Just– keep him alive until I get there, Emerson.”

“Sure thing, Your Highness,” he says mockingly, hanging up without another word. 

***

Steve goes upstairs to change. He doesn’t plan on staying at The Hideout longer than it’ll take to drag Eddie out of there, but there’s no way he’s showing up in his sleeping clothes. 

After trading his shorts for jeans, Steve’s hands hesitate on the hem of his shirt– a Metallica shirt that Eddie let him borrow one night and that Steve never gave back, enjoying how comfortable it was, and how it smelled like Eddie. He doesn’t know if Eddie noticed it went missing and didn’t say anything about it or if he thinks it’s somewhere in his closet or in the numerous piles of clothes scattered around his room. 

Steve considers if he should change out of it just to keep the secret a little longer, in case Eddie will ask for it back. He figures that he’s going to be too drunk to remember what Steve is wearing, and it’ll probably make him stand out less amongst the Friday crowd at The Hideout. 

So he grabs his jacket and fixes his hair and slips outside, towards his car. 

 ***

The drive to The Hideout goes by quickly and Steve barely runs into any cars. He parks as close to the dingy bar as he can, not knowing how easy it will be to get Eddie on his feet. Inside, he heads towards the back. He’s never been to Lenny’s office but he guesses it must be the one door that he can see through the thinning crowd. 

After he knocks, the door swings open almost immediately, revealing Dougie, who has never looked happier to see Steve. “Fucking finally!” 

Behind him, Steve can see Eddie sprawled on a ratty old couch, snoring softly. Jeff and Gareth are sitting on the floor, playing cards and occasionally shooting glances at Eddie to make sure he’s still breathing. 

They both look up when Dougie speaks, sighing in relief when they see him. 

Steve wiggles his fingers. “Hey, guys.”

“Took you long enough,” Gareth says, grabbing the cards and pushing himself to his feet. 

“You called me like, twenty minutes ago,” Steve points out in a bitchy tone. He thinks he’s allowed to be bitchy– Gareth woke him up in the middle of the night after all. 

“Yeah, well. I’ve been dealing with a drunk, mopey Eddie all night and I’m done. You’re up, Harrington.”

He clasps Steve’s shoulder on his way out, following Dougie. Jeff walks up to Steve, handing him what appears to be Eddie’s leather jacket. “Gare is driving the van to his house, so just let Eddie know he can come pick it up after he recovers from the bitch of a hangover that awaits him.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Steve says, grabbing the jacket, his eyes on Eddie. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Jeff gives a half shrug. “Thanks for taking him off our hands.”

“I thought he didn’t drink after shows–” Steve says, watching the way Eddie’s hair flutters every time he breathes. 

He thinks about the first time he saw Eddie perform, and how he declined Steve’s offer to buy him a beer after the show, claiming that the high from the show was all he needed to have a good night. 

Jeff opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. “He doesn’t– at least not since you started coming to our shows.”

And with that, he clasps Steve’s shoulder the same way Gareth did and leaves the room before Steve can ask what he means. 

Steve decides he will overthink what Jeff said, as well as Gareth saying Eddie was mopey and the fact that the only person Eddie seemed to be asking for was Steve, later. For now, he crouches down next to Eddie and smoothes his hair down. It’s a mess, probably from all the headbanging Eddie did on stage and his fingers get caught a few times. 

“Eds, hey.”

Eddie groans and his face scrunches up. For a moment, Steve worries he’s about to throw up, but instead he slowly blinks his eyes open. 

When Steve finally comes into focus, Eddie begins to smile. “Stevie?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re here?”

“Told you I’d come get you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Thought I dreamed that.”

“No, man,” Steve says, pinching Eddie’s side gently. “I’m really here.”

The pinch isn’t enough to convince Eddie he’s there because he reaches out and pokes Steve’s cheek. His eyes widen. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.”

“I missed you,” he says and Steve’s stomach flutters. He’s glad that Eddie’s friends aren’t here to see Eddie softly tracing Steve’s face with his fingertips with a lazy smile on his face. It would get them teased for weeks.

“Christ, Eds,” Steve chuckles, heat building up on his cheeks at the touch. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Don’t remember,” Eddie mumbles, his expression pinched. “Wasn’t the same– without you here. Thought drinking would make me feel good. As good as you make me feel–”

So Eddie was drinking because he was missing him, Steve was the reason why Eddie was both drunk and mopey. He bites his lip, wondering if it means what he wants it to mean. 

“But I– I don’t feel so good now,” Eddie continues and Steve shelves that for later. 

“Okay, let’s get you home,” he says, standing up and offering his hands to Eddie. When he takes them– missing the first couple of times thanks to his hand-eye coordination being even more off than usual– Steve pulls him to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Eddie sways a little and Steve grabs onto his elbows to keep him upright. “You okay to walk?”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle as they focus on Steve. “Gonna carry me to your car if I say no, big boy?” He asks with an eyebrow waggle. 

Steve gives a little shrug. “I already did that once, didn’t I?” Back when he carried Eddie out of the Upside Down.

Eddie shakes his head, sways a little more. “Doesn’t count. I barely remember.”

“You’ll barely remember this,” Steve snorts. “Come on.” 

He circles Eddie’s waist with his arm and loops Eddie’s around his shoulder. A giggle slips past his lips and Steve is hit by the smell of alcohol.

“Christ, Eddie, you smell like a distillery.”

Another giggle. “And you smell–” Eddie pauses and sniffs Steve. “Huh, you smell like me.”

Steve tenses up as Eddie’s eyes travel down to his chest, recognizing what he’s wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

Steve flushes deeply. “Y–yeah.”

“Hm. I wondered where that went.”

“I can give it back–” Steve starts but Eddie shakes his head firmly.

“It looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” he says with a wink that looks more like he got something caught in his eye. 

It still makes Steve’s breath catch. “Alright, boozy,” he says, “let’s go.”

Eddie sniggers. “Boozy.”

***

Slowly and clumsily, they make their way to the car. Eddie almost faceplants a couple of times but Steve manages to keep him upright.

He fits Eddie into the passenger seat of the car, fumbling a little with his seatbelt with Eddie’s soft brown eyes peering up at him so closely. 

When it finally clicks into place, Eddie gives him a lazy grin. “Thanks, pretty boy,” he says and Steve has to take a few deep breaths before circling the car and sliding into his seat. 

He drives them away from the bar, occasionally sending glances towards Eddie to check if he’s feeling sick but it actually looks like he’s sleeping.

Which is why Steve is surprised when he asks, “We’re not going to the trailer?”

“No, you’re coming home with me,” Steve says, his eyes darting between Eddie and the road. 

“Damn, Harrington, at least buy me dinner first!” He jokes with a playful grin. 

Steve lets out a snort. “Just trying to make sure you don’t die in your sleep, Munson.”

“Aw, you care about me!” He exclaims giddily. 

Smiling affectionately, Steve says, “Dude, I literally love you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Steve wishes desperately that Eddie somehow didn’t hear what he just said. 

“You– what?”

No such luck, Steve laments. “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing! You said you love me!” He insists. Steve’s admission seems to have sobered him up– he’s staring at Steve with wide and alert eyes.

Steve grits his teeth together and looks back at the road, gripping the steering wheel tight. 

“Stevie, pull over.”

He ignores him and keeps driving. 

“Pull over, Steve,” Eddie says, “ or I’m going to be sick all over your fancy car!”

Cursing, Steve pulls over on the side of the road. “Well?” He says when Eddie doesn’t move. He glances at him– he looks fine. 

“I lied,” he says with a shrug. “I just wanted you to stop the car.”

Steve drops his head against the steering wheel. “Eddie.”

“Stevie.”

With a sigh, he peers at him. “What?”

“Do you really love me?”

Steve can’t bring himself to lie but he’s still nervous to confirm it. “Yeah.”

Eddie squeaks– then starts fumbling with his seatbelt unsuccessfully. 

“What are you doing?”

“I love you too!” Eddie says urgently. “And as soon as I slay this seatbelt beast I will kiss you–”

Steve’s heart flutters at the thought but reaches for Eddie’s hand and stops him. “Woah, Eddie, stop.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me?” Eddie asks with a pout.

“I do, but you’re drunk and you just told me you were gonna throw up!”

There’s also a part of him that worries Eddie might not remember about any of this. And if he doesn’t, Steve doesn’t think he can come back from it after having kissed.

Eddie hmphs, slumping against the seat, looking put out. 

“But tomorrow morning we can–” Steve starts. 

“Kiss?” Eddie interjects eagerly. 

“Talk,” Steve sputters. “But yeah, if you remember this, we can kiss.”

His stomach flutters wildly at the thought and how Eddie glances st his lips in anticipation. “I’ll remember,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “And then, I’ll kiss the hell out of you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve gulps, catching the way his cheeks turn red in the rearview mirror as he steers the Beemer back onto the road, driving them home. 

***

The next day, Steve is making breakfast when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns around and immediately gets an armful of Eddie. 

“I remember,” he says, looping his arms around Steve’s neck. “And I brushed my teeth,” he adds, shooting Steve a beaming smile. “And I love you, so can I kiss you now?”

Steve laughs, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, and tells him– “Yes.”

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER SIX

content: the rare dallas wings w (i was supposed to write the game in this but this chapter was already long as shit), in which there is only one bed and cam and paige get parent trapped in a hotel room in uncasville, ct., the inherent homoeroticism of sharing a bed with someone you want but won't let yourself have and talking to her for hours about what makes you you and then waking up with your hand under her shirt, kk arnold (affectionate), azzi fudd went to the dijonai carrington school of standing on business, ending is rushed af 💔

wc: 10.1k

notes: me 🤝 long as fuck chapter 6's but uh... yeah! trying out alternating povs after a few anon requests so let me know if you guys like it 😛 this chapter was so challenging to write and had me in hell for a good few hours tbh. don't have too much to say besides i hate the fuck ass wings but as always i hope y'all enjoy and lmk what you think ����

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo @simp4panos @perksofbeingatrex

CAM

The Lynx game should have been an indicator for how their next few games were going to go.

After a second half collapse that led to the Lynx taking an almost 15 point win, the Wings were hosting the Storm at home three days later. They were neck and neck in the first quarter, even with Arike picking up a technical foul about six minutes into the game. The Wings collapsed late in the second quarter, heading into halftime down by 15 despite Paige and Cam’s greater efforts to keep them in the game.

They made a push in the third quarter to come back and cut the lead down to 5, but they just couldn’t close the game out. They got sloppy in the fourth, taking terrible shots, forcing bad passes, and overall just playing too frantically. There was plenty of time to slow it down, make better reads, but too many people were playing hero ball, and Chris just wasn’t doing anything about it in the huddle. He’d stand on the sidelines with his arms crossed and face pinched, as if he was waiting for someone to step in and coach this team to a victory.

The Storm game was hard fought and incredibly frustrating. Paige, like the freak she is, had 19 points, 8 assists, 5 rebounds, and 3 stocks, and Cam nearly matched that with 15 points, 7 rebounds, 2 assists, and 2 blocks. Despite the both of them having great games, they were unable to stop the bleeding.

The Lynx were their first road game that season, two days after their loss to the Storm. They lost 85-81 and win differentials like that are so frustrating because it’s so easy to get caught up in the constant thoughts of, “If I’d made that shot,” or “If I didn’t foul them here.”

They’d played a decent first half, keeping the score within a few possessions. Paige’s shot wasn’t falling, but she was affecting the game in other ways. She notched her first career double double that night with 12 points and 10 assists. Cam was consistent with another 15 point game, 5 rebounds, and a few notable blocks.

The collapse was inevitable. They sent the Lynx to the line during the fourth quarter too many times. Whether or not it was sloppy playmaking, an unfair whistle, or the fact that the Wings just got out coached at every turn, they needed to be better. Between the Storm game and the road game against the Lynx, Cam and Paige had spent a few hours in the weight room together or on the court.

Paige’s name is first in every team’s scouting report. Cam knows that much for sure. If she’s not scoring effectively, then she’s going to find a teammate who can score or she’s going to find a way to get herself to the free throw line. At risk of sounding like a broken record, that’s probably one of Cam’s favorite things about Paige as a teammate. It doesn’t matter how down they are or how tense a game is, Paige doesn’t give up until the final buzzer rings.

But because Paige tends to be the central focus of the report, she gets doubled or tripled constantly. The pressure in the league is different than it is in college. Defenders are stronger, faster, smarter, so Cam and Paige tend to find themselves in the gym long after the end of practices with Cam simulating the best defense of her life and Paige either trying to make a shot for herself or get away from the pressure.

It’s helping – Cam can see the improvements in Paige’s confidence and the swiftness in her decision making. She would say it as often as she needed to: once Paige gets comfortable, like really comfortable, she would be one of the league’s biggest problems.

Three days after their second loss to the Lynx, they were hosting the Dream at home. Paige had another off shooting night, but Cam, selfishly, is incredibly proud of the fact that the idea of Paige’s “off nights” are anyone else’s “good nights.” She had 11 points with 5 assists and 4 boards, with Cam securing 14 points, 6 rebounds and a handful of stocks.

After the loss to Atlanta, they spent a little more time in the gym together. Paige was frustrated – she felt that her numbers should have been better, that she needed to do more and work harder. It took a miracle from God and for Cam to remind Paige that she doesn’t have to keep up appearances with her for Paige to even admit that she wasn’t happy with their recent showings.

Losing was hard. It’s hard when you’re a national champion, the first pick, when losing is the last thing you should be doing. It’s hard because even though Paige has had a rough few games, she’s leading both the Wings and the rookies in several main statistical categories as well as ranking in the top 5 of many league categories. It’s frustrating because Paige is doing everything on the court just short of sitting on the sidelines with a clipboard and the playbook.

And Cam gets it – she really, really does. She’s frustrated, too. The Wings don’t have a roster full of Olympians by any means, but they had so much talent that was being wasted. They’re only four games in and Cam is trying her best to be kind – to herself, to the coaching staff, to her teammates. There’s only so much she can handle when several of their teammates shoot up prayers in close games with a century left on the shot clock, when their coach keeps trying to force out-of-position changes that make no sense, when she’s having her best season yet and she’s in conversations for DPOY but all of that will be for nothing because, at this point, they couldn’t beat an elementary school rec league if they tried.

Either way, they were playing the Sun in Connecticut three days after the Atlanta loss, so Cam didn’t really have a whole lot of time to lose her mind over shit that already happened. She needed to focus her energy on losing her mind over much more important things, such as the fact that no matter how hard she beats her feelings down with a broom, they always spring right back up like a very determined fungus.

Any other day she would allow herself enough time to spiral over that, but this week is already shaping up to be the most emotionally challenging week of her life, and it’s only Monday. On Sunday, her usual cat sitter and elderly neighbor Mrs. Patrice informed her that she would be out of town with her husband for the week, which meant Cam had to scramble to find an alternative, trustworthy person to watch her sons while she was in Connecticut.

Fortunately, Coley’s volleyball season finished on May 11th (after claiming the Pro Volleyball Federation title, which Cam flew out to watch after their last preseason game), so she was kind enough to fly out to Dallas to watch her nephews.

Things didn’t get better after that slight crashout. She started her period on Monday morning, which was just fucking peachy, especially considering that Cam had enough personal awareness to know that her period made her moody and irritable but not enough personal awareness to not accidentally be a jerk about it. She tried her best not to, she really did; she just didn’t have any patience, and that was a recipe for disaster.

Between waking up entirely too early, saying goodbye to Bobby and Gatsby like she was heading off to war, and having to drive to the Wings facility to take the team bus to the airport, she was already having a terrible morning. It only worsened because her teammates seemed to have endless energy and laughed right up until they had to go through TSA. It took everything in her to choose peace and ignore them.

As if her morning couldn’t get any worse, all Cam wanted to do when she got on the plane was fall into the seat next to Paige, knowing that she was usually low energy on their early morning flights and would be quiet enough to let Cam nap on her shoulder. But when she boarded, Paige was already sitting next to Nola, their iPads open with film and notes. Cam briefly considered getting off the plane and letting it run her over before takeoff, but she reminded herself that she was 26 and this kind of behavior just wasn’t cute after elementary school.

Cam took the loss in stride, but dragged herself to the back of the plane where she promptly plugged her airpods into her ears, tugged her hoodie over her head, and sent out a prayer that no one would bother her for the entire flight.

Said prayer was answered, and she’s left in peace for the entire flight. She’s sure that her being unable to nap (Paige’s fault, she’s also sure) will lead to her being irritable once they land, but she was going to do her best to be kind.

They touch down in Connecticut with little issue and make their way through security once more. There’s a charter bus waiting for them outside, where Cam, again, drags herself to the back and settles in with her hoodie up. Her cramps had mostly calmed during the flight, but her body seems to recognize that they’re back on solid ground and is deciding to punish her – for what reason, she doesn’t know. Cam plans to get her moping in now while she can, not really wanting to deal with the media freaking out because she frowned on court or something.

She feels someone settle into the seat next to her. She bites back a sigh at first, but when a familiar cologne draws her attention, she lifts her head off the bus window to make eye contact with Paige, who smiles softly at her, seeming to pick up on her mood. “Hey,” she murmurs. “You good?”

Cam hums, nodding her head. She tries really hard to not feel betrayed by her body and how it relaxes just from Paige sitting next to her. “Just bleeding and moody,” she says.

“So…the world’s ending?” Paige jokes tentatively.

Cam is unable to hold back her laugh. “Just about,” she agrees, a smile quirking on her lips for the first time that morning. The bus starts moving, and Cam isn’t really thinking about much besides the way her body aches when she leans her head on Paige’s shoulder. Paige doesn’t say anything – she doesn’t need to, but she presses her cheek to the top of Cam’s head. “What about you? You excited to be back in Connecticut?”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees, her tone a little breathless. Cam can almost imagine the smile on her face. “It’s always gonna be home, you know? My UConn teammates are gonna be there, too. Gotta give them something good to watch.”

“You miss them?” Cam asks.

Paige is a little quieter when she responds. “Everyday,” she admits. “They’re my sisters.” She doesn’t say anything for a couple of heartbeats before shifting slightly. “We’re going to dinner after the game. You should come with us.”

Cam’s brows furrow at that, her pulse thrumming at the implication. “You’d want me there?” she asks, genuinely touched by the request. In a way, it feels like Paige letting her into a different part of her life. One that’s evidently incredibly important to her. That means more to Cam than she thinks Paige is even aware of.

Paige clears her throat, trying for a casual tone. “I mean, like, if you’re not too tired,” she clarifies quickly. Her sudden chalant-ness makes Cam smile. “It ain’t gonna be nothin’ crazy, but you don’t gotta go if you don’t–”

“Paige,” she laughs, which makes the blonde laugh too, her nerves fizzling out. “I’d love to meet your team.”

“Yeah?” she murmurs, a little bashfully.

Cam pokes her thigh, making Paige twitch and move away, evidently ticklish. The force of her smile almost makes her face hurt. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Hopefully they’ll have some funny, college P stories for me. Of the embarrassing kind, I mean.”

Paige sighs. “So, you’re not invited anymore,” she declares.

“Too late,” Cam chirps. “You’re stuck with me. You’re just gonna have to eat your chicken tenders and accept it.”

Paige’s tone is incredulous as she echoes, “Chicken tenders? Why do you assume I’m gonna order chicken tenders?” Cam can almost see the indignant wrinkle in her nose.

She giggles, suppressing an eyeroll. “Well, for starters, you don’t eat vegetables,” she states. “Or seafood. That’s like, picky eater 101.”

Paige huffs. “Potatoes are vegetables,” she says.

“Yeah, in the same way tomatoes are fruits.”

“Tomato, potato.”

“That’s not–”

Paige presses a finger to Cam’s lips, shushing her, and neither of them can suppress their giggles. A beat passes, then: “I’d probably get a burger,” Paige admits, and Cam beams with pride because that’s essentially the same thing. “Better macros.”

“I’m sure,” she says, amused. Cam can feel the smile Paige presses to the crown of her head.

“You feelin’ better?” she asks softly.

Cam nods, smiling gently, because she really does. Paige just has the innate ability to calm her down when everything’s too loud or distracting her with the dumb things she says. She’s appreciative of it, of how Paige just…completes her. She challenges her, annoys the ever loving shit out of her most of the time, but it all balances out when she does thoughtful things like letting Cam rest her head on her shoulder and invite her out for dinner with her family.

Her nod is enough for Paige. The both of them settle in for the remainder of the bus ride to the hotel, not needing to say anything else to each other.

Except Cam’s okay-ness only lasts a short amount of time. They make it to the hotel, where Kiara, their operations coordinator (a fancy way of saying “the really qualified woman who keeps their team running by booking hotel rooms, flights, and everything in between”) passes out keycards.

Everyone loads into the elevators in groups, squeezing in with their suitcases and carry-ons, going up to the fourth floor in batches. They split off. Cam slides her card against the sensor on her door and pushes it open, more than ready for a hot shower and a quick nap before someone inevitably texts the team group chat with requests of a team dinner.

But when she steps inside her hotel room, her slide squishes uncomfortably against the carpet. Already preparing for the worst, she flicks on the light by the door, and then she thinks about why she hadn’t let the plane run her over before takeoff.

The carpet is soaked. Like, rip it out of the floor, replace it, and try again soaked. She glances to her right, where the bathroom door is ajar, and the light in the main hallway is just enough to illuminate the water covering the bathroom floor and the way the toilet is overflowing.

Cam just sighs. She cuts off the light, closes the door, and presses her forehead against the cool wood to emotionally regulate herself before she does something embarrassing like cry in the middle of the hallway. Then, she pulls out her phone and dials Kiara’s number. She picks up almost immediately, and all Cam can muster is a, “Please come to my room.”

Kiara is there in record time. Cam hands her the keycard and the advice to turn on the light and not go inside. Kiara does just that, flicking on the light with hesitation, and taking in the soaked carpet and the evident pipe explosion in the bathroom with disbelief. At this point, a few of her nosy ass teammates have surrounded her – Paige, Maddy, Arike, and DiJonai, and they all peer over Kiara’s shoulder to get a closer look, too.

“This hotel sucks,” Arike says plainly, breaking everyone’s stupefied silence. “They ain’t even got a waffle maker.”

“Or a plumber,” Cam says flatly.

“We’ll just get a different room,” Kiara says placatingly. She turns the light off and closes the door, but she looks disgusted. “I swear they better discount me or God help them.”

With nothing better to do, Cam follows Kiara down to the main lobby, and clearly Paige, Arike, Maddy, and DiJonai have nothing better to do either, as they fall in line behind them. Cam feels strangely like a child at a restaurant whose mother is telling the waitstaff that “My daughter asked for no pickles” as Kiara kindly and politely informs the receptionist that Cam’s room is beyond saving and that they need a replacement.

And, well.

“Everything is booked for the entire night,” the receptionist tells Kiara. She looks genuinely remorseful, which is nice and all, but Cam still wants to walk into oncoming traffic. She just wants a shower. Who did she wrong in a past life to make her not deserve one? She’s sure that she sounds a little pathetic right now, but catastrophizing is the only thing keeping her from losing her mind completely. “I can process a refund for you immediately.”

Kiara sighs, but nods at the receptionist, who gets to work and prints a refund receipt for her. She apologizes again. “Maybe you could room with someone?” Kiara suggests. “Or I could get you a room at the Hyatt down the road?”

“I’d offer to share, but I snore really bad,” Maddy says quickly. Like, concerningly quickly. Everyone turns their eyes on her and she nods. “My fiance had to buy earplugs. I couldn’t do that to Cam.”

Maddy looks at Arike meaningfully, who blinks once at her before getting the memo. “I, uh, sorry, Cam. Lala says I move around too much in my sleep. I kicked her once. Not tryna break your knee before the game.” She frowns apologetically, but Cam rolls her eyes, knowing it’s complete bullshit.

They turn their gaze on DiJonai and Paige, and DiJonai looks at Paige. With the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, DiJonai aggressively elbows Paige, who yelps and clutches her side. “You can room with me if you want,” Paige says sheepishly. “No kicking or snoring here. I think.”

“You most definitely snore,” Cam gripes. Kiara’s look of pure confusion and Paige’s blush makes her backtrack immediately. “I mean, like – loud people always snore.”

Kiara doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t look like she cares, either. She just turns with a sigh and requests another room key for Cam, and the receptionist hands it over without issue. Kiara passes it off to Cam. “Y’all know the drill. Don’t lose these. Team breakfast at 8, then film.”

“Thanks, Kiara,” Cam says. Kiara squeezes her shoulder and walks away with Maddy, Arike, and DiJonai in tow – although DiJonai winks at the both of them from over her shoulder. Cam just sighs.

She would be fine.

PAIGE

Paige is not fine at all.

Yes, she tore her ACL and came back from it. She broke her foot and jammed her thumb and got surgery on it. She won a national championship after five years and got drafted and is currently living out her professional dreams.

All of that is to say that having to share a bed with the woman she’s hopelessly into is probably one of the hardest things she’s done in recent history.

Not hard in that predator way where she won’t be able to keep her hands to herself. Hard as in she wants Camille Roman so bad that it makes her feel stupid sometimes, and sharing a bed with her means that she’s going to by lying inches away from the very person she’s been thinking about nonstop since draft night.

It wasn’t necessarily infatuation at first sight. Paige knew of Cam the same way Cam knew of Paige. They’d crossed paths during the 2021 Final Four, where UConn unfortunately lost to Arizona. They were there until Sunday, though, so the Huskies watched as Stanford just barely edged out a win over Arizona.

Paige remembers Cam going to the locker room just before halftime and returning in the middle of the third. She had played like she had something to prove or like the national championship was her last opportunity at ever playing basketball. Knowing what she knows now about her injury makes Paige ache a little.

She remembers her getting drafted first overall, even if she didn’t really pay much attention to the WNBA season that year, although it didn’t shock her when Cam was named Rookie of the Year. Now, it’s still a little surreal to be on the same team as her.

It’s even more surreal when she thinks about the fact that she’s on the same team as someone she slept with the first night they’d been officially introduced to each other as teammates. The same team as someone who’d gone to the draft with the intention of meeting her and welcoming her to the Wings. The same team as someone who’d gone far and beyond to make sure that Paige was happy in Dallas, that she was adjusting, that she was taking care of her mind and body because Cam knew first hand what not doing that meant.

Paige didn’t mean for it to go this far. When she hugged Cam backstage at the draft, the last thing on her mind was getting drunk and taking her back to her hotel room, but she truthfully doesn’t regret it, either. She thought that any lingering feelings would remain physical – she and Cam were both responsible, mature players, so she was certain that it wouldn’t be awkward at all.

Except the fact that Paige did have lingering feelings and they most definitely weren’t only physical. She drove her to and from practices and team dinners despite Cam having a functioning car and the independence – Paige just really liked spending time with Cam and the way she looked in her passenger seat. She liked how easy it was to annoy her and how Cam would argue right back, anyways. She liked how Cam genuinely cared and how she protected her, which was a new feeling – being taken care of. Paige had only been on the receiving end of that a handful of times.

Cam made things quieter, manageable. She made it feel like the world wasn’t so overwhelming. She made Paige feel as though she didn’t need to keep everything to herself and that she could let people in. It wasn’t instant – Cam, honestly, still has to force her to open up, but Paige is making progress. Being vulnerable is terrifying. It’s not as daunting when it’s Cam on the other side asking how she’s doing.

Paige wasn’t the kind of person who was good at turning off how she felt, which is why this whole “keeping things clean” agreement was probably her personal hell. She knew that it was for the best, she’s been in the public eye for long enough. If any news outlet got ahold of the story that she, a Dallas Wings rookie, slept with Cam, her Dallas Wings veteran, on draft night, she’d never hear the end of it. People would smear both of their names. The media she could handle keeping things clean with.

But with Cam? She couldn’t do clean. Not a fucking chance in the world.

She couldn’t do clean when Cam was baking her congratulatory desserts to celebrate her first game in the W. She couldn’t do clean when Cam was wrapping her knee with compression tape and kissing her skin like it didn’t make her want to trash their entire agreement. She couldn’t do clean when all she wanted was to be needed by Cam.

Paige knows what she agreed to. She knows that Cam has agreed to it, too. But recently it feels more like the both of them are gradually pushing the line further and further back and claiming that they haven’t crossed it. She wants Cam, and maybe she’s hopeful or delusional or foolish enough to think that Cam wants her just as badly. 

They’re both just stuck. They have responsibilities. They’re celebrities who know well enough by now that they will never be afforded any sort of peace or privacy to try to figure out who they are without a microphone in their face asking how is this going to affect the team?

Cam has been through more with the media than she has. Cam has dealt with the league journalists and the press for a lot longer than she has. She is more aware of the stakes and the ramifications, so maybe it’s Paige’s own ignorance at play when she thinks about how little she cares about what anyone has to say about her and Cam. She just wants her, maybe desperately so, but Paige just doesn’t know how anyone can be near Cam Roman and not need her.

The need is beyond physical at this point. Paige wants to keep driving her around, making jokes about her playlist even though she gets home and adds Cam’s songs to a private one in hopes that she can get to know her a little better through the music she loves. Paige wants to keep surprising her with iced chais before shootaround, even if it becomes routine enough that it’s not a surprise because she really likes the way Cam smiles at her. Paige wants to keep showing up for her, wants to be someone that Cam can let her guard down with.

And maybe this is one of the reasons why they can’t let their relationship burn out of control. Cam is careful in many aspects of her life. Her career has made her that way. Usually Paige is, too, but there’s something about Cam that makes her a little reckless. Something about her that makes Paige want more. Never more than Cam can give, but enough to prove that whatever’s going on between the two of them isn’t a figment of her imagination.

Paige has always been good about keeping the main thing the main thing – basketball. That’s been her goal ever since she signed the offer papers to UConn. But with Cam? Her sole focus isn’t only on basketball, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It’s just dangerous. She and Cam are moving at incredible speeds and Paige isn’t always thinking about what’s in front of her when she knows who’s beside her. The thing about Paige is that she’s prideful enough to think that she can balance both.

Maybe she could. Cam would have to give her the chance to prove that, but at the rate she’s genuinely trying to keep their relationship friendly and professional, any hopes of them being anything more are dwindling fast.

Paige is stubborn to a fault. Loyal. And, foolishly, she’d wait around for Cam as long as she needed her to.

So, no. She’s not fine. Not when the only thing between her and the one thing she wants the most but can’t have is a cheap hotel blanket and five inches of restraint.

In the room, Cam didn’t bother unpacking, leaving her suitcase and duffle bag by the desk in the room. She’d asked if Paige needed to use the bathroom before she went for a shower. Paige had declined. She listened to the sound of water hitting tile, the hum of the AC, and briefly considered what happened the last time she and Cam were left alone in a hotel room that belonged to Paige.

That thought had made her swallow, mostly because it had flustered her. She determinedly kept the rest of her thoughts PG while Cam showered.

When she emerged wearing sweatpants and a Wings hoodie, her hair loose and damp, Paige tried really hard not to stare. She’s not sure how effective she was, but she gathered her clothes and made her way into the shower, too.

The hot water helped her gather her thoughts. Clean was the one word that was running through her mind on repeat. No matter how badly she wanted Cam, or how badly she wanted Cam to admit that she wanted Paige, too, she would have to keep things cordial. She was always respectful, but she was going to have to lie inches away from her and try her best to not think about how close she actually wanted to be with her.

Paige got out of the shower. Dried off. Dressed in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants that shamelessly showed off the waistband of her boxers and a loose college t-shirt. She stepped back into her – or rather, their shared room to find that the team group chat was already alive with various requests and restaurant ideas for dinner because there wasn’t a day that went by without her teammates thinking about food.

They went to dinner – a place that Paige has been to more times than she could count. Cam smiled at her over the menu as she listened to Paige order a burger, just as they’d talked about on the bus. Cam ordered some salmon dish that Paige wasn’t fully listening to because she was more invested in the way Cam’s necklace sparkled in the restaurant’s lighting and how bright her laughter was when DiJonai made a joke that wasn’t funny at all. Or maybe it was – Paige hadn’t heard it.

Here it’s like she’s seeing Cam in a different light. She’s always like this with the team. Comfortable, open, always smiling, even though she’d been moody and irritable earlier in the morning. Paige is pretty sure that it was just hanger mixing with the hormones since Cam tends to skip breakfast like the freak she is, but that’s neither here nor there. Listening to Cam retell a story from camp and how Coach literally made them circle up and say one nice thing about each other makes her feel like she’s in high school staring at her crush. Half of that is true and it’s pretty obvious that she’s not in high school.

She likes Cam. She really, really does. And maybe in the middle of a restaurant surrounded by her teammates is a terrible venue to think about that fact, but she can’t help it. She’d acknowledged that she wanted Cam bad enough that it made her stupid. As long as Cam stuck around, she’d probably be content with being stupid for the rest of her life.

They split the bill three ways to make it easier on the waitress and they take separate Ubers back to the hotel. Paige ends up in the backseat of one with Cam and neither of them say anything. Cam’s leaning against the window, staring out at the streetlights as they pass by, the stars in the sky, and Paige thinks that Cam Roman might be the prettiest woman she’s ever laid eyes on. Scratch that – Cam definitely is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life.

Cam reminds her of nighttime. Of that brief period of time before the sun has fully set and the moon has risen where the last bits of pink and orange have bled from the sky. It’s when the sky has turned a muted blue, almost grey if not slightly dark lavender in color, where the earth is still, as though it’s accepting nature’s surrender – the sun giving up its throne for the moon to rule, if only for a few short hours. Cam reminds her of summertime, where the breeze is cool and the air is warm and the crickets sing a symphony that she doesn’t ever get tired of.

Cam reminds her of a lot of her favorite things. Peace. Basketball. Of never giving up, even when it feels easier to do so. She exists in that kind of way where not falling for her feels more impossible than never getting to have her at all.

And, well, after thinking that…Paige isn’t sure if she’s ever supposed to move on from Cam Roman. She doesn’t know if she even wants to.

They make it back to their hotel room, where they take turns brushing their teeth in the small bathroom. For the sake of being polite, Paige asks if Cam wants her to take the floor and Cam shoots her a look so dirty that she doesn’t even have to verbally reply. The bed itself is centered in the room, with two nightstands on either side, and Paige plugs in her phone charger on the side closest to the door. The other side is closer to the AC – Cam once complained that being hot was literally the worst thing in the world because it was easier to get warm than it was to be cool, so Paige figures she’d accept overheating for the night if it meant Cam would be more comfortable.

She slides onto the bed, not pulling the duvet over as she’s still a little warm from her sweatpants. She scrolls mindlessly through TikTok for a few minutes while Cam crawls in next to her, having changed into a loose pair of shorts and a tank top for bed. The dim light of her phone illuminates her face and Paige tries really hard to not let her gaze linger, but Cam is just one of those people that you can’t look away from.

Having grown tired of scrolling but not really watching any of the videos, Paige clicks the button on the side of her phone to turn it off. She presses the screen to her stomach, staring up at the ceiling, and before she can lose her nerve, she whispers, “Cam?”

The girl in question hums, turning off her phone, too. She places it on the nightstand and Paige watches her move from the corner of her eye. There’s the barest sliver of moonlight peeking in through the blinds, one that ghosts across Cam’s skin in a way that makes Paige’s throat dry. “What’s up?”

Paige swallows. She drops her phone carelessly onto the nightstand before shifting onto her side, coming eye to eye with Cam. “I know we said we were keeping things clean,” she begins, studying Cam’s features for any signs of discomfort. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Cam’s lips part ever so slightly, and whether it’s in disbelief or relief, Paige doesn’t know. But she continues anyway. “I think about how you looked at me on draft night, like I wasn’t Paige Bueckers and you weren’t Cam Roman, and we were free to do something that the media wouldn’t crucify us for. I think about how you put my tape on during camp, told me I was your priority, and kissed my knee.” Her throat bobs again, but she can’t look away. “I thought about kissing you then. I thought about kissing you when I drove you home, after you told me I’d be okay. Thought about kissin’ you after the Minnesota game, but I could tell you weren’t ready.”

“I thought about it,” Cam confesses, her brows furrowing like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She closes her eyes, sighs, and then tries again. “I wanted to. But I…”

Paige is moving before her brain can catch up with her. She’s shifting towards her, almost as though it’s instinct, and her knees brush against Cam’s over the comforter. Cam blinks like she hadn’t expected Paige to come so close, she unconsciously leans into the contact like she’d been restraining herself from wanting to be next to her.

They’re inches apart. Paige can smell the mint of Cam’s toothpaste, a scent that shouldn’t be heady or addicting but is because it’s Cam. “You what?” Paige asks, a little breathlessly, hating how weak her voice sounds. She hates the way it sounds like a plea and a question all at once. 

“I can’t,” Cam says. Paige exhales raggedly, something like dejection marring her features, and one of Cam’s hands rises to twist itself in the fabric of her UConn tee. “I can’t. But I want to. So fucking bad, Paige, you have no idea.”

“Why?” she murmurs, her eyes searching Cam’s. Her heart is all but pounding out of her chest. She swallows again, trying to keep her voice even. “Why don’t you want me, Camille?”

A laugh rips out of Cam’s throat at that question, disbelieving and wounded all at once. Her eyes dart across Paige’s features as if she’s scanning for truth, but Paige is being dead serious.

Maybe they’d miscommunicated. Maybe Paige truly got her hopes up too much and Cam’s feelings were purely physical. Maybe she’d read too far into how different Cam was when she was with her. Maybe Cam only kept her close because she truly felt as though she was responsible for Paige – for her rookie – and that was all they’d ever be.

Then Cam is speaking, and Paige feels her brain go quiet. “How can you ask me that?” she whimpers, her voice breaking, and the amount of pain in her voice makes Paige feel like such an asshole. “I want you, Paige. Probably more than I should. More than I’m allowed to. And that scares me because this –” Cam gestures to the space between the two of them, “is the only thing in my life that’s ever been mine. Not my name or my family’s stupid fucking legacy. Not even myself. And I know that as soon as we make this real, I’ll lose the one thing that makes me feel like me. That’s how it always works.”

Paige just shakes her head, feeling something like desperation bubble in her chest. She presses her forehead against Cam’s, listening to her sharp gasp as though the touch is electrifying, and she cups her face with her left hand, her thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “Cam,” she murmurs, “this is already real. We both know that.”

Cam doesn’t respond to that, her eyes slipping shut, so Paige tries again, not even ashamed of how it feels like she’s begging. “I’on care how hard we gotta fight. This is always going to be ours, Cam, you know that? You’re not gonna lose me. We can protect this – we can protect us. Lemme prove that to you. Please.”

The brunette is quiet for an agonizing few moments, and her voice is pained as she whispers, “We can’t.” Paige heaves a shuddering sigh, but she doesn’t pull away from Cam, and Cam doesn’t exactly push her away either. The hand bunched in Paige’s shirt rises to tangle in the loose hair at the back of her head, holding her firm against her.

It feels like an apology and an explanation all at once. Cam wants her – God, that had been so relieving to hear, but she was just scared. Paige is beginning to understand why. No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t magically take that fear away from Cam. She’d just have to prove to her that it would be worth it, or that they could make it work, because fuck, Paige knows that they could, she just needs Cam to give her that chance.

Paige doesn’t care if it makes her look like a fool. She would wait for as long as Cam needed her to.

“Okay,” she says softly, relenting. Cam’s eyes blink open and she looks at her with something like disbelief, like Paige’s patience isn’t something that she thinks she deserves or has even earned. Paige shifts again, her nose brushing against Cam’s, and she can feel her shaky exhale. “I’ll be here. However long it takes, Cam, I swear I will be.”

“Paige,” Cam whispers, but she shakes her head again.

“I mean it,” Paige vows. “We ain’t gotta overcomplicate this. You want me. I want you. And we…” she swallows, trailing off a bit. “We just need time. I know it ain’t easy for you and I’m not gonna make this harder on you.”

Cam manages a wet laugh, an amused sound despite how her voice cracks. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me,” she teases.

Paige can’t help but smile. “I wanna annoy you,” she corrects softly. “Not ask for more than you’re willing to give me right now. But…knowing that you want me just as bad as I want you…that’s enough for me. Until you’re ready for anything else, I’ll be here. I’ll show you that I got us.” Paige runs the pad of her thumb across Cam’s tanned cheek, meeting her eyes, and the sheer amount of trust reflected in her brown eyes makes Paige ache. “That I got you.”

Cam presses her forehead firmer against Paige’s. It makes Paige tremble with want, but she doesn’t dare move. Not until Cam says gently, “Tell me about UConn.”

That gives her pause. Paige swallows. “What?” she croaks.

Cam huffs a little, amused. “Tell me about UConn,” she repeats. “Or your family. Or literally anything else so I don’t have to lay next to you and think about kissing you.”

Paige manages a wry smile. “I mean,” she begins, her tone a little too flippant given their prior conversation, “I think I’ve made it very clear that you don’t gotta think about it.”

Cam rolls her eyes, but a grin tugs at the edges of her lips. “Stop,” she deadpans. It lacks any sort of conviction.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, adding nonchalantly, “My chapstick is cherry flavored. Or if you’re not into that I’ve got a green apple one in my bag.” Cam gives her a look, her brow raising, and Paige sighs.

With great difficulty, she extracts herself from Cam, sprawling out on her side of the bed and leaving an inch of space in between them. If Cam is thinking about kissing her, and Paige is already fighting demons just by sharing a bed with her, then they’re both screwed. “What do you wanna know?” she asks, the heat of the moment prior long gone.

Cam shifts, getting comfortable, and she’s quiet long enough to decide her question. “Why UConn?” she asks simply. “You had to have gotten offers from literally everywhere else.”

Paige sighs, but the sound is more contemplative than anything else. “Why not UConn?” she says. “I loved the culture. I wanted the pressure of protecting a legacy. And…” Paige shrugs a little. “It was my dream school. I wanted to be great. I wanted to do great things.” She has a wistful smile on her face. “What about you? Why Stanford?”

Cam is quiet for a long moment, and Paige tilts her head to look at her. Her expression is pensive, something unreadable in her gaze, but Paige gives her the space to think. “It was home,” she says eventually. “I grew up in the Bay and Stanford was less than an hour away. My parents – well, my dad wanted me to go somewhere that would get me drafted.” She turns to Paige with a hint of a smile on her face. “He actually wanted me to go to UConn, but Phee was the last person I wanted to fight for minutes with.” Paige laughs a little at that.

“We settled on Stanford,” Cam continues, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “I think I would have liked to have gone to UCLA or Tennessee, but I wanted to make my dad proud of me more than anything else.” She clears her throat, her gaze landing on the ceiling. “I don’t regret Stanford, though. It’s where I met Nai, Cameron, and Haley.”

“Are your parents… hard on you?” Paige asks tentatively. “It sounds like your dad made your commitment decision for you.”

Cam doesn’t immediately respond to that, and Paige worries if she’d accidentally crossed a boundary. “My dad expects a lot from me,” she says eventually, but it feels like she’s still trying to convince herself of that. “Coley, too. Our mom is more lenient and chiller than he is, but she still, you know…wants what’s best for us. She wants us to succeed.”

Cam laughs a little, but it lacks any real humor. “You know they’d actually met at the 1984 Olympics? My dad was a fencer for France and my mom did a bunch of track events for the US. I think it’s funny ‘cause my dad always says shit like ‘Romans display their gold, anything else is as good as a coaster’ but I’m pretty sure my mom has more medals than he does.”

It’s in that moment that Paige is acutely aware of what Cam meant by her name not being her own – about her legacy. She’d always been in her parents’ shadow, maybe her father’s more than her mother’s, but it was a shadow nonetheless, the exacting pressure to be great. She understands why Cam is so media adverse. She’d grown up with the spotlight on her and the unfair expectations to be the same athlete that her parents were, if not better.

She understands why one of Cam’s biggest worries was how this would affect the team, because if the team did poorly, then that translated into Cam doing poorly. She wanted to keep it clean not only because she was worried about doing wrong by Paige, because she was worried about losing something that she wanted to keep close to her, but also because keeping it anything but clean probably went against some decades long, unspoken condition between her and her father and her family’s drive to be nothing less than great.

Letting herself be herself probably meant letting herself fail. It meant throwing away years of work – not just the work to get to where she is, but the years of work it took to make someone – her father – see who she was when he should have understood her from the beginning. Cam has been fighting for so long to be loved and accepted that losing that feels like losing everything.

The sudden realization makes Paige ache. It makes bile pool at the back of her throat, makes guilt wrap around the beating organ in her chest because she’d been so concerned with why Cam didn’t want her that she never considered what could make Cam so fearful of letting go.

Paige softens. Cam seems to pick up on her silence. She shifts to look at Paige, something gentle and loose in her gaze. “Where’d you go?” she asks, poking Paige’s temple. Paige swats her hand away with a tender smile. “You’re never this quiet. It’s kinda scary.”

“Just thinkin’,” she says.

Cam huffs. “That never ends well,” she teases, and Paige hates how warm that makes her chest feel.

Paige tilts her head until she’s face to face with Cam, whose brows raise at the change. “Do you remember when you were telling me about your rookie year and you said something about feeling like no matter what you were doing, it wasn’t enough?” Cam’s expression relaxes, although she’s still a little confused when she nods. Despite the blush undoubtedly creeping up her neck, the sudden vulnerability she feels, Paige says softly, “For what it’s worth, I think you are. Enough, I mean.”

Neither of them say anything for an agonizing few moments. Then, Cam shifts, ignoring every effort Paige had made to maintain the distance between them, and she rests her head on Paige’s chest. Paige freezes under her, her breath catching, but she melts into it almost instantly as Cam cautiously wraps an arm around her waist.

Paige’s right arm wraps around Cam’s shoulders, pulling her closer while Cam pulls the comforter over their bodies. “You saying things like that makes it really hard to keep things clean,” Cam admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

That makes Paige laugh a little, her heart all but beating out of her chest. “You laying on me like this makes it hard to keep things clean,” she retorts.

“Do you want me to stop?” Cam murmurs.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. “No.” Cam’s fingers brush against Paige’s skin where her shirt has ridden up, causing her to shiver. “Do you want me to?”

Cam shakes her head. “Please don’t.”

Paige just nods, something like a tentative peace blooming in her chest, and she sinks a little further into the bed – into the woman laying half on top of her, their legs intertwining under the blanket, and she lets herself drift off.

CAM

Cam wakes up on gameday with her hand under Paige’s shirt and the unwelcome feeling of deja vu permeating her entire being. Streaks of the early morning sun peek through the hotel curtains, highlighting each and every contour of Paige’s face, the peace she feels even in sleep. The blonde is snoring quietly – as loud people do, Cam is sure – and she still has her arm wrapped around Cam’s shoulders.

Cam remembers their conversation from last night. It almost makes her want to throw herself from their hotel room window. Paige had been so patient, so understanding of the fact that no matter how badly Cam wanted her, she couldn’t give into it. The fear of losing her had been greater than the desire to have her, but Paige vowed to give her time.

She didn’t deserve her. That much she knew to be true. But she’d work to be the version of herself that did deserve her.

Tentatively, Cam slides her hand out from under Paige’s shirt, using it to gently slide Paige’s arm off of her back. With all of the grace she could muster, she crawls out of bed and makes her way into the bathroom where she quickly goes through her morning routine. The cool water she splashes against her face makes her feel more awake, and when she returns to their room to grab her phone, she finds Paige wide awake and sitting against the headboard.

Paige doesn’t offer a smile. Or a good morning like a normal person. Instead, with faux-indignance, she says, “What’s up with you sneaking out of bed at ungodly hours? I’m startin’ to take it a little personally.”

“Paige,” Cam deadpans. “It is 7:30 in the morning. Do you not have a snooze button or something?”

“I mean,” she says, shrugging. “You’re welcome to come find it.”

If Cam throws her slide at her, then that’s no one’s business but her own.

They eventually make it downstairs for team breakfast, where DiJonai, with no subtlety at all, points to the two chairs she’d seemingly saved for her and Paige. Maddy, Arike, and NaLyssa are sat around the table with her, looking way too pleased with themselves, and Cam has to hold back an eye roll as she slides into the chair next to DiJonai with her plate modestly piled with toaster waffles (because, as Arike said, the hotel did not have a waffle maker), sausage patties, and a few pieces of fruit.

Paige joins them, her plate consisting of waffles, a questionable heap of scrambled eggs, and a few pieces of bacon. Cam bites back a sigh as she deposits a handful of grapes on Paige’s plate. The blonde huffs but doesn’t argue, much to the clear amusement of the four instigators at the table.

“So,” Maddy chirps, pushing her plastic spoon through her bowl of soggy cereal. “How’d you guys sleep last night?” Arike snickers and DiJonai and NaLyssa share a knowing look.

“Like a baby,” Cam retorts. “I’m just so incredibly fortunate that I roomed with someone who doesn’t snore like a steam engine. Or someone who quote-unquote ‘kicks the shit out of people in her sleep.’”

“Sorry for tryna look out for you, Camille,” Arike says indignantly, spearing a lumpy piece of egg that immediately falls off her fork. Arike glances down. “I hate this fuckin’ hotel.”

The table dissolves into lighthearted laughter, and thankfully, they don’t press Cam and Paige for any more details.

Breakfast goes by quickly. Film does too. Paige, ever the stickler for tradition, brings Cam an iced chai before shootaround. The energy leading up to the Sun game is amazing. Everyone hits their passes in stride, they’re making the right reads during scrimmages, and their shots are falling. Paige is a vocal leader on the court, which makes Cam incredibly hopeful for the game tonight.

They needed this win badly. But more than anything else, Paige needed this win badly. She was playing in an arena she was undefeated in. She was playing in front of her teammates from college – her family. Cam knew that she would do anything in her power to make sure that she and the Wings came home with the win tonight.

And if anything meant 23 points, 11 rebounds, and 4 blocks, then she likes to think she did a pretty good job of contributing to the win. The game was all but a blur – Cam doesn’t think she’s ever been more locked in before, but the beaming smile on Paige’s face is what makes it so worth it.

She showers and redresses quickly. Amicably sits through the press conference, where she calls their win a team effort and jokes that “Well, Paige is undefeated in Mohegan. We wouldn’t be very good teammates if we didn’t help her keep that streak.” Then, she finds herself in the backseat of an Uber with Paige, who’s leg is bouncing in excitement as the driver takes them to the restaurant that her UConn teammates had settled on.

Introductions are swift, if a little unneeded – Cam had watched the national championship just like any other basketball fan worth their salt. She gives all of Paige’s teammates friendly hugs and watches with a fond smile as KK Arnold latches onto Paige with a cry of, “P Boogers!” as they make their way into the restaurant.

Cam can tell how badly Paige has needed this. Her smile is wide, relaxed, and the way her eyes shine as Jana makes a joke about something or the other makes Cam feel just a little more unhinged. She doesn’t mean to stare – she really doesn’t, but she can’t help herself. Not when Paige looks the happiest she’s been in a while and her laughter is impossibly bright.

Paige reminds her of a lot of her favorite things, like early mornings where the world is still, the air is heavy with something like peace and the promise of beginning, and birds are beginning to announce the dawn. Paige reminds her of an unconditional affection, where people love you just because they can and they don’t need anything else in return for it. Paige reminds her of the kind of acceptance that comes with knowing you’re scared but the determination to chase after what you want, anyways.

That makes her think about their conversation from last night. How Paige was so open, so vulnerable, so trusting when she’d whispered that she couldn’t stop thinking about Cam. When she said that they both knew this was real. When she vowed to wait, even though she didn’t know how long Cam would keep her waiting for.

It makes her think that, with just a little more time, she would be there. She would be able to give herself to Paige fully, in the way she deserved without Cam constantly being worried about when the other shoe would drop. They just needed to do this the right way.

But then KK is leaning across the table, making mischievous eye contact with Cam, and it pulls her out of her thoughts immediately. Paige, who’s sitting next to her, rolls her eyes and mutters here we go under her breath like she already knows what kind of bullshit that KK’s on. “So, Camille,” she begins ominously. “What are your intentions with P Boogs?”

Cam bursts out into laughter while Paige buries her head in her hands, embarrassment clear in her actions. “My intentions?” she repeats, trying to bite back her smile. Paige has a flush from her neck to the tips of her ears, which makes it more difficult for Cam to keep a straight face.

KK nods solemnly. Ice takes a sip from her water and looks at Caroline through her lashes like she knows something the rest of them don’t. “We just wanna make sure you’re good for her,” KK states, steepling her fingers seriously. “We can’t keep her in check no more, so that means it’s your job.”

“My job,” Cam echoes, amused. She glances over at Paige, who’s still extremely red.

“As her vet, yes,” KK continues. Paige avoids eye contact this time, and Cam gets the impression that Paige had talked about her to her friends, and she allows herself to smile. “So. Intentions?”

“Well,” Cam says plainly, straightening her posture and playing into the bit. “We’re working very hard on that Rookie of the Year agenda.” KK nods, satisfied. “I’m also trying to get her to eat more vegetables, but that one’s taking some time.”

“Bless you,” Azzi says. “If it’s green, she won’t touch it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s nasty!” Paige cries in defense. She turns to Cam, vehemently announcing, “She puts nasty stuff in her omelets.” Paige emphasizes it in a way that makes Cam think they’ve had this conversation a few times.

“Yeah, peppers and onions and spinach!” Azzi retorts.

“Nasty stuff!”

Cam and KK exchange a long look, one of fond exasperation. “It’s a work in progress,” she amends, which makes KK laugh.

The conversation gets back on track as they begin discussing the season, how practices are, and the very important question of whether or not Paige misses them – the blonde’s response is a very deadpan no that nobody believes at all.

At the end of dinner, Cam picks up the check for everyone after an unnecessary argument about it. Half of their group splits to use the bathroom while the other half goes outside to their cars. Paige, who’d already called their Uber, leaves with Azzi while Cam quickly uses the restroom, not wanting to keep Paige waiting.

But maybe she should have.

When she steps back outside, scanning the street for Paige, she sees her locked in a conversation with Azzi. She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, she really doesn’t, but she hears her name and she can’t help it.

“–and Cam thinks you’re going to wait around for her?” Azzi asks, which makes Cam’s blood run cold.

“Az, it’s not like that,” Paige says defensively, her tone a little desperate. “She’s been through a lot, okay? She just needs some time.”

“And that’s fine!” Azzi responds. “She deserves the chance to figure out her mental or work on herself or whatever she needs to do. But it can’t be at your expense, you know? That’s not healthy.”

“I know,” Paige says quietly. “I just…I’m choosing that. I know where we stand. She just needs time.”

“How much?” Azzi asks softly. Paige doesn’t have a response to that, and Azzi sighs. “Look, I don’t know it all. I know that you’re protecting her privacy – and yours – by not telling me certain things. I get that. I really do. And I also know that you’re loyal to a fault and you’d wait around forever regardless of if she asked because you like her that much. But this whole ‘keeping it clean but flirting with and wanting each other’ thing without commitment is gonna kill the both of you if you don’t let go or get it under control.”

Cam swallows thickly, guilt hitting her like a sack of bricks. Paige doesn’t say anything, but she’s saved by Caroline calling Azzi’s name. Azzi’s features soften, wrapping up their conversation. “I just want you to be careful, Paige. But right now? This is reckless. If the both of you are stringing each other along and continuing to be close and push those boundaries despite agreeing on clean, then the both of you are just going to get hurt. You both deserve better than that.”

Caroline calls for her again. Azzi looks at Paige, who relents, wrapping her in a brief hug. “I’ll be okay,” she says, pulling away, and Azzi looks like she’s hoping that much is true. Then, Azzi is gone, and Paige buries her hands in her pockets, sighing so heavily that Cam can see the sag in her shoulders.

Cam exhales, too, mostly to calm herself, and she figures now is a good time as any to walk over. Paige glances up when she comes into view, offering a meager smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How much longer on the Uber?” Cam asks, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her.

Paige pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking the app. “About five minutes,” she responds, her voice a little tight. Cam just nods, standing silently next to Paige and really wishing that she spent just a minute more in the bathroom.

She doesn’t feel like she’d just got run over by a truck because she overheard Paige and Azzi talking about her – it feels that way because she knows Azzi is right. Their entire situation was reckless. Cam knew that much from the beginning, but she just couldn’t stay away, and now?

This mess feels like it’s entirely her fault.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Strong one”

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary:What if it had been you Abby tortured, instead of Joel?

A/N: Reposting this fic because basically last night I was going through some old fics to fix grammar and polish things up, and ngl, I was a little high and I accidentally deleted it instead of editing. Most of you who follow me probably already read it, but I figured I should bring it back anyway.

WC: 7k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, some descriptions of torture, blood/bruises, canon-typical violence, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f!receiving), creampie.

You opened up your slowly, pain throbbing at the back of your skull like a war drum. The world spun before it sharpened into something bitterly real, all you could see were wood-paneled walls, all you could smell was the scent of wet earth, rot, and snow seeping through the cracked window.

You were feeling dizzy, unsure of your surroundings. Then you heard him, Tommy, groaning, maybe ten feet away, on his knees with a gun pressed to the back of his head. Someone had already worked him over, there was blood pouring from his nose, one eye nearly swollen shut.

You shifted, and suddenly you felt a boot slammed into your ribs.

“She’s awake,” a voice said. It was one of the others.

You coughed, your vision was getting more blurry every second that slowly passed. You turned your head and there she was; standing a few feet away from where you lay on the floor, her arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. You saw the tension in her jaw, all that rage, leashed just enough to keep her steady.

“So you’re the girlfriend then?” she asked.

Your throat was dry, but you still managed to let the words out of your mouth “What?”

“Joel Miller.”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She strode forward and punched you hard. Your head snapped back, stars exploding behind your eyes. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, your vision swimming in bursts of light and shadow. Pain radiated from your jaw down to your neck like fire. You tried to steady yourself, but her fury was relentless, she was tall, built bulk, like someone who’d trained her entire life for this moment.

Abby stepped back, breathing hard. “You think I came all this way to let it go? He killed my dad. And you… what? Played house with him? Helped him sleep at night?”

“Go to hell,” you spat, blood dribbling from your mouth.

“She had nothing to do with it,” Tommy growled. “You want revenge, take it out on—”

Abby cracked him across the face with the butt of her rifle. The sharp crack echoed through the room like a gunshot. Tommy’s body jerked violently, a grunt of pain escaping his lips as he crumpled slightly, the air hung heavy with tension, no one even dared to move.

“No. I want her.”

You tensed, the fear rising thick in your chest.

“You know what he did?” she asked, voice hollow. “He took everything from me. So I’m gonna take you from him. I’m gonna watch his whole world crumble first. And then, when he has nothing left… then I’ll kill him.”

She stepped closer again, close enough you could smell the sweat on her skin, see the wild look in her eyes, controlled by fury only. The golf club swung and another wave of pain exploded in the back of your head, you felt like you were being shattered in millions of pieces, making you scream so loud, the sound ripped through the walls.

Tommy shouted your name, but someone slammed him back down, holding him there. She didn’t stop, the club came down again, and again. You sobbed, gasped, tasted metal and blood, but no matter what she wasn’t stopping, nothing would make her stop.

Suddenly you heard a desperate, piercing shout.

“No—NO! Stop!” The door slammed open, and Ellie stood frozen in the frame, eyes wild, breath ragged, gun trembling in her hands. Ellie’s voice rang out like a shot, desperate and breaking, but before her foot even fully crossed the threshold, someone was already on her. A blur of movement, and she went slamming to the floor, her gun clattering away as some guy pinned her down, his forearm crushing against her back.

“Ellie!” you tried to scream, but it came out broken and wet as the blood bubbled on your lips.

She struggled beneath him, snarling like an animal. “Get off me! GET THE FUCK OFF—”

But Abby didn’t flinch, didn’t look up, she only adjusted her grip on the golf club. You try to focus on staying awake, but everything swirls.

Abby doesn’t hesitate. “She’s mine,” she snarls, raising the club again. Her voice was shaking, but not from fear, from a rage that had fermented too long. “This isn’t for you,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “This is for him.”

And then it came down again. A sickening crunch, the sound of bone breaking echoed like a gunshot, white-hot pain exploding through your shoulder and collarbone. Your scream tore from your throat, raw and desperate. Your vision flashed white, pain lanced through your shoulder, your collarbone, you felt something else cracked, and a scream tore its way out of your chest.

Ellie wailed. “Please���please stop! PLEASE!”

Abby paced around you, breathing heavily, blood spattered across her face now, your blood. Your arms were shaking, trying and failing to protect yourself.

You turned your face toward Ellie, teeth chattering. “It’s… okay,” you tried to say, voice mangled. “I’m okay.”

But you weren’t, your chest was caving in with every breath, your limbs spasming from the shock. Your vision tunneled, shrinking to a pinprick where only Ellie’s terrified face remained.

“Let me go—fuck, let me go!” Tommy bellowed, fighting against his captors. “She didn’t do anything! GODDAMN YOU!” The desperation in his voice was raw, filled with a furious helplessness. You wanted to tell him to stop, to be careful, but your own strength was fading fast.

Your vision blurs, but all of a sudden, a guttural howl slices through the silence, something not human. You come to realize that a horde of runners burst through the windows and door, snarling. The chaos was instant, screams, gunshots and blood flowing from one side of the room to the other. And then you hear the wet sound of teeth tearing flesh.

You hear Tommy cursing, hands ripping at your bindings.

“Come on, stay with me!” Ellie’s voice cuts through the haze.

You feel yourself being lifted, strong arms pulling you from the floor

“Almost there…” Ellie breathes, her voice was steady but strained still.

You try to open your eyes but only see shifting shadows, the world tilts, then rights itself briefly.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tommy grunts, his sounded like it was coming from somewhere close to you, but you couldn’t be sure.

The sounds around you, Ellie’s frantic movements, Tommy’s curses, the snarls of infected, they all quickly fade in and out like distant thunder. At one moment, you feel the snow cold against your cheek. The next, you felt warmth from Ellie holding you, whispering softly to your ear, begging you not to close your eyes.

Then the world slips away again…

The door to the medical hall slammed open. Joel didn’t wait to ask, he’d heard the shouting, the panic in the hallway, the word passed like wildfire:

“Lenme see her. Now.” Joel’s voice was raw, trembling with a desperate edge as he pushed forward, eyes burning with frantic urgency.

“No. You can’t. Not yet.” Maria’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, pressing heavily against his chest, stopping him in his tracks like a dam holding back a flood. Her face was pale, his lips trembling.

Joel’s brow furrowed, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. “Why the hell not? I need to see her. I have to.”

Maria’s voice wavered, almost breaking. “She’s unconscious. Joel… They barely made it back alive. If it weren’t for the runners—” Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. “I don’t think she would’ve—” Her voice cracked like fragile glass. “She’s in bad shape.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with a suffocating mix of fear and fury. He shoved past Maria’s hand, his movements rough, reckless, propelled by a force he couldn’t control, and there was Tommy, his arm was wrapped in a ragged sling, blood darkening the fabric. His shirt was torn and dirt-smudged, his face drawn and weary. Tommy’s eyes lifted slowly, heavy with guilt and exhaustion, he didn’t say a word at first, just stepped back, silently making way.

Joel’s whole body shook. “Tommy.” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I couldn’t do anythin’.”

The words landed with crushing weight, suffocating Joel’s lungs. His legs wobbled, his vision blurred for a moment, and he gripped the doorframe to steady himself.

“How bad?” Joel forced the words out through clenched teeth. “Just tell me.”

Maria swallowed painfully, eyes flicking between Joel and Tommy. “She wasn’t breathing when they got her out. Dislocated shoulder. Head trauma. Internal bleeding, probably more.”

Her voice softened, breaking the silence like a fragile thread. “But she’s alive, Joel. She’s still alive.”

The word hung in the air, trembling with hope and fragility. Joel’s hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling into fists as if trying to crush the impossible. Knowing that you were still alive didn’t stop the images flooding in, he imagined your face bloodied, your eyes swollen shut, your body limp in Ellie’s arms. He imagined you calling for him… and him not being there.

“What the fuck happened,” he breathed looking at Tommy.

Tommy’s voice cracked. “We were ambushed—It was a setup. They wanted information… about you.”

Joel’s eyes slowly lifted. “Me?”

Tommy nodded, broken. “A girl wanted revenge. Said she was… Said she was the daughter of the doctor you killed in Salt Lake City.”

Joel blinked, and then it hit him. The Fireflies. The daughter of the surgeon he’d killed in Saint Mary’s hospital to keep Ellie alive.

Tommy’s voice was lower now. “They… they beat her to hell, Joel. We got lucky, a horde came through the woods. I don’t know how, but… it saved us. We wouldn’t’ve made it out otherwise.”

Joel stood straighter, his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.

“You got a good look of the girl? Do you remember how she looked like?” His voice was low, deadly calm.

Tommy hesitated. “Doesn’t matter anymore. The girl… she got bit. Some of the others too. The rest ran.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, swinging wide. Ellie and a nurse stepped out. Her face was a mask of exhaustion and pain, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, hands trembling like leaves in a storm. One sleeve torn and dirt-streaked. She stared at Joel, feeling speechless.

You’d been a key part in trying to bring Joel and Ellie together. You loved her, and Ellie loved you just as much. She was your favorite patrol partner, brilliant, brave, endlessly curious. She made the quiet hours pass with jokes and stories that veered wildly from tragic to hilarious. Somewhere along the way, she’d started treating you like some kind of strange hybrid, a big sister on good days, a stand-in mother on bad ones. You never asked which one she needed, you just gave what you could.

She trusted you, which was why she didn’t push back too hard when you started nudging her toward Joel again, it had started small, just quiet comments like, “I think Joel’s trying, even if he sucks at showing it,” or “He asks about you, you know.” Then it’d be dinner invitations, casual, no pressure. Making excuses to watch old movies together, trying to spark conversation. You’d sit between them on the couch like a buffer, nudging Ellie to ask Joel a question about some ancient actor, or joking with Joel until Ellie cracked the tiniest smile. Sometimes it felt like pulling teeth, Ellie would barely say a word and Joel would sit rigid, as if afraid even breathing too loud might piss her off. But it was working. Slowly. Bit by bit.

Joel’s chest heaved with ragged breaths. “Where is she? Lemme see her,” he demanded, voice full of desperation.

“Joel—” Ellie tried to stop him.

The nurse held up a hand, calm but firm. “She’s sedated. You can’t see her yet. But she’s stable. She’s going to pull through.”

Joel swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest deepening.

Then the nurse added quietly, “The baby’s okay too. It’s a miracle she didn’t lose it after all she went through. She’s a strong one.”

Silence slammed into Joel like a physical blow. The word baby echoed through his mind, thunderous and impossible. He blinked, voice barely audible. “What…? What baby?”

The nurse glanced at Ellie, then back to Joel. “You didn’t know?”

Joel shook his head, barely perceptible, his voice breaking. “No. She—” His throat tightened, and a wave of guilt crashed through him. “She didn’t tell me.”

“She’s about ten, maybe eleven weeks along,” the nurse said softly. “We almost missed it. She lost so much blood. But we checked and the heartbeat is strong.”

Joel stared blankly, as if the words were foreign. Baby. The cold numbness in his limbs faded, replaced by a sudden, piercing ache. Ellie moved to him before he could fall, she threw her arms around him, tight, clinging like she was the only thing tethering him to earth. Her small frame shook as she cried into his shoulder, her tears hot against the worn fabric of his jacket.

“She was protecting her stomach,” Ellie whispered, her voice still trembling. “That girl kept hitting her and she didn’t even cover her head, fuck— just kept pulling her arms down around her stomach like… like it was all that fucking mattered.”

Joel made a sound, a half gasp, half sob that barely escaped his throat. His arms wrapped around Ellie, squeezing her to him, grounding himself with the only comfort he had left. His chest heaved as his world tilted.

He’d thought he’d felt every kind of agony before, every kind of guilt, of rage, and fear. But this was different, he’d almost lost you, and he’d almost lost a child he never even knew.

“Please… can I see her?” His voice was so low it barely broke the silence.

The nurse hesitated, but nodded when she saw the desperation in Joel’s eyes, knowing that he wouldn’t stop until he saw you. “Just for a moment.”

The room was dim, cast in the glow of a single amber lamp tucked into the far corner. Shadows were stretching long across the white walls. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, just a fragile, steady echo of your pulse.

There were bandages that wrapped your forearms, thick and clean against your bruised skin. Dried blood was streaked along your hairline, your temple was swollen and marred. One eye was sealed shut with purple-black bruising, the other just barely fluttering beneath the weight of exhaustion.

And still… you looked too still.

Joel sat hunched at your bedside, the chair pulled close, knees spread wide, elbows braced atop them. His hands were clenched together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He sat like if he let go of himself for even a second, he’d come apart at the seams.

He hadn’t spoken, not a single word, all he did was stare at your face, and how it looked so bruised, bloodied, almost unfamiliar, it was nearly unrecognizable, but it was you. He knew it was you, knew it in the way something deep inside him cracked every time he looked at you and remembered that he hadn’t been there… he hadn’t protected you.

His hand moved with uncertainty, until his trembling fingers brushed against the back of yours. The contact was like featherlight, but you didn’t even flinch, just breathed, and that alone nearly brought him to his knees.

He cleared his throat. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel, like it had been clawed from his chest. “I’m here.”

Silence answered, but it was deafening, not a peaceful or cal silence, it was the kind that ached.

“I… I didn’t know. Bout the baby.” He rubbed his face, the gesture full of exhaustion and disbelief. “Jesus, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice trembled and a so did his shoulders. “I woulda… fuck, I woulda lost it. Yeah.” A strained laugh broke through his lips, but it was pained. “But not ‘cause I didn’t want it. Not ‘cause I didn’t want you.”

He leaned in closer, his thumb brushing the unbruised edge of your knuckles, the only untouched part of your hand. “You’re the strongest damn woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered. “But you didn’t have to do this alone.”

His gaze dropped to your stomach, now gently bandaged beneath the blanket. The rise and fall of your breathing was barely perceptible, but it was there, you were alive.

“You saved that baby,” he rasped. “Even with your head cracked open and your body shattered, you still fought. For it. For us.”

“I shoulda been there.” His voice thickened, near breaking now. “It was me they wanted. Not you. Never you.”

Your eyelids twitched, only a small flicker, barely there, but slowly you opened your eyes. They felt like they were glued shut, lashes sticky with dried tears and blood, but through the haze, shapes began to form, some blurred outlines at first, the dim lamp, the smell of antiseptic… You turned your head just barely and then you saw him.

Joel slumped forward in the chair beside your bed, his forehead resting against the back of your hand like he was praying. Your fingers twitched, just a small movement, a whisper of touch, but it was enough to let him know you were there.

Joel’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and bloodshot, rimmed red with exhaustion. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, like he couldn’t believe it, you were still there, you’d fought and survived.

“…Baby?”

You blinked again and your lips parted, as you tried to speak, but your throat was cracked and dry, it took every ounce of strength you had left, but a sound emerged.

“J…Joel.” Your voice was barely audible, nothing but a dry rasp, but at the sound of it something inside him crumbled. He leaned in close, his hands hovering over your face like he was afraid to hurt you with touch.

“Oh God. You’re—hey. Look at me.” His hand cradled your cheek, barely pressing against your bruised skin. “You’re okay. You’re awake. Jesus, sweetheart. I thought I lost you.”

You winced, your ribs flaring with pain as a soft whimper slipped out. In one moment, as your senses slowly began to crawl back to you through the haze of pain and exhaustion, your hand instinctively flew to your stomach.

“Is… is the ba—?”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, your palm pressed against the soft curve of your belly like you could somehow feel for a heartbeat through skin and muscle, like you could will the baby back into being with just a touch.

“Easy, easy.” Joel’s voice dropped again. “Don’t cha move too much.” His hands never left yours. “You’re banged up real bad. But you’re safe now. You hear me? You’re safe. The baby’s safe too. Breathin’.”

You blinked slowly, your chest was rising in shallow waves making it difficult to breathe. “Hurts.”

“I know.” His thumb swept under your eye, brushing away nothing, but needing to touch you. “I know, baby. But you’re here. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

His gaze drifted down to your stomach, his hand resting there with care, even with your skin bruised, your abdomen was still tender, and he touched you like you were holy.

“I was gonna tell you,” you murmured, and you couldn’t stop your voice from cracking. “About the baby.”

Joel didn’t speak and you looked away, ashamed. “I just… didn’t know how.”

He waited to see what you said next.

“It’s not like it was some big secret. I wanted to tell you. I just… I thought about what the world looks like now. About what it did to you. To Sarah.” Your voice wavered. “You’ve already lost so much, Joel. I didn’t want to put that weight on you again.”

Joel flinched at the memory of Sarah, about how he’d failed to protect her, about how he’d lost her.

“I didn’t want to give you one more thing to be afraid of. One more thing to lose.” You said, swallowing back tears.

He closed his eyes slowly, like your words were knives carving across his heart.

“I thought maybe you’d think it was selfish. Or stupid. To bring life into this.” Your throat closed, but you kept struggling to let out the words you needed to say. “I didn’t know how you’d react. If you’d be angry. If you’d feel… trapped. You’ve carried so much, Joel. And I just—I didn’t want to throw a new baby at you and expect you to carry that weight again. Especially at your age.”

Joel exhaled. “Thanks f’that.” Even in the worst of times he’d still managed to crack a jokeZ

You gave him the faintest smile. “You know what I mean.”

He nodded slowly, leaning in closer to you, his eyes were locked to yours, and they looked so broken. “A child with you… that’d never be a burden.”

He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth… so gently it barely registered as contact.

“‘M scared,” he whispered, letting his forehead rest against yours. “Shitless, if I’m honest. This world ain’t made for soft things anymore.”

His hand moved back to your stomach. “But I’d fight tooth and nail to make room f’one. For ours.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks but he kept talking. “I want this. Not just the baby. You. All of it. The good, the bad, the ugly. Whatever’s comin’ next.”

“Good,” you whispered. “’Cause I don’t think I can get through this without you.”

He cupped your face again, more firmly now. “You won’t have to,” he said, and his voice didn’t shake this time, it was a promise he intended to keep.

Your eyes fluttered shut again, not from pain this time, but from peace. Joel pressed his lips to your forehead one last time, holding there.

“I gotcha, mama,” he murmured. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”

Even after the conversation, even after you’d drifted again for a short while, Joel stayed there unmoving, his fingers wrapped tight around yours like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff, like if he loosened his grip for even a second, the earth might open up and swallow you whole.

You stirred softly, your eyelashes fluttered, lips parting on a shallow breath. The light above was dim now, flickering faintly, but enough to illuminate the slouched shape beside you. Joel’s head was bowed, his broad shoulders hunched like he was carrying the full weight of what had happened, and still carrying it badly.

“Joel,” you whispered as you woke up again.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes were red, glassy, as if he’d spend the entire time crying while you were sleeping, but he didn’t wipe them.

“I need to say somethin’,” he said, and his voice cracked mid-sentence, like something inside had finally split. “And I need you to let me say it all.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Joel leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees again, his entire posture that of a man on trial, like he’d already found himself guilty and now just needed to speak the verdict out loud.

“’M sorry,” he said, voice low and thick and ragged. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You blinked slowly, feeling pain thudding somewhere behind your eyes.

“I shoulda been there. I shoulda known.” His hands wrung together like he was trying to throttle the guilt out of his bones. “I’ll never forgive myself for you gettin’ dragged into the shit that was meant for me.”

His voice dropped, rough with self-loathing. “You went through hell. ‘Nd I wasn’t there to stop it. To protect you.”

You opened your mouth, but your breath caught behind the ache in your throat, you wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that it couldn’t have been, but before you could he just kept talking

“I know you’re gonna say I couldn’t have known. That it ain’t my fault. But that doesn’t matter. I shoulda made damn sure nothin’ ever got that close to you. Not ever.”

His eyes found yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was trying to etch himself into your memory, like he needed you to see every drop of guilt in his soul.

“You were tortured,” he said. “F’me. ‘Nd I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close. I don’t know how to live with that.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “Joel…”

He shook his head. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said, his voice rough like it hurt to say it out loud. “And if that little girl or boy grows up to have even half the heart you do…They’ll be somethin’ fierce. Just like their mama.”

The tears came faster now, yours, not his. Hot streaks trailing down your cheeks, every drop a release of pain and love and everything in between. Joel leaned in, kissed your hand softly, like it was the only thing in the world that made sense and he was grateful to still have you with him.

“You didn’t just survive what they did.” His lips hovered above your skin. “You protected our child through it. You kept them safe. You held on for both of you.”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, thumb brushing a fresh tear from your cheek. “You’re already a better mother than most ever get the chance to be.”

Your whole body trembled with a soft sob. Joel moved carefully, gently, sliding closer onto the bed. His arms came around you slow and cautious of every bruise and every bandage, and yet they were still strong, anchoring, like he could hold you together with just his touch.

He cradled the back of your head and pressed his forehead to yours. “‘M here now,” he whispered, the words gave you so much comfort. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life makin’ sure you never have to go through somethin’ like that again.”

You buried your face into his neck, your fingers clutching weakly at his shirt. You could feel his pulse under your cheek and that brought you peace like nothing before.

“I love you,” you breathed.

“I love you too,” Joel said, his voice breaking once again. “So damn much.”

The room had gone quiet again. You’d drifted off, the pain meds finally taking root, winding through your bloodstream and pulling you into the kind of sleep that felt like surrender. Your breathing evened out, lashes resting soft against your cheeks, the pain still lingered in your features, but the fear was gone.

Joel stayed right there, one hand resting lightly on your belly over the soft swell that now held more than bruises or wounds. It held hope and a whole different future than the one he’d planned. His hand was rough, weathered, it dwarfed the small curve beneath it, but trembled just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch something this fragile.

He leaned down, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the blanket. “Hey, little one,” he murmured. “Reckon we haven’t properly met yet. ‘M your daddy.”

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over your stomach. “You don’t know it yet, but your mama… she’s the strongest damn person I’ve ever known. Carried you through somethin’ no one should have to survive. ‘Nd she did it without ever lettin’ go of you.”

His voice hitched. “She protected you. Even when I couldn’t protect her.”

He swallowed thickly, his lips pressed tight. “I dunno what this world’s gonna look like when you’re old enough to see it for what it is. But I swear to you I’ll make a place for you. I’ll fight for it. I’ll bleed for it. You and her… you’re it for me now. I’ll give everythin’ I got to make sure you get a chance at somethin’ better than what I had. Better than what Ellie had. Better than what Sarah had.”

Joel heard someone coming and turned quickly, rising from the bed instinctively, half-guarded, half-concerned, but he instantly relaxed when he saw Ellie standing in the doorway, his hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, hands stiff at her sides. Her eyes were red from so much crying, and dried blood, yours, was still under her nails.

Joel rose. “She’s asleep,” he said softly. “But stable. They said she’ll make it.”

Ellie’s eyes shifted to the bed, to the gauze covering parts of your body, and bruises that painted the rest of it like a warzone.

“I thought she was gonna die,” she whispered, and her voice broke on the word “die.”

Joel’s own face cracked. “Me too.”

“She protected the baby. That’s… fucking insane.”

Joel didn’t look away from her. “She’s always been brave,” he said. “Y’know that.”

Ellie’s throat bobbed with something unspoken. Then she nodded. Joel hesitated, but eventually stepped back, nodding toward the chair beside you.

“She’ll want to see you when she wakes up.”

Ellie didn’t move at first, then slow as a tide rolling in, she stepped forward and sank into the chair. Her hand reached out hesitant and unsure, before closing around yours like she was afraid she might break you. She pressed her forehead close to your arm, breathing shallow and Joel watched the woman he’d almost lost and the girl who’d saved him from being lost long before that, and for the first time in hours, he let out a breath that didn’t shake.

Just a moment, the weight didn’t feel so impossible to carry.

When you woke up the next morning, the harsh sunlight from the world outside this four hospital walls was already creeping in through the blinds. Your body ached in every part, every breath felt like a reminder of what you’d been through. You blinked slowly, trying to focus, only to realize Joel wasn’t there, but Ellie was, collapsed into the chair beside you, her body folding into itself like she’d been there for hours. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, the dark circles under them stark against her pale skin. Her hands rested limply on her lap, trembling just slightly.

You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze, a weak but genuine smile touching your lips. “Hey, kid.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out, she just blinked at you, like she was trying to find the right thing, but the words got stuck somewhere deep.

Finally, she cleared her throat, voice rough and low. “Joel went to get a shower. He didn’t want to leave you, but I insisted.” She let out a humorless chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Told him he was gonna start stinking if he didn’t.”

You gave her a nod, your lips twitching into a half-smile that was more tired gratitude than amusement. Ellie’s hands clenched tightly in her lap, her knuckles turning white beneath her skin. Her voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t know if… I didn’t think you’d…” She swallowed hard, biting back a sob. “Shit.”

Your chest tightened as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m here, Ellie,” you said softly, trying not to tremble so much as you spoke. “I’m still here.”

Her gaze dropped to the worn hospital blanket covering your legs. Her jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, and when she finally spoke, it was with a rawness that broke your heart.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve—I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve done something.”

You reached out slowly with your good arm, your fingers trembling as they brushed against her wrist, grounding her. “Ellie, there was nothing you could’ve done. Nothing.”

She shook her head, her voice catching like she was swallowing so many emotions inside her. “I was so scared. When we got here and they said you weren’t breathing… I didn’t know if I’d lost you.”

Your throat tightened, the tears were blurring your vision, but you forced the words out. “I’m fine. I’m here. You got me here.”

“And the baby…. I didn’t… I didn’t know.” Her eyes flicked back up to yours, wide and shining. “Congratulations, by the way.”

A soft smile broke through your pain. “Thank you.”

“Can I…?” Ellie’s voice was hesitant, her eyes flicking to your belly as she made a small, uncertain gesture.

“Sure,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

She moved her hands closer, like she was afraid to cause you even the smallest discomfort. When her hands finally reached your stomach, she placed them there with a tenderness that made your heart ache. You weren’t showing at all yet, but Ellie swore she felt something warm beneath her palms, a quiet pulse of life.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Congratulations. I’m… really happy for you. For both of you.”

A soft, tired laugh escaped your lips. “You should tell Joel too. He’s scared shitless of being a dad at fifty-eight.”

Ellie’s gaze lifted to meet yours again. “He’ll do good… And the baby… it’s lucky to have him as a dad.”

You reached up and squeezed her hands gently, letting the weight of her words settle between you. Without another word, Ellie leaned her forehead gently against your arm, you felt the tremble in her breath, the tears soaking quietly into the hospital sheet beneath her. She stayed like that, silent, close, as if holding onto you would keep the world from falling apart.

The house was quiet. For the first time in days, it was just you and Joel. The sunlight stretched across the wooden floorboards, casting slow, lazy warmth through the windows of your shared home in Jackson.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your sweater down over your ribs, the bruises had faded to something yellowish now, the deeper aches dulling with each passing morning. You were walking fine, breathing steady, slowly healing. But Joel hadn’t touched you ever since the hospital, not really. You’d noticed it first the night you got home, the way he helped you into bed like you were made of glass, the way his hands hovered near you instead of resting on your waist, how he kissed your forehead and not your lips. Every time you reached for him, he would pull away.

And it was happening again now. You stood in front of him as he folded laundry at the end of the bed, you stepped into his space, reached for his hands.

“Joel.” At the sound of your voice, his shoulders twitched, a reflex he couldn’t hide, and slowly, he turned.

His features softened the moment he saw you “Hey, darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice low but steady. “You know that, right?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah. I know.” But he didn’t sound like he believed it.

You slipped your fingers under his shirt, just a little, just enough to feel the heat of him and he flinched in response, not like you scared him, more like he was scared of himself, of what touching you might do after the fragile state of your body.

You looked up at him. “You haven’t kissed me in three days.”

“I kissed your forehead.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Silence fell like a weight between you, heavy and aching, he didn’t answer, and so you moved even closer, resting your palms on his chest now, over his heart, feeling the way it was thudding fast and heavy, like he’d been running.

“I need you, Joel.”

He let out a breath, rough and shaky. “I know. I just—”

“You think I’ll break.”

His silence was your answer. You stepped back a little, hurt stinging sharper than any wound, you wanted him badly, you needed him, but he couldn’t look at you like a woman, like an object of desire, he could only look at you like a wounded woman on a hospital bed.

“You won’t even look at my body anymore,” you said. “You won’t touch me like you used to. You see me like I’m something still bleeding.”

Joel turned away, hands gripping the edge of the dresser, knuckles white. “You almost died,” he said. “They could’ve killed you, and our baby.”

“But they didn’t.”

“I wasn’t there,” he snapped, then softened immediately. “I wasn’t there to stop it, and now I—now I don’t know how to touch you without seein’ what they did.”

Your chest cracked open. “Joel…” you crossed to him, slowly this time, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and pressing your cheek to his back, listened to the way his breath caught.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you whispered. “You’re the only place I feel safe.”

He exhaled through his nose, his hand covering yours where they rested on his stomach.

“I want you, Joel. I want to feel you close again. I want to feel like we’re still… us.”

You turned him gently, your eyes were pleading him as you reached up to brush a thumb over his jaw. Your lips brushed his, tentative and testing at first, and when he didn’t flinch this time, when his mouth moved with yours in something soft and real, the ache in your chest began to loosen.

He tasted like breath held too long, a little bit like guilt too, like he’d been starving for too many nights. He held you close, still careful and trembling, but his mouth was hungry now. His hands buried in your hair, and a low, desperate sound left his throat as he deepened the kiss, all that fear bleeding into the press of his lips.

“Christ, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Missed you so bad it’s killin’ me.”

You broke apart just enough to breathe, forehead against his.

“You tell me if it’s too much. You promise me that.” He said.

“I promise,” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes were dark with something deeper than lust, and without wasting any more time, he started undoing your clothes. He peeled off your shirt with trembling hands, eyes raking over every new scar and fading bruise with tenderness. His fingertips brushed your skin like it was sacred.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured. “They didn’t take this from me. They didn’t take you.”

When he kissed down your chest, his hands slid to your hips, not possessive, or greedy, just needing to hold you, to feel you were real. “Been dreamin’ about this. Bout how you taste, how you sound when you cum on my tongue…”

Your breath hitched as Joel moved down the bed, kneeling between your thighs, gently helping you out of your underwear. His gaze was molten when he spread your legs , and fuck, the way he looked at you then, like you were a goddamn feast he’d been starving for.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he muttered, eyes locked on your slick folds. “You’re drippin’ already. Missed this pussy so goddamn bad.”

You felt his breath against your core before he even touched you. And then, before you had time to register it, his tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, and your whole body arched.

“Joel—!”

He groaned like he’d just tasted heaven. “Thassit. Lemme hear ya.”

His grip on your thighs tightened, spreading you open with a possessive strength now. His tongue flicked your clit once, twice, then he flattened it, dragging it up with a wet, obscene sound that made your hips jerk with need.

He licked you again, slower this time, letting his tongue swirl around your glistening nub before pulling it into his mouth with a soft suck. You cried out, hands flying to his hair, hips twitching against his mouth, making him moan like you were his last meal, making his tongue work faster now, more insistent against your cunt.

He buried his face in you, his beard scraping your thighs, and oh, the lewd sounds he made, those wet slurps, groans vibrating against your pussy, made you flush all the way to your chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’,” he murmured between licks. “Could stay here all night…buried in this pussy.”

Your hips rolled against his mouth, and he moaned, sucking your clit harder as one thick finger slipped into you, it felt so gentle, so damn careful.

“That feel okay, baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasped. “M-more, please…”

Joel gave you what you wanted. He added a second finger, curling them just right until your back arched. His mouth never left your clit, his tongue lapping and sucking like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. He fucked you slow with his fingers, pushing them against your g-spot while his tongue kept stimulating your clit until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Cum f’me,” he murmured. “Wanna taste your sweet little pussy when you cum f’me.”

You felt it building, that familiar white-hot pressure curling in your spine, your belly, your thighs. Your breath came in ragged little sobs as your orgasm hit you hard, making you you cry out in pleasure, your thighs clamping around his head, cunt pulsing around his fingers as he kept licking you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.

When he pulled back, his beard was soaked, eyes wild and tender all at once. “You good?” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Need a second?”

“I need you now.”

That pulled a low growl from him. He stripped quickly, climbing over you with a new kind of urgency. His cock was thick and heavy between you, flushed and aching, precum leaking through his tip, and when he finally slid it through your folds, he shuddered.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, rubbing the head through your soaked slit. “You’re so wet, makin’ a fuckin’ mess, gonna slide right in, yeah?”

“Joel—fuck, please—”

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching you open so carefully it almost hurt with how tender it was.

“Shit,” he breathed, burying his face in your neck, trying not to lose it. “You’re still so tight, baby… Oh fuck… so warm…”

You moaned as he bottomed out, your nails raking his back. He trembled on top of you, his hips stilled, letting you feel every inch of his cock.

His voice was fully wrecked and it’d just started. “I missed this… missed bein’ inside you. Thought I’d never get to feel this again.”

“Joel. Move, please—”

He started to thrust, slow but deep, grinding his hips into yours like he needed to feel every inch of you clenching around him. Each stroke was deliberate and filthy. His thick cock dragged along your walls, stretching you out more with every push, making you moan into his mouth as he kissed you like a man starving.

“I gotcha,” he whispered. “I’m here. I ain’t ever lettin’ you go again.”

You kissed him with sloppiness desperation, and he responded like he was drowning in you. It was all filthy, but incredibly romantic as well. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him closer, grinding his cock impossibly deep into your soaking cunt.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and perfect. Each wet slap of his hips was a promise that silently screamed ‘I’m here, I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere.’

“Shit, can ya feel how you’re squeezin’ me?” he gasped, voice fraying. “Your little pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, baby. She don’t wanna lemme go.”

He panted into your ear, his hips pistoning now, his balls slapping your ass as he fucked you harder, dirtier. His rough thrusts lost their rhythm, turning frantic, like he needed to fuck the memory of almost losing you out of his bloodstream.

He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck… Feel you milkin’ me, baby, you really missed this cock, didn’t ya? Feel your pussy clingin’ to it. Can’t hold— won’t last much longer…”

Your cunt fluttered around him, clenching tightly around him, and when you came again, crying out his name like a prayer you’d almost forgotten, Joel broke with you.

“Oh fuck—fuck, baby—I’m comin’—” he groaned, with both relief and need.

Joel cursed and followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a ragged groan, burying himself deep. You could feel it, the hot spurts of his release filling you, how his cock throbbed inside your cunt as he grunted into your neck. His whole body jerked with every pulse, like his soul was pouring into you along with his cum.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, resting his forehead against your skin. “Fuckin’ needed that. Needed you.”

“I needed you even more.”

His body trembled over yours.He didn’t move for a long time, just laid there on top of you, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. His hands cradled your face like you were the most precious thing in the world, because you were, because for the first time since that night, Joel didn’t feel like he was breaking, he felt whole.

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[poekaryote]

successful confessions! (friendzoning ver. here)

ft. dazai, ranpo, akutagawa, chuuya, nikolai + BONUS ATSUSHI!

to everyone who needed a comfort version :) @hiitsme12345 @strawberry784 @kazuubaby @veyeruss @blueyescape and the nonnie who requested this in my inbox <3 (if you interacted with my post verbally i tagged you i hope that's ok ^_^; + here's the pin i got the banner from)

dazai. he’s tried to flirt with you before. actually, he flirts with you constantly—like a habit, like breathing. half of yokohama probably thinks you’re already dating.

but you never took him seriously. not really. and he understands why. it’s his fault. he’s too much of a joke to be taken seriously. too many empty smiles, too many lazy pick-up lines. he’s made a name out of playing pretend.

so this time, he wants to do it differently. no dramatics. no fake suicide attempts, no over-the-top metaphors. just him. just honesty.

the rooftop is quiet. the sun’s dipping behind the city, casting shadows across the edge of the building. he leans against the railing beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours.

“you know,” he says, voice gentler than usual, “i think you’re the only person who’s ever made me want to stop playing around.”

you glance at him, lips quirking. “is this another one of your lines?”

he chuckles softly. “no. that’s the thing. it’s not.”

he pauses, gaze fixed on the sky. “i don’t expect you to believe me. i’ve made it pretty hard to take anything i say seriously. but… i think about you a lot. and not in the flirty, ridiculous way you probably think. i mean the quiet kind. the real kind.”

you blink, surprised. he’s not smiling. not like he usually does. his voice is steady, eyes focused, like for once, he’s showing you the version of himself no one gets to see.

“i know it doesn’t mean much, coming from someone like me,” he murmurs, “but i like you. properly. and if you’d give me the chance, i’d like to show you that i can be serious about you.”

your breath catches. he finally turns to face you, expression unreadable—but not guarded. not distant. for once, he’s not trying to be clever or charming. he’s just… trying.

you smile. really smile this time. and when you reach for his hand, he exhales, shaky.

“okay,” you say. “then show me.”

his hand tightens in yours like a vow.

ranpo.

he waits until the office is empty.

no one to interrupt. no one to tease. just you and him, sprawled on the agency couch, feet propped up, the remains of too many snack wrappers littering the table.

“hey,” he says, leaning sideways so his head lands on your shoulder. “so. big secret.”

you raise a brow. “yeah?”

he peeks up at you, eyes sparkling.

“i’m in love with you.”

you laugh, like he’s being silly. “that’s a bold way to start a joke.”

“who’s joking?” he says, grinning. “you’re smart and sweet and you always bring me strawberry gummies. i decided like a week ago. i love you.”

“ranpo,” you start.

“no takebacks!” he cuts in. “now it’s your turn.”

you pause.

“…my turn?”

he nods dramatically. “you’ve been staring at me like i’m your favorite puzzle. so come on. say it.”

you roll your eyes — but you’re smiling, cheeks flushed.

“fine. maybe i love you too.”

he beams. “knew it.”

and then he throws an empty candy wrapper in celebration.

akutagawa.

he thinks about you more than he should. that’s the first thing he realizes. he doesn’t understand it, not fully. love has always been a concept that felt distant, messy, something he didn’t believe himself capable of. he’s sharp edges. he's violence in a coat and gloves. not the type to fall in love, and certainly not the type anyone falls in love with.

but you’re different. you talk to him like he isn’t a weapon. you listen even when he’s quiet. and worse—you smile at him. not out of fear, not out of pity, but real, warm, genuine.

it terrifies him.

so for a while, he stays silent. watches from the edges. offers you small things—tea when you’re tired, his scarf when it’s cold, walks you home when the sun sets too early. he doesn’t have the language for affection, but he does his best with what he knows.

his hands are shaking.

you don’t notice at first — it’s cold, and he’s always a little stiff in winter. but when he reaches into his coat and pulls out a folded letter, the tremble is unmistakable.

“…i wrote something,” he mutters, not meeting your gaze.

you take it, unfold it gently. the handwriting is stiff and neat. it smells faintly like ink and metal.

you read it.

twice.

it’s… him. awkward and formal and painfully sincere.

“i do not know how to express this well. but i want you to understand. i care for you in ways that are unfamiliar to me. i would like to be more than your friend, if you allow it.”

you look up at him — he’s still not looking at you.

“akutagawa,” you say softly. “you don’t have to write it down.”

he stiffens. “…i thought i would say it wrong.”

you tuck the letter close to your chest. “you said it perfectly.”

he finally meets your gaze.

and when you step closer, take his hand, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

chuuya.

chuuya’s always been a planner.

he doesn’t just wake up one morning and decide to confess—he thinks it through. overthinks it, really. you mean too much to him to mess it up.

so he makes sure the timing’s right. that you’re both free that evening. that the weather’s good, his shirt is steamed, and his hair is cooperating. he even goes to the nice florist two train stops away just to get the bouquet you always pause in front of.

he’s a little overdressed—navy coat, gold buttons, sleek slacks—but it’s all intentional. he wants to look good for you.

when he shows up at your door, flowers in hand and a nervous smile tugging at his lips, he clears his throat like it might steady his heart.

“i was wondering if you’d let me steal you for the night.”

you grin, teasing. “steal me? sounds criminal.”

“just dinner,” he laughs. “and maybe a few things i’ve been wanting to say.”

he takes you to your favorite place. gets a table by the window. even remembers how you like your food. he’s all charm and smiles—until dessert comes, and his fingers tap once against the table.

“alright,” he says, quieter now. “this might sound stupid, but…”

you look at him, waiting.

he reaches into his coat pocket and sets down a small velvet box. not a ring, not yet—but a necklace. gold. subtle. elegant.

“i like you,” he says, voice low but certain. “more than i probably should. and i know we joke around a lot, but i mean it. i think about you all the time. you’re always in my head. and i want—i want to be someone important to you.”

you go a little still.

“you don’t have to answer now,” he adds quickly. “i just… wanted you to know.”

you lean forward, resting your hand over his. his breath catches.

“you already are.”

chuuya’s eyes flick up. “what?”

“you’re already important to me,” you say, smiling. “i thought it was obvious.”

he lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh—like relief.

“well,” he grins, cheeks warm. “i guess i worried for nothing.”

when he walks you home, he offers you his arm. you loop yours through it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the necklace stays in your hand the whole way back.

he’s still grinning when you kiss his cheek at your door.

nikolai.

you don’t know what to expect when he drags you through the empty carnival grounds at dusk, laughing wildly about a “grand surprise of cosmically romantic proportions!”

“there better not be pigeons,” you mutter.

“just one,” he grins, bouncing on his heels. “but he’s strictly here for moral support!”

the carnival’s closed. long empty. you’re about to ask how he even got in when he waves a glittery ticket stub in your face.

“it’s not trespassing if you bribe the gatekeeper with a bag of cotton candy and a song about love,” he says, then winks. “besides. it’s for a good cause.”

he tugs you past ghostly snack stands and darkened booths until you reach the carousel—paint chipped, horses frozen mid-gallop, the whole thing quiet and still.

“ta-da!” he flourishes an arm. “romance!”

you blink. “…you brought me to a haunted carousel.”

“correction,” he says, hopping up onto the platform and pulling you with him, “i brought you to the haunted carousel where i plan to confess my eternal love for you, complete with dramatic lighting and perhaps a confetti cannon.”

“perhaps?!”

he spins around one of the horses, hands flared wide. “now imagine—me, you, one slow rotation, the soft creaking of aged machinery, and then—” he twirls dramatically, catching your hand and dipping you like you're in a musical. “—i bare my soul.”

you laugh, cheeks warm. “is this your way of asking me out?”

he pauses. still holding you. still just a little too close.

“…yeah,” he says, softer. “it is.”

your breath catches.

he smiles. not wide and ridiculous, like usual. just a small thing. honest. there’s a flicker of nervousness in it. something a little too real.

“i know i joke a lot,” he says. “i know i’m too much. but i mean it. i’m not playing around with this.”

you stare at him, heart suddenly loud.

“…i like you, too,” you whisper. “you’re not too much. you’re just—you. and i kinda love that.”

his eyes widen.

then, in perfect nikolai fashion, he whoops loud enough to startle three birds from a tree and pulls you into the tightest spin-hug imaginable.

“YES! i KNEW the carousel would work!!”

you laugh into his chest, dizzy with him, with the moment.

he kisses your forehead, light and fleeting, before pulling you up onto the carousel horse beside him.

“ride of your life,” he promises, already reaching for the controls. “confetti cannon pending.”

atsushi.

he doesn’t have a plan. of course he doesn’t.

he tried to make one—really, he did. even wrote a list of all the things he could do to show you how he felt. but the truth is, atsushi is terrible at planning things when he’s nervous. and nothing makes him more nervous than you.

so you get a knock on your door at 7:43pm. he’s holding a paper bag and two cans of your favorite tea.

“…hi,” he says, sheepish. “i, um. didn’t cook. but i remembered you said you were too tired to make dinner, so…”

you let him in, and he fidgets while you open the bag. inside: takeout from your favorite place. nothing fancy. just exactly what you wanted.

you beam. “atsushi…”

“you deserve good things,” he says, then winces. “i mean—not that food is the only good thing, but—i wanted to make sure you ate. and that you know i care.”

he looks like he wants to disappear.

you walk up to him and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “you’re the sweetest person alive.”

he stares at you. like you just reset the universe.

“i… i am?” he stammers.

you smile. “you are.”

you spend the night on the floor, cross-legged, sharing food and watching old cartoons. atsushi’s shoulders slowly relax. he laughs more. he leans against you once, shyly—and doesn’t move away when you lean back.

eventually, you glance at him, gentle. “you’re always doing nice things for me. why?”

he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve.

“because i like you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “a lot.”

you blink. “you… like me?”

he nods, cheeks flushed. “i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. i just—I wanted you to know.”

you set down your drink. reach for his hand.

“atsushi,” you say, “you make me feel safe. happy. seen. how could i not like you?”

he blinks once. twice. and then—like sunlight breaking through clouds—he smiles. full and soft.

“…really?”

you nod. and this time, he’s the one who leans in first.

a/n my nikolai part was kinda ooc at the end but erm that's ok 😓 and YAYAYAY ATSUSHI i love writing for him. he's only in this version because i'd never dare friendzone him my love augh

[heart-shaped-pebble]

soft praise smut with Bob would hit so hard he needs love

notes: I always get a little awkward when it comes to smut but I tried my best !! thank you for the request <3 Also I started writing this after meeting the Pope and that sums up who I am as a person

tags: sex *gif of elmo on fire* - established relationship - [kinda]dom!reader

It slipped out.

Not that you hadn't used pet names with Bob before, but you'd never called him a good boy. You didn't think much of it: uttered in between moans as he was eating you out, you barely took any notice of what you were saying. But Bob did. Oh, if he did.

"Right there, oh, yes, right there." You were mumbling, as he enthusiastically nodded between your legs. You pulled on his hair lightly as he accomplished your request, swiftly moving his tongue with such skill it felt like he was born to do it.

"Hmm, good boy." You had praised him, and that's when you heard it. Or rather, felt it. A low groan, straight to your core. You also noticed how his movements seemed to be more eager now, his hands squeezing your thighs harder as if he was holding onto them for life.

"You like that? Being called good boy?" You asked, breathless, lifting your head from the pillow to watch Bob's reaction. He suddenly interrupted his actions, much to your dismay, to look at you. He was blushing, his lips almost glistening with your wetness.

"K-kinda. Probably. Yes." He admitted looking down, as if the confession brought shame on him.

You moved your hand to caress his cheek. He leaned in the touch, looking up at you with wide eyes. "Nothing to be embarassed about. I called you that because you were being very good to me Bob, it's only nice to know it makes you more eager to please me." You reassured him, winking at him.

Bob licked his lips and looked down, softly caressing your upper thigh and sending shivers all along your back. "I should probably keep going then..." He said it with innocence in his voice, but you didn't miss his grin as he positioned himself between your legs once more, crossing your thighs around his neck as if locking himself down there.

"You taste so good..." He mumbled, vigorously reprising his actions as you gripped on the bed sheets, soft moans leaving your throat as he squeezed your thighs.

"Doing so well for me Bob, God, don't stop-" An empty request, begging for something you knew he was going to accomplish either way. Your words were interrupted by a whine coming from Bob, his hips not so subtly rutting against the bed probably to try and get some friction himself.

You smirked at his reaction, throwing your head back on the pillow as you pulled on his hair. You let out a loud groan when his tongue finally found your clit, "that spot right there," you murmured, barely able to speak up, "keep doing that, just like that, so fucking good." You were pretty sure you were mumbling nonsense by then, but Bob still seemed to enjoy your praises nonetheless.

His left hand left your thigh to give attention to his still clothed cock, palming himself through his pants. The lack of touch on your leg made you quietly whimper in disappointment, even with his tongue still between your folds. Raising your head you saw the mark he had accidentally left on your thigh, the shape of his hand currently looking like a piece of art in your eyes.

Before you could say anything he hit your clit again, making you moan and roll your eyes back. "H-hand." You muttered. Bob once again abruptly interrupted his movements to look at you.

"Uh?"

"Y-your hand. Back on my leg. Please."

Bob frowned for a second and then immediately started blushing, his eyes widening as he realized what you were talking about. He nodded quickly and immediately moved his hand back on you, squeezing your leg. "Sorry."

You couldn't help but smile at him, shaking your head. "You did nothing wrong baby. But can you keep going now please?" You asked him, unable to hide with your tone the desperation you were feeling from your neglected core.

Bob only blushed more, "Yes, yes. Sorry." And then he disappeared between your legs again, immediately going for your clit and making sure to grip tight on your thighs.

"Good boy, doing everything I ask you for." You praised him, biting down your lip. "No one ever touched me like this, I swear." You parted your lips and arched your back as your words only stimulated him to speed up his actions. His hips' quick movements against the bed seemed to go along with his tongue, as if eating you out was bringing him more pleasure than it was to you.

"Bob, I'm close," you warned him, "you too, baby?" You asked, noticing how his thrust against the bed had started to become more frantic. Bob nodded, his fingers tightening around your legs.

It didn't take much for Bob to cum after that, his moans hitting straight at your core as it sent you over the edge, finally reaching your orgasm as well.

Before lifting his head Bob made sure he had licked you clean of all of your juices - something which he always did, and never failed to bring a smile on your face - and only when you hummed in satisfaction and lightly tugged on his hair to get his attention did he finally stood up to move and lay down next to you.

"My good boy." You teased him, earning an embarrassed laugh out of him. He kissed your shoulder and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're never going to stop teasing me about that, are you?"

You chuckled. "Why? It was sweet!" Bob hummed and kissed your neck, moving up to your cheek and finally your lips.

"You're always so good to me. I love you." You mumbled as he kissed you. Bob sighed and leaned his forehead against yours.

"Keep going like this and we might go for round two." He muttered low. You tutted, giving him a peck.

"Hm, I love it when you threaten me with a good time, Reynolds."

[wetdeadroses]

you’re made wonderful - portgas d. ace x fem!reader - wc: 2.1k

tags: nsfw. minors dni! established relationship, slight mentions of alcohol use, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation if you squint

If the Whitebeard Pirates knew one thing other than strength, it was how to throw a magnificent party. Tonight, beneath a sky painted with a smattering of stars, the joyous laughter of your fellow crewmates floated across the open water. Glasses were raised high, sloshing over much like the waves crashing against the Moby Dick.

Ace watched you from the corner of his eye. You were standing with Izou and Thatch, looking absolutely ravishing as you listened to their stories. You laughed so genuinely, nudging them jokingly as you joined in their banter. He loved to watch you shine from afar; your radiance casting a glow so bright it rivaled the moon on this clear night.

“You gonna stand there watching her all night, yoi?” Marco chuckled as he caught Ace eyeing you, his attention drifting in the middle of his conversation with the First Division Commander. 

Ace cleared his throat before he could find the words to respond. His face had heated considerably, but he couldn't resist gushing about you to the first person who asked.

"She just makes me so happy, y'know?" Ace sighed. "Look at how beautiful she is."

Marco watched as Ace went on, happy for his dear friend.

"She's so strong, so kind. Sometimes I just like to watch her. Can't believe she's real."

"I'm happy for you, kid." With a clap on Ace's shoulder, Marco brought him back to earth. "But I'm not the one who should hear it."

As Marco spoke, you had just departed from your conversation, probably off to find more to drink. He nodded in your direction, giving Ace the go-ahead to leave.

"Thanks," Ace said as he sped off. "Catch up with you later!"

Marco barked a laugh as he told him not to worry about it, knowing Ace would likely not be finding his way back to the party anytime soon.

***

"Ace!" You smiled up at him as he caught you by the hand. "I was just looking for you!"

"You were looking for me?" Ace intertwined his fingers with yours, beaming in disbelief.

You nodded as the two of you walked to a part of the ship that was a bit less crowded.

"I missed you."

Ace pulled you in closer, his heart dancing at your joy.

"I was talking to Marco, and I just got so happy, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"No way!" 

"What," Ace tilted his head as he ran one finger along your chin. "Don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you!" you giggled. "I just did the same thing. couldn't stop telling Izou and Thatch about how wonderful I think you are."

Oh, but that nearly stopped Ace's heart. He bore his eyes into yours, both of you sparkling with affection.

"I kept going on and on," you said. "I decided I needed to see you at once." Your hands found the hard muscle of his shoulders, snaking around him as you pulled him closer. 

"You're so sweet."

Your lips met in familiar connection, over and over again. It was as if "I love you" wasn't enough, you needed to physically press the words in, whisper them with your touch. Ace was the first to break the kiss, but he pulled you further inside the ship, feet moving on pure instinct.

"Need more."

You fiercely nodded your agreement as you let him guide you to his room, one you've spent more nights in than your own bed. 

As soon as the door shut behind you, Ace's passion exploded. He was all hands, lips, and heat. Trailing heavy kisses down your neck as his hands gripped your hips, he pulled and pressed you into the bulge growing below his belt. 

Clothes found their way to the floor, leaving scarce layers between you, and before long, Ace had you in his favorite position. You were on your back as he licked and nipped at the soft flesh of your abdomen, trailing downwards at a tantalizing pace. You ached for him to fill you, to feel him within you.

“Ace…”

“You're so sweet, I need to taste you.”

Ace kissed your hips before grasping your thighs and taking a generous bite, causing you to squeal in delight. He chuckled as he pulled your panties off, settling your legs over his shoulders as he took you in.

Ace had gone down on you countless times and yet something always made your heart race as you watched him look at your pussy like a man starved. You were completely exposed before him, and you no longer feared that vulnerability. This was a rush of anticipation. 

His hands found yours as he took one slow lick across your core, causing your head to fall back, your hips rolling into him. 

“So sweet,” he repeated as he dove into you, licking and sucking at his own pace. He knew just the right ways to unravel you, and he lapped you up like he’d never tasted anything so heavenly. You knew he was desperate to feel you, taste you, as his hips ground into the mattress, your delicious juices and precious whimpers fueling him on. 

You squeezed his hands tight, tighter still when he closed his mouth around your clit, sucking ever so lightly, his tongue rolling circles around you. Your spine arched, your body writhing at his tongue’s command. You were so close already, high on Ace’s adoration.

Ace pulled one hand away from your grasp, but you only missed his closeness for a moment as he slid two fingers inside you. You took them in greedily, a heavy moan escaping you when he started to move them, teasing your insides with a practiced, steady hand. Ace groaned his encouragement, a low, gritty sound that reverberated in your core. 

“Ace! I’m- I’m gonna-” with just a few more pumps of his fingers and his mouth devouring your bundle of nerves, you were seeing stars, clutching your breast in your hand as you rode out your orgasm. All you could hear was the sound of Ace’s name leaving your lips, all you could see were those round dark eyes watching you come undone from between your legs. 

It was music to his ears. Your whines, your moans, your gasps. He could listen to your sounds forever, but the need to savor this moment won through, and he slowed his motions, carefully slipping his fingers out of you.

He was so breathtaking with your slick painting a sheen over his lips, his chin. You had never picked up a brush, but you thought you might want to paint him like this.  He let out a moan of his own when he tasted you on his fingers, not wanting to miss a single drop of you. 

“Come here,” you said between breaths. Ace flashed you a crooked grin, drunk on you, as he fulfilled your request. Such a grin could only be met with kisses - deep, hungry kisses.

You held Ace close to you, your hands traveling the planes of his chest as you tasted yourself on his lips. His skin was warm, his embrace more like home to you than anywhere you’d been before. You grabbed at the muscle of his back, his chest; teased his nipples with a few light circles, rolling them between your fingers. 

Ace was practically whimpering into your mouth as you played with him, egging you on as your strength gradually returned. His cock was begging for friction - he was desperately rutting against your thigh as you teased him. 

You wanted to show him your devotion, hear him accept it with those sounds of his. Grabbing his hips, you guided him to your side, and he easily allowed you to roll him onto his back; curious to see what you have in store for him. 

“You,” between tender, wet kisses to his hardened nipples, you said, “are my stars." Another kiss. "My heart.” You bit down before licking the skin on his chest. 

“Please…” Ace was practically melting before you, his face flushed like he might burst into flames if he had to wait another moment to be inside you. Gazing at him under heavy eyelids, you delighted in his undoing.

Not wanting to tease him too terribly, you gave into his plea and lined up Ace’s hardened length to your center before sinking down, down. You both sighed your pleasure, moaning into it, until at last you were full of him, seated on his cock. 

You breathed into the sensation, being stretched just a little bit to the point where pain blurred into pleasure. Ace’s girth always took you by surprise, even after being warmed up, but you delighted in it. There was nowhere you would rather be in this moment, just full of him.

Ace knew you’d need a moment to adjust, and it was taking considerable concentration on his part not to grind his hips, to grab your waist and thrust upwards into you. He let you take your time through shaky breaths, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

Once you were settled in and ready, you planted your hands on Ace’s chest for leverage. You slowly lifted up until only his tip was resting within you. You spoke sweet nothings to him as you began your descent.

“I want to make you feel so good, Ace,” your pussy swallowed him back in, clenching around him, “Want you to feel how much I love you.”

You wanted to give Ace the ride of his life, and you felt so blissful, stretching and fucking yourself on him. Your hips set a rhythm of their own, slow, almost lazy. Ace let you take control of your connection, mesmerized by the slight bounce of your breasts, your moans as he felt his cock glide over that spot inside you that made you sing. 

“You’re so beautiful, riding me like this,” Ace crooned, his hands finding his way to your thighs, caressing and grasping at whatever he could to feel closer to you. “Feels -ah- so good.”

Already one orgasm deep, you could feel the tightening in your core as the next one approached. You rolled your hips forward, changing the angle ever so slightly, as you continued to drive Ace into a frenzy of his own. He was in another world, all breathless gasps and flushing skin.

That slight change in position had you chasing your pleasure, speeding up the pace. Ace knew you were close, judging by that flicker in your eye and the way your sopping wetness squeezed him tighter. He slipped his thumb over your clit, your hips doing most of the work to create the friction you needed to drive yourself over the edge.

You clenched around him, clawing at his chest, crying out Ace’s name as you nearly collapsed on top of him. He caught you steadily, one hand splayed over your back.

“I’ve got you,” he soothed. Ace ground into you smoothly, letting you ride out the waves of pleasure shocking your body as he grabbed your hips, giving your legs a break. He lifted you, rocking you on him without breaking the pace. “I won’t let go.” 

You were completely, utterly lost in Ace. The euphoria of this high was unfading as you spasmed around him, and you needed more to ground yourself. Your mouth found his and you entangled your tongue with his own, alternating between sucking on it and his delicious lips.

Ace’s orgasm wasn’t far behind, you knew, as his thrusts became relentless, his grasp on you shifting to the round of your ass. His moans were sweeter than honey as you swallowed them while he found his own high. You released his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

You couldn’t find the words to describe how stunning he was with a crimson flush on his cheeks, his swollen lips parted in bliss. His eyes found yours, and your heart nearly collapsed at the pure love and devotion you found within them. He twitched inside you as he came, filling you with the essence of his orgasm.

A few lazy, love-drunk thrusts later, and the two of you were a pile of dead limbs and heavy breaths. Your tired fingers found Ace’s hair, sweeping damp strands out of his face.

“I love you so much,” you whispered. Your heart was so full, your body radiated with endless love for the man who held you like you were the most important person in the world.

Ace found your hand, holding it to his lips. He kissed the center of your palm.

“I love you more.” 

You hummed, wanting to disagree, but suddenly far too tired to voice your protest. You weren’t sure when, but your eyes fell shut, and you dozed off into a deep sleep. 

You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until you stirred slightly, noting that you were cleaned up and wrapped in a blanket, Ace’s fingertips tracing soothing circles on your back. You shut your eyes again.

“I’m so lucky,” you thought you heard Ace say. But your dreams had taken over, safe and secure in Ace’s bed.

[foodiegoogie]

the first fight | 2.38k

final part of two people met once | a remus lupin x fem!reader mini series

summary: under streetlights, and on the sidewalk, you and remus reveal to each other things you didn't know you had in common.

cw/tags: heavy angst, curse words, reader and remus get into a slightly heated argument, reader-centric pov, and inspired, again, by one day (the series). lmk if i missed any <3

taglist: @jamesweather @loveyouprongs

note: this part in particular was also inspired by anything at all (stripped) by julip and party 4 u by charli xcx <3 also i kinda feel bittersweet abt this series ending finally like is that weird <///3 hope u enjoy!

You’ve always been praised for your patience. 

“Remus, stop.”

But you had heard enough of the mansplaining.

“I–I was gonna, anyway....” He stutters, flustered by your interjection.

“No, just— just stop.”

And so he does stop, but you don’t start talking afterwards. Not right away, at least. You’re too busy searching his face for an answer to your question: what was the fucking point of all this?

You take a deep breath before you ask, “Remus, what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he answers you, honest-sounding.

A scoff leaves your lips as you roll your eyes. “Bullshit.”

“It’s… it’s not bullshit.”

“No, it is! It is, Remus,” You emphasize, taking one step closer to him subconsciously. You take two steps back to remind yourself of the matter at hand. “You just don’t realize it.”

“Alright, so—” The pitch in his voice goes a little higher, almost like he’s trying not to cry. “So help me then.”

You poke your tongue in your cheek, mulling the thought over. Did you really want to spoon feed Remus his own mistakes? His own bullshit that he claims isn’t really bullshit? 

Eventually, you come to a decision. You’ll take the reins of this conversation and steer it accordingly to your will.

“Alright, fine! We’ll be… at work. We’ll be in a briefing, in the breakroom, hell— even in the bloody elevator. And then I’ll be glancing around and suddenly— I see you giving me ‘the eye’ like the broody dog you are.”

You chest heaves up and down, catching your breath after spilling out what you had been repressing for so long. Probably since you and Remus started this thrilling yet toxic dance of tango. A dance you should have refused a long, long time ago if only you knew it’d turn out like this.

“I’m—” Remus sighs heavily, eyes closing for a brief moment before glancing back up at you. “I’m not broody.”

“No, you are!” Your voice rises. He flinches, and for a split second, you almost feel bad. 

You gulp, your throat suddenly feeling dry. But you continue, “And you always call me or text me in the middle of the night, and I do come over— I don’t deny that, but then I’m out of your place just like that—” You snap your fingers to prove your point. 

And as you continue to speak, your eyes never leave his face. “No small talk, no good morning’s or leftovers for breakfast. We—” You interrupt yourself with humorless laughter. “We just fuck around and do nothing after.”

Admittedly, but not aloud, you’re starting to feel a bit cruel in front of Remus. Cruel, because you’ve done all this talking and he only got to respond with a few words in his defense. While they clearly pissed you off, you’ve always told yourself to fight fair fights. But this fight particularly did not seem fair from Remus’ place.

“But isn’t that what you want?” He finally speaks after a heavy moment of silence. “To do nothing with me?”

A knot forms between your brows at his accusatory tone. “That isn’t what I said—”

“In fact,” Remus cuts you off, gaining new confidence stemming from, perhaps, his quiet anger. “Why do you bother coming over? Why do you answer all my calls and texts?”

You’re caught off guard with this sudden burst of his. For a moment, all you do is stare at him, and all he does is stare back with a resentful sort of look on his face. 

So before you respond, you take a deep breath in, and let it out softly, calming yourself. There’s no use in fighting if you’re both going to stay angry at each other.

“Think about that question for a minute.” You say, voice considerably lower in volume than earlier. “Why do you think I still do all those things in spite of your behavior, Remus?”

The man in question exhales through his nose. “I know what you’re trying to get at, but it isn’t true.”

You shut your eyes momentarily, sighing in exasperation. “I want you to say what you think, Rem. So say it.” 

All of a sudden, gone is the frustration on his face. Instead, Remus struggles, saying, “Y/N, it can’t possibly be true—”

“You know—” You pause because your voice is starting to shake. 

“All this time…” A crack in your voice, now smaller-sounding. “Ever since uni, I thought that I was the only one who felt something. Like what we had… was leading up to something...” 

Your pacing in speech slows down significantly. As if, somehow, the unshed tears in your eyes were weighing heavily down on your shoulders. 

“But then you started being off and distanced and I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” You continue. “And I just went with whatever you wanted to do just for the sake of us staying together.

“But if only I had known that we’d end up like this? Just as stunted, just as distant…” You trail off, glancing up at him and feeling pathetically helpless. 

You chuckle, albeit a bit sarcastically. “Honestly, Remus, I’m tired.”

“This is exactly what I was afraid of happening. So I left. But I know that it wasn’t the right thing to do at the time. So I’m sorry.”

Under your breath, you mutter, “That doesn’t justify everything you did to me. I was hurting, Rem. And I… I missed you so much.” 

“What?” He asks in quiet disbelief.

“You heard me right. I know you aren’t deaf. I did miss you—“

“No. It’s just… you should be mad at me.” he eventually decides to say.

“I am.” 

“You should resent me.” 

“I do.” 

“You shouldn’t even be talking to me right now.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You admit honestly, a teary smile on your face. But then it crumples as you fight back the waterworks. 

“So help me understand why I still am. Because I am so unbelievably tired of this, Remus—” Unfortunately, you could only handle so much all at once. The tears finally come running down your cheeks, and you hurry to cover your weeping face from Remus’ eyes. 

You sniffle, sob, and try your hardest to sober up. “I’m sorry…”

When you look back up at him, he’s closer to you than he was just a few seconds ago. Almost as if he had anticipated himself to do something about your crying… like hug you, amongst other things.

But he was just standing there, with a face so overcome with guilt, heartache, and helplessness all at once. So with another deep breath in, you let your eyes shut close again for a brief moment. Gaining momentum to speak again, you open your eyes—

“I was scared, okay?” Remus tells you, voice sounding just as broken as yours was. “I was afraid that you’d see how pathetic I was that you’d end up leaving me, anyway. And I didn’t want that, so I made things easier for myself—” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You plead weakly.

Almost instantly, your eyes well up with fresh tears all over again. But the sobs don’t take over you. The tears just… make your vision blurry over time until they drop, leaving proof of your desperation running down your face.

Tears of desperation… for Remus to prove himself to you once more. Maybe even for the last time.

Remus’ shaky exhale makes you return your attention to him. He lifts a trembling hand, wiping quickly at the corners of his eyes before flicking the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. A habit he does when he’s anxious about something.

“I didn’t—” He starts, but stops himself for some reason. His eyes squeeze shut before opening again, and now he looks just as tired as you’d always seen him in. “I couldn’t tell you. I… I couldn’t do that to you…”

“Couldn’t do what, Remus? Ask me for help?”

“Be a burden to you,” He answers, the words leaving his mouth like it was a weight he’d been carrying for ages. Remus pauses for a moment, looking away from you, off into the distance, before he returns his gaze to you. 

“You already carry so much, Y/N,” He continues. “And you’ve always carried a lot of things— yourself included, with so much grace and composure. I couldn’t— I told myself I couldn’t ruin that for you. So I did what I did.”

You turn your eyes to the ground, looking at the tips of your shoes. You blink away the tears and let them fall to the ground.

You knew Remus well, even if he might deny that somehow. You knew how he’d rather give his place up for someone else more deserving of it. How he’d rather keep quiet than be honest about whatever mischief his friends were up to. 

But you never knew he’d been feeling like this… to a certain degree.

“And you didn’t think that I wanted to help you, Rem?” His nickname leaves your lips in a broken whisper. If you weren’t careful enough, it might have been lost to the wind. But it seems like Remus hears it.

“N-No, I did—”

“Just be honest. Please.”

You look up at him, and maybe you look a little more pathetic by the second as this conversation progresses. You have this thought in mind, because Remus answers—

“I didn’t.” 

And that’s when you break down crying again. 

“Fuck—” You inhale sharply, trying to repress the oncoming slaught of sobs deep in your chest. You’re restless in your stance, desperate to get sober again for the sake of preserving your pristine image in Remus’ eyes. 

“I loved you so much, did you know that?” You struggle to say in the midst of your anguish. “And— fuck, I still do.” 

A few minutes probably pass in silence while you’re still crying, and Remus is still helplessly watching you. 

It will always go without saying—love hurts. It hurts because of a lot of factors that poets and authors always write about in their creations. For instance, love hurt Orpheus and Eurydice when the former looked back at her while trying to lead her out of the underworld. Love also hurt Romeo and Juliet when they chose their tragic fate blindly, motivated by love.

But in your case? 

Love hurt you because in spite of all the pain Remus had “unintentionally” given you… you held out for him anyway. Loved him, anyway. You ultimately let love be a hurting experience for you because Remus ceased to leave your heart and mind completely.

But you couldn’t have known that love would bring you here—not quite back with him yet, but reunited all the same. 

Your sobs have quieted down in their volume, and you were slightly convinced that at this point, you were just crying out of pity for yourself. Or out of blaming yourself for not noticing Remus’ plight after all these years. The floor drifts in and out hazily in your vision. You’re desperate to stop crying, but you can’t stop the tears from falling.

Until you feel arms wrap around you slowly, hesitantly. Like someone’s trying to shield you from something dangerous but they aren’t sure if they’re doing it right.

“I’m sorry,” Remus breathes into your hairline. You squeeze your eyes shut again, fresh tears running down your cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

By then, your hands go on autopilot—at least, it feels like it—wrapping around Remus’ waist to return the embrace. And you tighten your arms around him as he does the same. Soon enough, you’ve both gone from just embracing to actually holding each other upright—it’s familiar and strange at the same time.

Being in Remus’ arms again after so long, in a manner so tender like this moment...

It feels like walking into the house your childhood belonged to. But now there's strangers treating it like it was always theirs. 

“I still love you, too,” He whispers, sharp and honest. Loud. “I always have.”

You visibly deflate against him, sighing heavily out of relief. You’ve finally managed to stop crying. Now, you’re just holding onto Remus tightly, face buried in his shoulder. You’ve lingered there for so long you’re sure you’ve left tears and snot in his dress shirt. 

But knowing Remus, he probably didn’t mind that.

To look at the bigger picture, there’s more than tears and snot left behind on Remus’ previously pristine dress shirt. There’s unresolved emotions, lots of it. There’s the elephant in the room that’s begging to be addressed—how and why your previous hookups did nothing to improve your relationship. And this list will get longer, without a doubt.

But who knows what the future will have in store for you and him, anyway? There’s always the high chance that Remus will pull back for his sake again, and you’ll be there to pull him back in. Rinse and repeat.

Yet, there’s also the possibility of a different outcome now. You’re not young anymore, but you’re certainly a lot wiser than before. And with Remus holding you—warm, familiar, and caring—you decide right there and then that you were willing to see things out with him. A fresh start of sorts, not just for him, but for the both of you individually.

Life’s too short to dwell on past grievances and hold grudges against ex-somethings, anyway. And love… love will always hurt. There’s no doubting that.

But the thing about life is… it goes on amidst these experiences. Thus, that should be enough reason for you to keep going, too. 

You and Remus stay in each other’s embrace long enough that you start swaying slightly to an imaginary song. There’s no one but the both of you, and the peace and quiet of the night, to witness it.

<- back to series masterlist

[that-stanford-girlie-writes]

Dean Winchester x Nephilim!Reader x Sam Winchester

a/n⋮ i was just really craving some sam and dean the other day. i figured, “i could take them both at the same time!” (lie. BUT i wanted them at the same time soooo) i wrote this in a non-wincest way. the bros ain’t doing shit to each other. reader is getting all the attention. it took a couple days to write though, cuz i wanted everything to be perfect! yes, it says nephilim!reader. it’s not fully necessary to the story, but i felt it should be mentioned cuz a little bit happens! ALSO. if i tagged you and you don’t like reading smut, LET ME KNOW. i don’t want to make people uncomfortable. OR, if you don’t like this pairing? LET ME KNOW. please. i don’t want people getting uncomfy.

word count⋮ 1346

tags⋮ smut. (let’s just say sam and dean really fill your holes.)

“…And that’s why we don’t even try to look for those,” Sam mumbles. His hands run up your sides, and you play with his hair. “Because not even Dean could kill it.”

“Maybe I could,” you giggle. You don’t Hunt, but it doesn’t stop you from joking.

“Yeah, because you’re a horrifying force of nature,” says a gruff voice from the other side of the room. Dean’s salty that you’re paying more attention to Sam than him; they’ve always competing for your attention. You always end up in one of their beds, but despite the agreement of sharing you, they don’t really like it all that much.

You know your boys are protective of you. They’re more comfortable when you’re in their beds where they can see you. That’s why you don’t Hunt.

You laugh at Dean’s comment, looking over your shoulder to see him angrily chewing on a burger as he squints at the computer. “Sam, I can’t read this shit. How about I get my girl and you research?”

“I researched all morning. I get time with my sweet little angel,” he says, his nose touching yours before pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers tangle in Sam’s hair, your lips moving hard against his. He nips your bottom lip, earning a gasp from you and using that moment to push his tongue into your mouth.

He explores your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours. You move closer, swallowing his groan as you shift on top of his bulge.

His hands caress your sides, and you giggle when you feel another pair of hands undoing your flannel, revealing your bra, and his lips on your neck. Dean’s always been needy, especially when it comes to you.

Dean’s fingers trace your anti-possession tattoo over your heart, sending a shiver down your spine. Your lips break away from Sam’s and your head falls back on Dean’s shoulder as Sam rolls his hips under you, letting out a breathless moan.

Dean’s fingers dip under your bra, squeezing your tit, and Sam’s fingers clench around your hips… But then there’s an alarm sounding off.

Which makes all three of you still.

Because who the fuck is at the Bunker door?

Nobody even knows it exists.

Cas had been MIA for months, and he would just fly in.

“Sam. Take her to her room,” Dean growls, grabbing a gun.

Sam quickly nods and picks you up, carrying to your room bridal style.

—

About half an hour later, already fucked nasty and riding Sam’s cock again, does Dean come to your room. He’s covered head to toe in blood, not even caring that you’re riding his little brother.

“Everything’s dealt with,” he grumbles, pressing his lips to your neck as he palms a breast.

“What was it?” Sam asks, fully composed. You wouldn’t guess that someone was riding him and letting out pretty little moans with the formality of his answer.

“Angel.”

You look at Dean, biting your lip as you turn your head, but he wasn’t talking to you. His eyes are locked on his little brother’s. He killed an angel.

“Fuck,” Sam grumbles. “They’re probably-”

You nod. They were looking for you. The daughter of Lucifer and his first demon, Lilith.

“Which is why we’re keeping you safe, sweetheart,” Dean whispers in your ear before stripping out of his clothes.

Sam lifts you off his cock, spinning you so your back is to him. He plants you down once more, groaning as your ass shimmies on his lower stomach as you bend over just a bit.

Dean kneels on the bed, stroking his own cock lightly. He chuckles darkly as your gaze zeroes in on the pink flesh of the head, pearly precum bubbling from the tip. You lick your lips, letting out a yelp when Sam smacks your ass, forcing you to buck your hips.

“You want my cock, pretty girl?” Dean teases.

You nod, chewing on your lip.

“Use your words, baby,” Sam whispers, his voice right next to your ear.

“P-please,” you whisper, voice hitching as you wiggle on Sam’s dick, the head hitting your cervix just right. It’s no secret that you’re a mess, but cockwarming—especially with Sammy—always makes you even more needy.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please let me suck your cock, Dean,” you whine.

“Atta girl,” he whispers before shoving his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls over the head, lapping up the precum as your hand strokes whatever doesn’t fit in your mouth. You hear him shudder, and you feel Sam slide out of you, which leads your pussy feeling empty (but full of his cum) and allows you to sit on all fours on the bed while you take Dean in.

Dean’s hand finds the back of your throat, forcing himself down you. Tears sting your eyes, but you quickly blink them back as you take him in.

What you’re not expecting, however, is for a pair of large hands to spank your ass as a tongue runs through your wet folds. Sam’s always been greedy with your pussy.

You moan around Dean’s cock when you feel Sam move under you, his tongue flitting at your clit as his long fingers pump into you. Dean fists your hair, dragging your mouth away from his cock as he smashes his lips to yours.

“D-Dean?” you pant.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he growls.

“…Can you come inside me?”

His restraint snaps. “Sammy, move,” he growls, moving around to your backside. Sam moves to your front.

“Hey, angel,” he smiles, fingers tangling in your hair. He smirks as your hands fly for his cock, groaning as you squeeze it when Dean’s hand smacks your ass hard, thrusting into you.

“I’m gonna mark you up real fuckin’ good,” Dean smirks.

Sam smiles down at you when your tongue runs up the vein along the side of his twitching shaft. Your eyes don’t leave his until he, too, takes your throat and forces himself down.

Your boys are so similar and yet so different, and they don’t even see it.

From behind you, you can hear skin slapping against skin as Dean fucks into your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you moan around Sam’s cock. However, that doesn’t stop Sam from forcing your head down more.

As Dean keeps thrusting in and out, you feel yourself getting close to the edge. Your hands start stroking Sam’s cock even faster, your tongue swirling around the head even more. He gets the message, tapping your shoulder three times to signal he understands.

Dean’s voice is close to your ear the next time you hear him. “Baby, you ready for us?” he whispers.

You whimper, Sam’s shaft muffling the noise, but they both understand. Dean slams his hips into yours quicker, and Sam forces your head down at a faster rate.

You scream around Sam when you reach climax, your vision going spotty and your wings projecting a large shadow on the walls. You feel the vein under your tongue throb as your mouth is coated with the younger brother’s seed, and the older brother’s fills you up shortly after.

Dean slowly pulls out when you take your mouth off of Sam’s dick with a pop. You swallow Sam’s cum, and Dean gently pulls you to lay back on the bed.

Sam comes around to one side, Dean on the other. You feel Sam’s arms wrap around your middle from behind as Dean lets you rest your ear on his heart.

All three of you try to catch your breath. It’s no secret you weren’t expecting this today. But you’re not at all disappointed.

Because you have your boys, in your bed, and they helped you feel good. They’ll always worship you, and they’ll hold you when things get rough.

“I love you both,” you whisper.

Dean presses a kiss to your forehead and Sam presses one to your shoulder as they whisper “I love you”s back to you.

And you doze off, all cares in the world gone, even if for a split moment.

Taglist

@cevans-is-classic

@peoplewatching-notstalker

@meeshsen

@shouldntyoubeinthewoodssomewhere

@lordofanguish

@valdelion

@pansaremykryptonite

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

so many thoughts about mirror stan from another ask

cause like when bill shatters the mirror stan is, there is a non 0 chance that in some universe its NOT a way to break curses...

what happens then? does stan get his soul shattered? or does he get stuck in a crammed mirror shard? if he "dies" or something like that, how long will it take for ford to find out?

he'd probably learn from the mailbox, and then by then what? would it be complicated frankenstan or like adventure to rescue stan or complicated spell crafting or just endless guilt? cause there is additional guilt of it, he had the mirror guy around forever, trapped him in a mirror for a while too, and not once tried to help. even if it wasnt stan it was cruel, and also he SHOULD have known its stan, what brother doesnt recognize his brother when he is turned in a shadow mirror creature that is in no way recognizable. shouldve locked in or soemthing

and on recovery, cauae i didnt miss them tags, rip to stan cause now in adition to fear of heights and small spaces, bro got fear of darkness too

lmao imma stop but like you get me its interesting

In a world where Bill shattering the mirror doesn't break the curse then Stan is for sure stuck in one of the mirror fragments. If Bill managed to break the mirror to the point where none of it could be used as a reflection and Stan's not able to jump to another reflective surface he's not so much 'dead' as 'lost in the mirror realm forever', stuck in the dark as his window to the 'real' world was destroyed.

Its worse than being covered, because at least then there was the possibility of one day being uncovered, now he's just in pitch black, reflecting nothing and so nowhere.

In which case Ford wakes up, is devastated at the loss of another 'person' he hurt, and gets more determined to combat Bill. Then gets slammed with the mail box telling him Stan's stuck in the mirror dimension because he was stuck in a mirror when it got broken. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, and now its magic ritual time to try and find Stan and pull him out or at least put him in a reflective surface for later retrieval.

And the entire time Ford is just wracked with guilt. He should have known the shadow that talked with garbled speech and didn't look like anyone was his brother! How could he have missed it (even though Stan had no defining features and was talking backwards)! And he let Bill and Fiddleford talk him into trapping Stan in a mirror! Another failure on Fords part, not trusting himself and this time there's no one to blame but him if Stan's lost forever.

Then Ford figures out a way to get into the area Stan was at when the mirror he was in was broken, puts a new mirror there, then does some mirror dimension summoning ritual that under normal circumstances would summon some kind of horrible mirror monster but instead get Stan since Stan was still there, just not reflected.

Now Stan's even more terrified of the dark! Huzzah! Probably somewhat catatonic from the whole experience and definitely not in any kind of state to take a book anywhere. Just needs a hot cocoa and a blanket and a window to look out at everything while every door is open and he can marvel at looking at other places without having to jump into other mirrors to get to them.

[pyreneese]

First Friend

@lawlightweek2025

Day 3: First Meeting/Final Goodbye

Rating: G

Tags: homelessness. L and Light are around the same age.

L’s mother was dead. Even at the age of 6, walking into her room and seeing her stare up at the ceiling, L knew she wasn’t coming back. He’d been so young though… so scared. He ran from the house and got lost. 

That’s how he ended up like this… a year into living on the streets of Tokyo, hiding in abandoned buildings and dumpsters. Most people ignored him, which was fine for him. Usually, the people who didn’t were dangerous, anyway.

He sat against a wall, his breathing slow and his stomach aching from hunger. L was scrawny. His black hair was greasy and his cheeks sunken in. The dumpster diving wasn’t going well. 

A boy stopped in front of him. L blearily blinked and craned his neck up. The kid seemed clean and proper, with a straight jacket and a pristine backpack. He looked to be around L’s age, maybe a year younger. The boy stared down at L and grinned.

“My dad says to always help!”

He pulled out a container of strawberries from his bag. L’s eyes widened a fraction, his stomach rumbling loudly. The kid barely had enough time to hold out the container before L was snatching it, tossing strawberries into his mouth. They were so sweet… so fresh… The boy watched in awe and scooted forward.

“Do you like them?”

All L could do was grunt as he continued tossing the strawberries into his mouth, looking more like a feral kitten than an actual kid. The boy straightened.

“What’s your name?”

L stared at him blankly for a second, strawberry juice dribbling off his chin. The kid wanted to know his name? Living on the streets had taught him not to give it out so freely. That people couldn’t be trusted with a name… After a few seconds of awkwardly staring, the boy gave a smile.

“It’s okay! My dad says not to judge people, even if they’re weird. What about nicknames? You can call me Moon!”

Something warmed in L’s chest. For the first time in over a year, his lips tugged up into a little smile.

“You can call me… Strawberry?”

The boy snorted softly at that and bobbed his head.

“Okay! I just got out of school. Wanna play?”

L tilted his head a bit.

“You… want to play with me?”

Moon nodded rapidly.

“You look fun!”

“Um… okay…”

“Yay! Hmm… wanna play cops and robbers? Ooh, ooh! I can be the cop!”

L slowly blinked. He played with some of his hair before lightly nodding. He’d never played with anyone his age before… He was still a bit weak from malnutrition, definitely not as fast as the other boy. But it… it was really fun. 

Probably the first time he’d ever had fun in his life.

Over the next week, Moon would visit every so often. Not every day, but enough that L almost got used to his presence. And then Watari found L. There was something about the older man that L trusted. Besides, it… wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. He would’ve said bye to his… friend? Did Moon count as his friend? The first friend he’d ever had? But… he didn’t know where the boy lived. And Watari kept talking about some far away place called England.

L sighed to himself, just accepting the fact that… his first friend was just a ship that would drift past him in life.

***

Light grunted softly as L passed the towel over his feet. He stared down at the detective. Something about seeing L’s hair slicked down from the rain… that distant look in his eyes.

It clicked. Oh… wow… it clicked. Light sucked in a sharp breath, something in his chest stirring as the memory popped in. Should he… say something? What could he possibly say? So much had happened between them. He exhaled slowly and instead of dredging up the past, he took a towel and gently passed it around L’s face. Light wanted the detective dry. Warm. Sa- no, not safe. Not safe. 

L craned his neck up, large charcoal eyes meeting Light’s. Light’s breath caught, feeling trapped in the man’s gaze. L’s eyes flickered in consideration. The man stood and leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against Light’s. The sensation shot little shocks through his system, making his brain spin. L’s throat bobbed as he murmured.

“… It’ll be lonely, won’t it?… Thank you for being my first friend.”

Light blinked. Was he talking about when they were kids or now during the Kira investigation? It was always impossible to know with L. So he managed the best indifferent shrug he could manage, his lips still buzzing from the kiss.

“Well, apparently you don’t think of me as your friend, do you?“ he smirked, motioning to his lips.

L’s brow quirked in amusement. His lips curved ever so slightly, making his entire face handsome.

“Mm. Friendship is relative. You didn’t seem to hate it.”

Light stared at him for a moment and snorted softly.

“Hm. I wouldn’t mind doing it more… I guess.”

The thought was nice, but they both knew there wouldn’t be any more. This was their final goodbye.

“I’m glad. I’d like to do that.” 

L stood, water still dripping from him. 

“Let’s go rejoin the task force.”

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Spin-off

Fireworks

Not a chapter, but still a little something ! Which means @ancha-aus the tagging is back :D

To celebrate National Day I just had to do something with my little Frenchie lol

This little story is set in the future, when the adventure is done and they all acquired their time traveling rings ! (Which turn out can also take them to different places)

AO3 link

Will probably contain minor spoilers, nothing big tho so no worries

Happy 14th of July 🎉

It was almost night, the sun was setting on the lake, wrapping everything in a soft light. The surroundings were rather calm, a few people were there with their kids, chatting, waiting, throwing pebbles in the water.

Nightmare was looking down, careful not to trip on the grass with his heels. Dust had appeared in his time, saying that he had something to show him related to his country, France's National Day he said, that apparently appeared long after Nightmare's time. Nightmare followed, rather curious about what they could possibly be celebrating and how. They had stopped at Dust's house before going so that the noble could change clothes to blend in easier, something comfy but still stylish: soft grayish pants, a black turtle neck sweater, a long coat going to his knees, and a pair of heels, as he was used to wearing this type of shoes and quite liked the extra height it gave him. Cross was supposed to come too, but he had promised Killer he would teach him more swordfighting techniques, so Dust and him agreed to go another time, and since it was an annual event Dust could chose a date to travel back to and take Cross with him anytime.

- Before it starts, Dust began, it's gonna make quite a lot of noise so if it gets too much you tell me, I brought some noise-canceling headphones, he gestured to his bag.

Nightmare turned his gaze towards his boyfriend, they all learned a bit of English, enough to have small conversations or add some words understood by everyone when they talked in their native language. It was still nice hearing the different dialects though, especially for Dust.

- I will survive, Nightmare answered.

Dust smiled, he would never get bored of hearing their accent when they spoke his language, they had tried working on their pronunciation, but Dust had practically begged them not to, very shyly admitting he found those accents very endearing.

- I sure hope you will, he chuckled, try not to panic when it goes boom then.

Nightmare rolled his eye, though a faint smile appeared on his face.

- Dust, mon cher, I am not going pan-EEHH ?! He shrieked, grabbing Dust's arm for dear life, for a petard exploded next to him.

The kid responsible of the assault cheered at the noise, before rushing elsewhere to make some more noise. Nightmare glared at them as they went, then looked up at Dust who was very much trying to hold a laugh in. His face flushed with a teal color when he noticed he was clasped against him, and he quickly let his boyfriend go, embarrassed by his own reaction.

- ... Pardon...

Dust pat his shoulder with a chuckle.

- Come, it should be calmer over there, he lead him towards a bench, farther from people.

Nightmare followed, glad to distance himself from the group, and sat with Dust as night started to settle properly.

- It should start in a few minutes, when it's dark enough, Dust informed.

- What are they.. célébrer ? The noble asked.

- Celebrating ? Dust corrected, it's the day people took the Bastille, in 1789.

Nightmare frowned, quite confused as to why such an event would become a National Day.

- They took la Bastille ? Why ?

Dust straightened on the bench, ready to give a little class.

- There has been a revolution, he began, because, to put it very simply, the people were very poor, très pauvre, and they were mad that the nobles and clergy had a lot of privileges while they had to pay a lot of taxes, impôts I think it's called ? So they rebelled against the system and the Bastille was like THE symbol of the royal power, and it had weapons. Des armes.

Nightmare slowly nodded as he listened, he was aware the nobility had privileges, as well as the clergy, but to think it led to a complete revolution ? Things must have gotten really bad...

- Did they have what they wanted ? At the end ?

Dust winced, glancing to the side.

- Not really, well, they did for a moment, but other things happened and they ended up killing the king and queen. And many nobles. And later other people but that is another thing. They just cut their head off on the public square.

Nightmare felt a shiver run along his spine as he reflexively brought his hand to his neck. Imagining people's head being cut off in front of a public was... an unsettling thought. He was glad it wouldn't happen during his time, because himself being killed, he could handle the thought, after all he was familiar with near-death experiences with his childhood, but imagining his brother's head falling ? His dear brother being murdered for people's untertainment ? He couldn't bare that thought...

- But... what they celebrate today, it is more the end of a strict regime than killing people, he tried to reassure, seeing his boyfriend's troubled expression.

Nightmare looked back at him, his gaze having drifted away for a moment.

- Nobody will cut your pretty head, he smiled.

Nightmare felt his cheeks warming up, but still he sighed dramatically.

- Pourtant, hélas, my knight is not here to protect me.. !

Dust playfully answered with a bump on his shoulder.

- Hey I can protect you too ! He smiled.

Nightmare couldn't help but snort, amused too. He sure had changed a lot since they first met, and it felt nice to be himself without all those layers.

- Évidemment, je ne doute point- he got cut by a whistling noise followed by a loud bang.

He sharply turned his head towards the lake, and saw strange colorful lights in the sky, in the shapes of what he could only describe as snakes. Another whistling noise, more bangs, and more colors erupted, lighting the night sky in a wonderful painting. He had never seen anything like this before.

- What is it ? He asked, not diverting his gaze from the spectacle.

- Fireworks, or feux d'artifice in French... Dust answered, his own gaze fixated on the amazed face of his partner, beautiful.. isn't it ? He smiled dreamily.

- Yes... Nightmare slowly nodded.

He had seen so much wonderful paintings in his life, so much sculptures and murals and all sort of luxurious art his rank gave him access to, and yet if he had to pick the most beautiful piece, he would have chosen this precise moment with the sky lit up by all those colors...

Maybe this was worth cutting some nobles' heads off, just for this moment with his boyfriend next to him, looking at the illuminations... he never really liked them anyway.

[sephiquehearts]

Make-up tests !

Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

"Hey, I'll have to record something for a new colaboration with some make-up brand, Senju is traveling so, do you mind being my model for it?"

Just a nod was needed for Sanzu, your boyfriend, to be already pulling you to the room where he does his videos

Everything was already set up, he really only needed someone to try on the new make-up with him, and he had it now

Sanzu is always perfect while recording, he keeps a stern face and goes straight to the point, that way of him to act is probably what makes him have so many fangirls, and also why he somehow always finds a way to mention you on his videos, a constant reminder that he's taken

You were barely saying anything, just letting him do it, explaining everything while putting the products on your face, always squishing your cheeks to make you tune to the camera to show the progress of it all

It was kinda annoying how everytime you showed up, some comments would say how cute you twi are together but... most of them only talk about his they wish they were in your place

Sure, you're very aware of your boyfriend's popularity, but of course that was still uncomfortable to see

Sanzu seemed to notice you were quiet, but couldn't say what was the problem, so he would just keep talking and using the products, until...

"I don't think this blush is showing enough on your skin... let me try something else" And suddenly you just felt his lips on yours checks, leaving marks from the lipstick you didn't even saw him putting on by how distracted you were

He gently brushed it with his fingers and smiled satisfied, holding your chin to make you turn to the camera

"Unfortunately for all of you watching this video, my kisses are just for my dear to have, but I'm sure you guys can find something else to use this method"

You blinked for a second while looking at him, Sanzu keep doing the makeup like nothing happened, and you couldn't even tell if this was on purpose or not

Either way, it was enough to bring a smile to your face, forgetting everything that was screaming on your mind and focusing on his pretty face so close to yours and focused on his work there

He then finished it by once again putting lipstick on his own lips, and then kidding you to put it in your own lips

"All done" He had a satisfied grin on his face "You look even more divine like this, don't you think"

All you could do was nod while having such a big smile on your face, and as soon as the camera was off, your lipstick was all over Sanzu's face

"I think we should test them don't you think? See if they're kiss proof" You told him while sitting on his lap, his hands resting on your waist while leaving a gentle caress to it

"You're just looking for excuses to see me all covered with your lips, aren't you? Well then... I won't stop you, enjoy yourself"

And you sure did, every new mark on his face and neck wound make your smile bigger, and he could only look at you with adoring eyes because he was holding the most precious treasure he could ever ask for

tags — @puprdou @sweetcrunchygrapes

pink borders/dividers here

[astraeus-tree]

Disparities Between Our Souls

PROLOGUE - Someone I Have Loved, But Never Known

Retelling of this

Prologue -> Chapter 1

Lonely.

That’s what it was like in this manor.

It wasn’t forsaken, quite the contrary actually. It was full of life, many resided in this plot and many more visited, but those figures were strangers to you. Strangers whom you knew the name and face of, strangers whose secret lives were known to you, but strangers nonetheless.

Much to your misfortune, your father was one of these said strangers. Your only proper conversation with him was when you first moved to the mansion and were introduced to your father.

From the first moment you met him, you knew your relationship would be strained. After all, he didn’t even bother to pick you up with the butler when you were revealed to be his daughter. His public persona of a playboy certainly didn’t help this opinion of yours towards him.

Alas, your instincts were right. You barely saw him in the manor—in fact, you saw Alfred more than him.

What you didn’t realise at the time though was that your siblings would also leave you in the dark. That you would be a lonely person despite not being an only child. Excuses piled upon excuses whenever you tried to talk to them.

Dick was “busy with Bludhaven, he’s sorry he can’t come.” You envied him, he had good relations with almost everyone in the family and everyone connected to the Waynes or Batman.

Jason… Oh dear. He was your baby brother that went through too much, too young. He was your sole companion in the manor before he died, but now, your relationship was just as strained as it was with the other members of your family.

Tim’s time was taken up with solving cases or taking naps in the most random spots. You knew more than most that it was better to leave him alone to his own devices.

Damian had hated your very existence. Initially you tried but eventually you gave up, like what you did with the others, when you could see that harboured nothing other than hatred for you.

The only exception to this conundrum of yours was Cassandra. You two were finally forming a friendship after the barrier between you two finally crumbled. You weren’t close just yet, but it was getting there. Hell, you’re even proud to call her your sister.

Your upbringing was vastly different to your current life. You grew up with your aunt, your sweet lovable aunt. You dearly missed the simpler times when it was just you and your aunt, not with this ‘family’ of yours.

If you could, you would still be living with her, but the circumstances were not in your favour. Instead, you spent your days alone in a manor as big as the hole in your soul created by the loneliness you’ve been living with for the past few years. In fact, that’s what you were doing right now. Eating your dinner separate from your family in order to not felt left out, ironically enough.

You didn’t hate them, no. In fact, you held admiration for them for protecting Gotham and other cities, but when your auntie sent you to live with the Waynes in hopes to live a better and more social life, disappointment was inevitable.

Another day passes by in Gotham, nothing of note worthy happened during the day, and nothing that differed from the usual happened at night. Batman and Robin were on patrol, and the rest were doing their own patrol or dealing with other things, which you assumed were criminal-related as well.

You slept in the quiet of your room. The only thing seemingly out of place was the barely audible sound of small legs scattering on the floors. An anomaly in the usually clean and arachnid-free Wayne Manor. Not as if you would hear it though, after all, why would you be awake in the dead of night?

The pain that was induced to your arm was definitely a reason why. Your eyes snap open and although your mind was still half-asleep, you could tell that this pain was like no other. To make matters worse, lifting any part of your body felt impossible, like your flesh was suddenly replaced with lead.

Your vision becomes blurry, tears welling in your eyes as you suddenly felt the room get hotter and hotter. Or was that your body getting warmer? You couldn’t tell with everything happening almost all at once. Your breaths shorten and become shallow from not only the sudden fever, but also the overwhelming sensations.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see a colourful circle, oddly resembling a portal that people would see in movies, but you were pretty sure your mind was deceiving you. You definitely didn’t care right now, all you wanted was to get rid of all this pain and go back to sleep. You wanted to call out to Alfred, but he was most likely in the Batcave and something in your gut told you your voice wouldn’t reach him even if he wasn’t.

Your vision faded in and out, everything was swirling, even when you closed your eyes. You could feel the sensation of being pulled, but you had no chance nor energy to fight against it.

All too fast, yet simultaneously all too slow, your mind faded to black, the pain too much to deal with.

Taglist

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx

Finally done this oml. Sorry this is so short, I wanted to add more of the original idea, like introducing Miguel, but it didn't feel like it fit as a prologue so I cut it and moved it into the first chapter, which I will try to make longer

This isn't edited, so there will most likely be mistakes, feel free to point those out and I will fix them as soon as possible. I also don't speak Spanish, only English and Tagalog so if those two words were kinda cringe for all you Spanish speakers, just tell me and I'll remove them lmao

I was writing this through a writer's block and a splitting headache so I apologise if the writing is a bit sub-par

I'd also like to mention that this story will be a bit slower paced, so do with that what you will

Thank you all for the support in the OG post as well, that honestly made my week

Have a great day/night everybody <3

[keferon]

Don’t mind me I just like to see him go bananas about cartoonish Autobot rules

Maaan…..if Prowl was in tfp he would spontaneously combust at least once a day

[ulteri0rm0tives]

Ik that man is walking outta those 50 looong years of sensory deprivation not above begging for once Ik it in my heart of hearts to b true and y'all who get it get it and can

[kindaasrikal]

Batman and Ninjago are having too many similarities right now.

“You know Ras?-” which one “you know, the cult leader saying he’s trying to make the world better but makes it worse-” WHICH ONE

“Oh man i can’t believe Jay ran away and became some weird villain anti hero-” WHICH ONE ARE WE TALKING ABOUT.