#I was searching for her last month and this entire time she was just sitting in a box on the floor I happened to not check for some reason

[chimera-dolls]

Stars aligned and actually did some office organising and cleaning, and unearthed THIS from the depths of a box. I was absolutely CONVINCED she'd either been lost or thrown out between my big move back home and the last really big office cleanout.

She's a bit scuffed (the sealant I used was not MSC but some random art one I had on hand, I think I was 17ish or something and getting all the kit to work with that was out of the question - think that's part of why her lips have ended up so goopy/sticky) but actually more decent than I remember? G1 Draculara re-rooted with Mohair I dyed myself by boiling it in water and vinegar, added food colouring (vinegar helps dyes bond to the organic material). She's probably over 10 years old! It'll be nice to have a physical comparison with my current work, when I finally get started.

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 10

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael finally discuss where you stand with each other…and the feelings rooting around in your heart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I’m a people pleaser at heart, so here’s the next one a bit early! (you guys are great omg thank you so much!)🥹

My current outline has sixteen parts + an epilogue, so seven parts to go! Still undecided if I want to wait around for season two to see if I should pick it back up, or just end it (but I’m so attached to them lol)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap, mild angst, feelings, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, finally some comfort

not beta read

You felt like you had stared at the large red ENTRANCE sign for an hour, but it was likely only a minute. Your heart was in your throat. You still had no clue what you really wanted to say to Michael; nothing felt adequate enough. How could you translate the anger, or the steadfast longing in your chest without crossing them? Without forgoing one and letting it fester?

Did you risk it all on the truth? Did you attempt to find a middle ground in just a friendship? Or would it be better to decide to cut it all off before it got worse? Your stomach rolled uneasily, your anxiety working its way through your chest.

Stepping into the emergency department waiting room, you noted how much busier it was. Frowning, you thought to just turn around and see her PCP, call Michael and apologize. Surely, he should understand.

Your eyes met the registration clerk—Lupe—and she waved you forward, stopping all the thoughts in their tracks. She smiled as you approached.

You pulled the corners of your lips up in greeting.

“I’ll let Dr. Robby know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

You found a seat far off to the side, eyeing several of the other people warily. A good few of them looked far worse than you did, and all you needed were your stitches removed. Guilt worked its way through your system — you really should have kept your PCP appointment and just met Michael somewhere to talk.

It only took a few minutes before Michael was walking out into the waiting room, his face neutral. There was something flickering in his eyes, however, as they searched for you.

When your eyes met, they held steady — an entire ocean of things unsaid sitting between you, the last month of all the anxiety, the longing, the anger, the uncertainty, crashed into that waiting room. The room halted, and grew impossibly silent, your entire world centered on his brown eyes. It felt like meeting his gaze at the cafe all over again but with a knowing this time — just a shred of it, but it made your heart race.

Then he smiled and you finally relaxed.

You stood and walked towards him, ignoring the way several other people complained that you had only just arrived. His eyes centered you and you fought the heat crawling to your cheeks coming from his attention, overthinking each of your movements and trying to school them. You needed to hold onto some of your anger so you didn’t jump into the deep end too early.

There were still so many things you needed to talk about. So many things to figure out.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Robby.” You teased, though it came out clunkier than you had hoped and you internally cursed at yourself.

The corner of his mouth rose higher and he gestured for you to follow after him. You stepped into pace with him, side-eyeing him and trying to calm your racing heart. It was stupid that he could still have this effect on you, even when you were still a bit mad at him.

“Short notice is the name of the game in the Pitt.” He teased back.

Your nose scrunched, “The Pitt?”

He waved his hand to motion to the ER, “I call this place the Pitt. Affectionately, of course.”

You chuckled lightly, “Affectionately? Right, of course.”

He smirked, moving past the main desk and toward a room. The nurse who had helped you last time—Dana—watched curiously as you passed by. You tried to ignore the attention as several eyes glued to the side of your face.

You could see why the waiting room was so packed, there were no beds available in the back. Michael eventually gestured to an open “room”. The only privacy you would be afforded was a curtain. Heat crawled up your back, the kind of feeling where it was obvious you were being watched. You glanced back to the main desk, where several nurses had gathered, and Michael followed your gaze. When his eyes settled on everyone, they dispersed almost immediately.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a room—”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I need to strip.” You said offhandedly, “It’s only my palm.”

His face was red by the time you looked back at him, but he adjusted it quickly and smiled softly. You sat up on the gurney. Michael tapped on the tablet for a few moments, before setting it aside.

“Alright, let me see.” He reached into the inside of his hoodie to grab glasses out of his scrubs pocket.

The black frames sat elegantly on his nose and your brain short circuited. You stared at him dumbly, barely registering his eyebrow raising.

You swallowed thickly, “You wear glasses?”

He blinked, glancing away from your face, “I know, I know. I look like such an old man—”

“No.” You said quickly. “Distinguished. Intellectual. Handsome. Poetic.” Fucking devastating in the best way, in a way that could ruin any restraint I thought I had, you thought before awkwardly clearing your throat, “Definitely not old.”

His ears got red, and his lips gave way for a gentle smile to break through. His eyes avoided you, looking down at the tray table and fussing with a few of the instruments. He moved to get latex gloves on, and you had the fleeting thought that you preferred his skin on yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered huskily as he moved closer to you. He grabbed your palm and assessed it. “It’s healing really well.”

The latex felt like the heavy conversation that needed to happen, keeping you from being skin-to-skin.

“It’s still fuckin’ itchy.” You said, a corner of your mouth quirking up.

Michael laughed, “You’ll still need to keep it covered.”

You scrunched your nose at him, “I was hoping this would be it.”

He shook his head at you, “Not quite. I’ll remove the stitches and then apply some adhesive strips, which you should keep on for another five days. Then bandages will be fine after that.”

You let out a long breath, “Trying not to stretch out my palm has been hard enough for just two weeks. It’s my dominant hand.”

“This shouldn’t hurt at all, but let me know if it does.” He said, bringing surgical scissors to your wound. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be trying to grab knives as they fall.”

You frowned, but an eyebrow raised in amusement, “I’m trying out for a juggling competition. Riskier the item, the bigger the reward.”

He smirked, “Yeah?”

“Totally, but this one guy lit his knives on fire, so I think he wins.”

Michael chuckled lightly, beginning to cut away your stitches, pulling away the pieces. He was right in the fact that it didn’t hurt, but you felt the tugging at your skin that felt odd coupled with the wound itching.

“I definitely don’t think you should be signing up for any competitions for at least a month.”

You faked a scowl, “I suppose I could, on doctor’s orders.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. Neither of you moved for several beats of your heart.

“I don’t know if you’re busy later—”

“Do you want to—”

You stared at each other and each of your lips broke out into a grin.

Michael cleared his throat, looking back down to remove your stitches. “I don’t know if you’re busy later, but perhaps we could get together to talk? We could meet at a more neutral location this time, so you’re not uncomfortable.”

“Talking really wasn’t that great last time.” You said quietly, your stomach knotting together.

Michael frowned, a long breath of air escaping his nose, his eyebrows pulling together while he focused on the task. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

An awkward air swarmed into their space. You became painfully aware of the eyes again, and you not so subtly looked up to find Langdon hovering by a patient in the “room” to your right. A nurse was standing beside him and she avoided your eyes when you looked over at them. Averting your eyes, you tried to focus on Michael’s hands so the embarrassment wouldn’t creep in.

“I think we’re being watched.” You leaned just a bit closer to him, whispering as low as you could.

Michael looked up and then over his shoulder. He spotted the onlookers easily.

“Gossip hounds, the lot of them.” He told you, though not unkindly.

“We should probably talk elsewhere, then.” You said, “To clear the air, of course.”

“Of course.” He echoed, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Your place?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel—”

“No, I think it might be better than trying to have this conversation somewhere in public.” You told him with a small shrug.

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay. I’ll text you when I leave tonight and you can meet me there.”

“Just promise me something?” You ventured, trying to look into his eyes.

He looked back at you, “Anything.”

“No more hiding. Just honesty.”

“No more hiding.”

—

Michael’s apartment seemed much more daunting than it ever had, even the first time you had been there. The last time you had been in it, you had kissed and then you had fled. What might have changed if you had stayed?

You shook off the what ifs and got into the elevator. Tapping your foot to try to get rid of your anxious energy before you walked in, fiddling with your fingernails. You knew bringing in the nerves with you would suit you ill.

There was still a lingering ache in your heart and your stomach rolled. Realistically, you should have prepped more for the worst, for the “I’m too old for you” and “you don’t want me” or even “this can’t happen”, “I don’t want you like that”. It seized the ache and made it burn — shame, embarrassment bleeding and drowning the shred of hope that was trying to grow.

Knocking on his door, you held your breath. You felt your heart pound against your ribs and you rubbed anxious circles onto your thigh.

His face did little to quell your concerns when he opened the door. He invited you in with a sheepish smile, still in his scrub bottoms but with a new shirt.

You sat awkwardly on his couch while he went to get you a glass of water, desperately trying not to bounce your leg.

Michael walked back into the living room, setting down your water onto a coaster before finally sitting beside you. The silence was crushing, the only sounds coming from your breathing and the hum of the radiators.

“Look, I really just want to apologize for what I said to you. I hurt you and I’m really sorry.” Michael told you softly, and you met his gaze, but struggled to hold it. “It was—it was unfair. More than unfair to throw that in your face. I think very highly of you, actually, and the agreement just kept getting in the way.”

“Getting in the way?” You questioned, “Of what? What you thought about me? That I was just—”

“No, no,” he sighed, “It was making me second guess my own feelings. If they were real. If it was okay. I was getting painfully insecure about it.”

You gave a nod and a pause stretched between you.

“I can’t say what I would or wouldn’t have done without the agreement, or if I ever would have approached you otherwise. We likely still would have never crossed paths, so I have to at least be thankful that we did, despite the circumstances.” You said.

“I just thought—I thought it was one sided, until you kissed me back and—” His voice grew tight, “You ran. It only made me run further from my own feelings. I felt so guilty. I felt like a creep. It wasn’t what we had agreed to and I eventually thought that you were just entertaining me. That it really didn’t mean anything. I wanted to end it to spare myself the humiliation.”

Blinking slowly at him, you digested his words. Feelings. He had feelings. For me.

“I wasn’t entertaining you. I forgot about the agreement sometimes, too. I didn’t really know how to bring it up without sounding like an idiot. Or for you to think I was just being naive. I was trying to save myself the embarrassment when I ran, of it just being a spur of the moment thing or something that didn’t actually mean anything to you. Because it meant something to me. I really wish I did stay, but I can be a coward sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t. I mean…spur of the moment, maybe, but I had thought about it before. I got scared because it meant something to me, too.” He said, voice quiet. “But the agreement made me feel weird about it—”

“Yeah.” You agreed. “It felt like that for me too. But I kept thinking about it every day after that.”

“You’re young—”

“That doesn’t negate my feelings.”

He stared at your face, absorbing your words. “You don’t need to be tied down to an old man like me.”

You shook your head at him, “With or without the agreement, I’m free to make my own choices. About what I want. About…this. About you.”

He watched you closely, eyes flickering across your face. His expression shifted, just slightly, like hope seeped in, his eyebrows raising just slightly. “My life can be a mess. And I’ll be honest in the fact that you can do so much better.”

You frowned, “I won’t beg, Michael, you don’t have to—I—my feelings for you are all out in the open now and I won’t take them back.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rubbing his hands along his pants while he looked away. “I promised I wouldn’t run anymore, so…I’m here. I want to stay. I want to figure out what this is, or could be.”

A breath of relief exited your nose, before you took another breath to steady yourself. “I want to forgive you, and I think I’ll still need some time—”

“—and that’s okay—”

“—but I like this. I want to see where it could go.”

“...you do?” He asked tentatively, eyebrows raising slightly.

You swallowed, your throat growing tight. No more running. “No more agreement. Just two adults…trying to figure it all out.”

“Frankly, I don’t know where we stand without it…the agreement, I mean.”

“We could start fresh,” you offered, sticking out her hand and introducing yourself. Like it was the first time you were meeting.

He glanced at you hand and smiled, taking hold of it with his own, “Nice to meet you. My name is Michael and I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

An easy smile formed, “I’d like that.”

[ Next ]

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Me being Peter 3: I love you guys😭

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanon

The Crew Found Your "Emergency Snacks"

Captain Curly

Received a month’s worth of scolding, probably set a new record, until you broke out the puppy eyes. The man folded like a lawn chair

Your ego kinda hurt, tho

Confiscated the stash for ���safety purposes,” of course

But later, as you were searching for him, you heard that unmistakable crinkle

Turning the corner, you locked eyes with Curly mid-sweetener-binge, guilt written all over his face

You? Yeah, if murder was a look, it'd be yours. His spine shivered, rethinking how you rivalled his mama's look

"Look, I can expla--"

"Wow, cap, just wow"

Let’s just say… compromises were made that day to keep his “responsible captain” reputation intact

Co-pilot Jimmy

Stoic. Cold. Unforgiving. That’s all you saw in Jimmy’s eyes when he caught you

When you asked for him to keep his mouth shut, the co-pilot tilted his head, unimpressed

“Please don’t tell Curly!”

“Beg.”

“Wh—what?”

The audacity to turn his back on you and started walking away

“You had your chance.”

Next thing you knew, you were on your knees, clutching his pant leg like your life depended on it

“Please, Jimmy! Please, please!”

“Captain.”

“Wha—?”

“Say please, Captain.”

You left with your dignity in tatters, but hey, at least the stash was safe

Silently questioned his mental stability after that

Mechanic Swansea

You expected a lecture when he caught you: bulky, log-like arms crossed, face unreadable

Disappointed? Angry? Thinking about dinner? Who knows

You know you only had one way out:

“I’ll share.”

“Deal.”

Seemed easy enough until dinner rolled around, and Swansea casually claimed your entire portion of food

You tried to stand your ground, sticking your tongue out like a defiant kid, but he just smirked

“Cap, about that stock that disappeared last mont—”

He didn’t even finish before you scraped your plate into his. His smirk got bigger

“Easy there, Y/N. Dint know yer so eager to feed an old dog like me.”

Nurse Anya

Caught you mid-sneak with a mouthful of granola. Lucky for you, she’s a nurse. Unlucky for you, she had to Heimlich the oats out of your throat

You coughed up half a granola bar, wheezing your thanks while she doubled over laughing

“You can thank me with some of that stash,” she teased

You were so mortified that you actually stopped hoarding snacks… for about a week. After that, you couldn’t even look her in the eye without turning red

One dinner, the meal was oats. You looked like death warmed over just sitting there, your bowl untouched

Curly frowned. “You okay, Y/N?”

Anya, with the save: “Oh, Cap. Y/N has an oat allergy.”

You gave her a grateful smile. She winked. Meanwhile, Daisuke inhaled your bowl. Unfazed cause his second bowl is a gift

Intern Daisuke

The deal was simple: split the stash 50-50. But Daisuke never knew about your extra stash

When he found out? Heart. Shattered. The man had literal tears in his eyes

“Y/N, how could you?”

He stormed off like the lead in a romcom breakup scene, leaving you grumbling to yourself. But guilt eventually got you, and you chased him down

He whipped around so fast it was like a soap opera in real-time: one hand clutching his (Hawaiian-shirt) heart, the other thrown over his forehead like he was aboutta faint

“Dai, I’m sorry!”

“Words can’t heal this wound.”

“Fine, 75% of next week’s stash is yours.”

“…Aight, cool.”

All of this happened while the entire crew watched from the sidelines, legit done with both your antics (except a certain giggling nurse, who was very entertained)

Swandad claimed 10% of the share after his intern accidentally got caught. Y'all had another breakup scene, this time with you starring it

a/n: happy new year to y'all! hoping for this year to be kind to us ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

[finelinefae]

reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.

word count: 5.5k

contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff

a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!

. . .

Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harry’s confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.

It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.

Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game began—just him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.

He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth. 

His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parents—not that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.

A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.

"Remember what we worked on yesterday—don’t overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.

Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coach’s hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadn’t shown up yet.

The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exterior—Lionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.

Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the stands—the one he had been watching all afternoon—remained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasn’t sure how he’d play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.

The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the game’s start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.

“Go show him what you’re made of,” his coach said with a nod.

The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasn’t the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.

Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didn’t miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.

The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First set—Harry Styles to serve."

Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowd—a ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.

But this time, his breath hitched.

There she was, sliding into the seat he’d been watching all afternoon. Y/N.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell away—the roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionel’s smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.

A small smile tugged at Harry’s lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.

He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing. 

. . .

Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harry’s victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasn’t typically celebrated in his world—it was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasn’t his favorite part. Being around his friends was.

Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldn’t identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since she’d transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.

He couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarah’s best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwood’s social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.

“Hi, Harry.” He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. He’d only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldn’t resist mentioning it during their last phone call.

“Hey, Astrid,” Harry said with a polite smile. He didn’t mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didn’t feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunning—legs for days, an effortless smile—but their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.

“Congrats on the win. You were amazing out there,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Thanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,” he replied. He hadn’t actually seen her match but knew through their coach that she’d won.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,” she said, her grin widening.

Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught something—or rather, someone—in the living room. His heart skipped a beat.

There she was.

Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heels—an outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harry’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didn’t care. He’d been hoping she’d come.

His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for her—he’d admitted as much—but assured everyone he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harry’s chest.

“Harry?” Astrid’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasn’t quite approval.

“Oh, Y/N’s here,” Astrid remarked flatly. “I’m surprised after…everything.”

Harry’s head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. “One of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at her—apparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. “He what?”

Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Club—almost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.” She kept talking, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask something—maybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldn’t be sure.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mind—he’d track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didn’t bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t just open up if he asked. They weren’t even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didn’t like him at all. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, considering how they’d met—and the fact that he’d spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did care—more than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.

When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.

“I’m surprised you were willing to show up, love,” he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her that—it was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.

“Not so willingly, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. “I’m only here because Sarah wanted me to come.” She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.

“Excuses, excuses.” He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What did you think of the match?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. “You care what I have to say?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“No,” Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. “But I know you’ve got something to say anyway.”

She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. “Well, it wasn’t one of your best, that’s for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasn’t wrong—tracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.

“You always have such charming critiques, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Should I be worried about your career in commentary?”

Y/N’s replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldn’t last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?”

Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. “You’d be too distracted by my charm to focus,” he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed but couldn’t entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Right. I think you’d find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.

“So,” Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, “what else? What else did you think of the match?” He genuinely wanted to know—part of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.

Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. “Your footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, and—”

Harry laughed, cutting her off. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not. But I’ve watched enough matches to know when someone’s not giving it their all.” Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. “And I know you can do better.”

Harry’s smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the match anymore.

“Well,” he said after a beat, straightening up, “I guess I’ll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, “What about you?” He took a sip of his drink. 

She frowns, “What about me?”

“I haven’t seen you training recently,” He said. 

Y/N’s expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. “I haven’t had time.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think I’ve spent a day where I haven’t seen you on the court.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didn’t want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. He’d spent enough time observing her—dissecting her every reaction, every word—to know when something wasn’t right.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—not after everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Since when?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. She was right—he had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldn’t help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice softer now, “I’m not gonna push you, but if something’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that, right?”

Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exterior—a flicker of vulnerability—but it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Harry didn’t buy it, and he didn’t think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territory—one misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldn’t just sit there, watching her shut him out.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.

Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. “What?”

“I’m taking you outside,” Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of something—determination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldn’t quite name. “You need a break. You’re tense as hell, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. “Trust me. It’ll be good for you.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”

Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. “No promises,” he teased, already walking toward the door.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for her—for whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasn’t sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious,” Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.

She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in her—the tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasn’t fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.

They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/N’s form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasn’t just the way she played that had him captivated.

It was the way she laughed.

The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldn’t look away.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasn’t just the way she looked in that moment—it was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for her—he didn’t even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasn’t just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be better—he was infatuated with her.

The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldn’t control. There was something about her—the way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasn’t—bold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.

When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.

“You’re not half bad,” she teased, breathless from the rally.

Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I know. You should be honored to play with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

And there it was again—her laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for her—how much he had already felt.

They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happiness—and how damn beautiful she was.

“You’re good,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.

Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. “You finally noticing?”

He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinking—but it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’ve always noticed,” he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.

Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to admit it.”

The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so lucky—and so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.

Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didn’t want to hear but somehow feared.

She didn’t look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.

“Something happened... with my dad,” she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldn’t stop them once she started.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.

The air in Harry’s lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.

He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting her—let alone her father—lit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m angry, though. At him. But I’m not pitying you, Y/N. You’re... you’re strong. You don’t deserve that. You never have.”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting it—fighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

“I got a low grade on my report card this semester,” she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. “My parents think it’s because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didn’t quit. Not that I’m going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.”

Harry’s heart broke at her words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.

“Does he…” Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, “Does he do that often?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t the first time,” she said, her voice faltering. “But he doesn’t do it often.”

Harry’s eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldn’t control. “Y/N, he shouldn’t be doing it at all,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to push her further away.

“No man should ever lay a hand on you,” he added, his voice raw with emotion. “Not ever. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Harry,” she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. “And I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll deal with it.”

Harry’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. “I can’t just stand by and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in it—just a sad resignation. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I don’t want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.”

Harry could feel the walls she’d built between them—walls made of pain and pride—climbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldn’t force her to open up, especially not when she wasn’t ready.

“I’m not trying to save you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don't need help,” she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone to try and fix me.”

Harry’s heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. “I just... I care about you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. “I don’t need help but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let his gaze drop. “Alright,” he said softly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Y/N didn’t respond, and Harry didn’t push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say more—do more—make her feel safe, but knowing it wasn’t his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything.

“Want to go another round?” Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.

“I think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.” Y/Ns expression softens.

“Right” the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.

They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I don’t want you to look at me differently just because I couldn’t defend myself against my dad. I’m strong—it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. “Y/N, this doesn’t change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. “Good,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, “And you better win the final.”

Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.

For her, he’d do anything.

. . . 

Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveled—he just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.

As he passed Mitch’s locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldn’t resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, “Hey, love.”

She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, seriously,” Harry teased, not backing down. “You got something against me saying hello?”

“Not really,” she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. “But I’m guessing you’re doing it just to get a reaction.”

“You know me too well,” Harry said with a grin. “But still, can’t help it. You just look... irresistible when you’re pissed off.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a little—just enough for Harry to catch it.

He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herself—so confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.

"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "I’m so screwed."

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Taking Care of You

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women's Basketball

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: mentions of monthly periods

Summary: Paige's biggest moment in her college ball career and you missed it... and she’s ok with that

(It's that time so I'm in this kind of writing mood,be preparedfor extra saappy or heavy angst)

Reader's POV

It had been two months since I had last gotten my period, and I was beginning to think I was in the clear for a while. My period was always irregular—sometimes it was a couple weeks late, sometimes it’d skip an entire cycle, and sometimes it came in like a flood, heavy and relentless. I’d grown used to the unpredictable nature of it all, but this time felt different. I was just about to start to relax, thinking maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to deal with it this month... until I felt that first cramp during the second quarter of the game.

I froze for a second, glancing at Paige from across the court as she made an incredible play. Her focus, her poise—everything about her on the court made me feel proud. I wanted to stay and cheer her on, but the cramping in my lower abdomen intensified, and a wave of dizziness hit me hard.

"No," I whispered under my breath, standing up and trying to push through it.

But my body wasn’t having it. The cramps quickly became unbearable, each contraction of my uterus sending a sharp, radiating pain up my spine. I could barely stand, much less focus on the game.

I made the decision right then—I had to leave.

It was a struggle to get to the doors of the arena, but somehow, I made it, feeling the heat of my body flush with discomfort. By the time I got to Paige’s dorm, which I practically lived in at this point, I was in so much pain I could barely keep myself upright.

I stumbled into the bathroom, leaning against the sink for support as I fought to steady my breathing. The nausea was starting to set in too. My stomach felt like it was being twisted, and I had the sudden urge to curl up into a ball.

I grabbed my phone, hoping to text Paige to let her know what had happened, but the moment my fingers touched the screen, I was overwhelmed by another wave of pain. I dropped the phone onto the counter, sinking to the floor and hugging my knees to my chest as the cramps kept coming in violent waves.

Paige's POV

The second half of the game started, but something was off. I’d scanned the stands after a particularly good play, searching for the familiar face of the person I loved. I didn’t see her.

Where was she?

It felt wrong. I had gotten used to having her there, sitting courtside, supporting me through every dribble, every shot, every win. And now, with the crowd roaring around me, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. I shook my head, trying to focus on the game. I had to finish it—there was no turning back. But the doubt gnawed at me with every minute that ticked by.

When the buzzer finally sounded, signaling the end of the game, I was relieved that we’d secured a win. But as my teammates high-fived and celebrated, all I could think about was her.

Where the hell had she gone?

Reader's POV

I must have passed out for a little while because the next thing I knew, I was being gently roused by a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, hey, baby... you’re okay."

I blinked up, groggy and disoriented, only to see Paige’s concerned face hovering above me.

"Paige..." I murmured, trying to sit up, but the pain in my abdomen hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Don’t move,” she said softly, her voice full of worry. “I’m gonna take care of you, alright? I’m here.”

I felt myself melt into her touch as she carefully helped me up, supporting me as I leaned into her. She guided me to the bathroom, where I could see her pulling the warm, steamy water from the tub.

"I know you're hurting, baby," she said softly, her hands moving to help me out of my clothes. "But we’re going to get you in the bath, okay? It’ll help."

I nodded weakly, too tired to argue, letting Paige help me step into the bath, the hot water easing some of the tension in my body.

"You're so strong," she whispered as she knelt beside the tub, her hand brushing my wet hair out of my face.

I swallowed hard, too overwhelmed to respond. I felt a pang of guilt—after all, she had just played in the game, a huge win for her career, and I was here, crumpled in pain, unable to even sit up properly.

“How did you do?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Paige gave me a soft smile, brushing her thumb over my hand. “You’re the one I’m worried about right now. But, we won. We kicked ass. I hit 2,000 but ended the game with 2,012 career points.” She said it with such pride, and I could feel the sense of accomplishment in her words.

But I wasn’t really focused on that. I just wanted her to feel as at ease as possible, even as I struggled with the pain and nausea.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to leave during the game… I just couldn’t…”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, baby,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “You’ve been through a lot, and I understand. It’s okay. I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Paige’s words had a magical effect on me, and I could feel some of the tension in my body begin to ease. I let myself relax further into the bath, feeling the heat soothe the cramps. But even as the pain started to dull, the exhaustion was catching up with me.

“You’re still my hero, you know?” I mumbled.

Paige chuckled softly, brushing her lips over the top of my head. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And don’t worry, I’ll be your hero anytime you need me.”

I gave a tired smile, reaching for her hand as I let my eyes close, feeling her presence next to me like a warm blanket.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice full of tenderness.

As I rested there, surrounded by her care and concern, I knew that no matter how difficult things got, we’d always have each other. She was my rock, my safe place, and tonight, more than ever, I was grateful for her love.

[woso-story]

Through Thick And Thin - Part Three

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The second Mapi pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, Alexia was out of the car before the engine even stopped. She ran across the pavement, her boots slapping against the concrete, hair sticking to her face from the Barcelona heat. She didn’t wait for Ingrid or Mapi, didn’t bother with anything other than getting through the sliding doors and to the front desk.

“Excuse me, where is Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, voice trembling. “She was brought in this morning—there was an accident. I need to know where she is.”

The nurse behind the counter looked up with a calm professionalism that only irritated Alexia more. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t give you that information unless you’re a family member.”

Alexia blinked. “What? No, you don’t understand. I’m her girlfriend. She lives with me. We’ve been together for over two years—por favor, I just need to know if she’s okay.”

“I understand, but you’re not registered as family. Without permission or documentation, I can’t release any information.”

The panic that had been simmering in Alexia’s chest erupted. “This is crazy! I don’t care about the paperwork, I just need to see her! What if something—”

“Alexia!” Ingrid’s voice cut through the haze, firm but gentle. She walked up beside her and put a calming hand on her arm. “Wait. Didn’t Y/N make you her emergency contact here in Spain? She told me once.”

Alexia froze.

Her mind reeled for a second, and then—it hit her. Months ago, when the team doctor asked everyone to fill out a basic medical info form. A “just in case.” You’d asked her if it was okay to put her name. She’d laughed and said, “Sure. Nothing bad’s ever gonna happen anyway.”

But here they were.

She scrambled for her phone, fingers shaking as she searched through old emails and scanned her cloud drive. Minutes passed—each one like an eternity—until she finally found it. A pdf. Her name, bold and clear, under Emergency Contact.

She shoved the phone across the counter with a trembling hand.

The nurse reviewed the document carefully, and finally gave a small nod. “She’s in surgery right now. That’s all I can tell you for now. I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until a doctor comes to speak with you. It may be a while.”

Alexia barely heard the last part. “Surgery?”

“She’s stable,” the nurse added quickly. “But we don’t have more information yet.”

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was. But at least it was something.

The three women moved to the waiting area, and for a while, none of them spoke. Alexia sat down, but she was anything but calm. She couldn’t stop crying. Her hands trembled in her lap, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The fear was pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t lift. Her body was here, but her mind was still racing—through all the things she should’ve said, should’ve noticed, should’ve done.

Mapi leaned in, wrapping an arm around her best friend. “Breathe, Ale. You have to breathe.”

“I can’t,” Alexia gasped. “I can’t stop thinking—what if—what if she doesn’t…”

“She will,” Mapi said quickly, even if her voice wasn’t entirely confident. “She will. She’s strong. You know that.”

Ingrid stood, silently walking outside. She didn’t say anything, but she knew what needed to be done. She called the team first. Then your family. One by one. Her voice stayed calm, but her hands were clenched the entire time.

---

The world returned to you slowly, painfully.

You blinked against the harsh light, the ceiling above you coming into focus through the haze. Your head throbbed. Your body ached. And your leg..

You tried to sit up but a sharp jolt of pain froze you in place. You cried out, breath catching in your throat.

Your eyes darted down.

Bandages. A cast. Your leg—immobile, elevated, swollen and bruised, wrapped tightly from mid-thigh down.

Where was Alexia?

You were alone.

The panic rushed in immediately.

You needed her. Her voice. Her presence. The way she always made you feel like everything would be okay, even when the world fell apart.

“Alexia…” you whimpered, your voice weak and dry.

Moments later, the door opened. A doctor stepped inside, followed by a nurse. He looked young. Kind eyes. But you didn’t care.

“Where is Alexia?” you croaked. “Please.. I need her.”

The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse, then nodded. “You’ve been in an accident. A car hit you. You’re safe now, stable. You were in surgery—”

“Where is she?” you said again, more urgently.

The nurse softened. “She’s here. She’s been waiting for you. We’ll bring her in now.”

Alexia was on her feet before the doctor even finished calling your name. She bolted toward him, eyes wide and desperate.

“She’s awake?” she asked, not waiting for permission. “Can I see her?”

“She’s asking for you,” the doctor said gently.

That was all Alexia needed.

She followed him down the hall, Mapi and Ingrid behind her. Her heart was pounding as they reached your room. The moment she saw you—small, bruised, tangled in IV lines and bandages—her legs almost gave out.

You looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and the moment your gaze met hers, Alexia fell apart all over again.

She rushed to your side, carefully taking your hand—the one that wasn’t wrapped in a splint—and kissed your fingers. “I’m here,” she whispered, tears falling freely. “I’m here, mi amor.”

You clung to her hand, grounding yourself in her presence as the doctor explained everything.

“You suffered two fractures in your right leg—one in the femur, one just below the knee. We performed surgery to stabilize it. You also have two fractured ribs, a bruised arm, and minor concussion. Thankfully, your helmet protected you from something worse. You’re lucky.”

You stared at him in stunned silence, your body stiff.

“Will I… can I still play?” you asked quietly.

The doctor paused. His expression shifted—empathetic, but unsure.

“We’ll have to wait and see how your healing progresses. There’s a chance, yes. But there’s also a possibility that you won’t return to professional football. It’s too early to know.”

The words hit you harder than the car ever did.

You looked at your leg, at the cast, at the machines around you—and everything felt like it was crashing down.

Football was your life. Your identity. Your purpose.

You broke down, sobbing, and Alexia moved closer immediately. She leaned over, pressing her lips gently to your forehead.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Together. Like we always do.”

You wanted to believe her. You really did.

But the doubt had already taken root.

[c-monthecob]

Baji Headcanons Pt. 2!

Since people seemed to like the first (didn't expect that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Most of these are of him being a mama's boy

⚝ When people don't want him to know something, they'll spell it out

⚝ Grew out his hair to look more like his momma ❤️

⚝ Refused to sleep in his own bed until he was 8 and shared a bed with his mom. He wasn't afraid of the dark or anything. He just wanted to sleep with her

⚝ His love for yakisoba came from times when it was all his mom could afford.

⚝ He lets Mana and Luna braid his hair and put hair clips in it.

⚝ Accidentally cursed in front of a parakeet, and it repeated it over and over. (He blamed it on Chifuyu)

⚝ Tried to get his mom's name tattooed, but he spelled it wrong. Chifuyu pointed it out before he could do it.

⚝ When Peke J passed, he and Chifuyu held a funeral and made everyone attend. A real casket, flowers, suits, the whole thing

⚝ Most of his hygiene products are things he takes from his mom.

⚝  If he’s bored, he’ll just punch the nearest Toman member and yell, "Fight me!" Even if they weren’t doing anything.

⚝ He'll misbehave everywhere but the zoo. He's terrified of getting banned for life.

⚝ The only one who willingly trains with Kakucho

⚝ He likes to steal shopping carts and race down the street in them.

⚝ He talks his mother's ear off daily. She'll hide inside the bathroom from him, but he'll sit outside the door and keep talking.

⚝ His mom is the only one who can touch his hair. Mainly because if he tries to stop her she'll guilt trip him by saying, "I spent nine months making this hair. I can touch it if I want!"

⚝ He once convinced her to get on his bike, and she screamed the entire time while clutching onto him for dear life.

⚝ Tried keeping his manga in a lock box to hide them from his mom, but forgot the code.

⚝ Fully believed that he could land on his feet like a cat and jumped from his window to prove it. (He could not)

⚝ He had a nightmare that he was deathly allergic to cats.

⚝ Went on a rant about how Flynn didn't need to cut Rapunzel's hair so damn short.

⚝ Makes a concerning number of fatherless jokes. At one point, you'll start to wonder if he's still joking.

⚝ He wakes up with a new bruise or scar almost every day. He doesn't know how or why they got there.

⚝ Takemichi gave him a puzzle as a birthday gift, and he asked if he was insulting him.

⚝ Searches his mother's room head to toe for snacks he knows she's hiding for herself

⚝ One of those customers with IT support. "It's telling me to reset my computer. What do I do now?"

⚝ His mom got him books for Christmas as a punishment for failing all his classes.

⚝ He's not allowed near the grill at cookouts, and someone has to guard the lighter fluid the whole time.

⚝ At the reception of Emma and Draken's wedding, he volunteered to give a speech. Thirty seconds in, it took three people to rip the mic out of his hands. (He wasn't allowed to give speeches at any other important events.)

⚝ Acts like his mother is the child when she doesn't come home on time. He'll call her and be like, "Oh, you must think you're grown." "I don't remember saying you could be out this late." And when she comes home, he interrogates her about who she was with.

⚝ She took too long to come home from the store, and he was convinced she had been abducted or was dead.

⚝ His mom didn't touch a single thing in his room after he passed. His bed was still unmade, magazines scattered all over the floor, and crumbled homework on his desk. She couldn't bring herself to touch anything.

⚝ She dressed him for his funeral and did his hair.

⚝ When she noticed a black cat hanging around his balcony, she'd feed and pet it. She likes to think it's Baji paying her a little visit.

⚝ She picked up extra shifts to get out of the house more. She can't stand the continuous silence.

⚝ The last time she saw him, she had a bad feeling that night but didn’t say anything. Instead, she just told him, "Be careful and come home soon." He smiled at her and said, "Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll be back."

⚝ She would find herself making portions big enough for two, setting the table for him, and making the food he likes, but she doesn't.

[quietstormxr]

Inconsequential

Bodhi Durran x reader

Summary: Bodhi tries to comfort you after you're left feeling inadequate.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Feelings of low self worth and mentions of depression, no real spoilers, Angst/Comfort

Just a little something for Bodhi Week, because we couldn't leave out our soft boy. (At least he is in my mind.)

“Did you see the way I took down Denton today? Seems like all those lessons are finally paying off.” You croon as you sit down at your usual table, directed specifically at Garrick and Xaden. They had been working on your sparring and you’d only hope they were proud of the way you handled yourself.  

Though it isn’t until you pick your head up from sitting down that your brows furrow. Searching the faces around you, Garrick and Xaden are still in a discussion and haven’t even turned their heads. No single inkling on their faces that they even heard you speak or noticed your presence at all. Imogen is talking with Quinn and Bodhi looks enraptured in whatever they are discussing as well. 

As you take in the scene around you, your face falls. This isn’t the first time that you’ve felt yourself passed over, but the way no one even acknowledged your presence had you shrinking in on yourself. 

Knowing the look on your face well, you get up, before even sitting for a full minute. Appetite entirely forgotten, you pick up your tray and head straight for the door. Before you walk completely out, you turn and look back towards the people that you’ve grown accustomed to calling your friends, maybe even family. Eyes meeting the table, you aren’t shocked to see that not a single one of them has even looked your way. 

Dumping your tray, you let your gaze fall as you begin the slog back to your room. You don’t let your head rise the entire time that you walk back. Failure making a home in your bones.

‘You need to speak up. You should never let them dictate your feelings about yourself.’ Dearmad huffs in your mind. 

There’s no reason to respond, this wouldn’t be the first time your bonded would berate you for your feelings of inadequacy and unimportance, and it won’t be the last. Reinforcing your shields, you continue until you hit the end of the hallway of the first years. Shutting out your dragon the only way you feel you can move forward.

Staring at your own door, you can feel the way the tears swim, there’s nothing less you wanted to do than cry. You’d cried more than enough for one lifetime already, but the walls feel like they’re caving in. The fortress you thought you had built around yourself shattering into irreparable pieces.

Opening the door to your room, you don’t even make it to your bed when the tears come in earnest. Your breaths become shallow, and your knees crash to the ground, the weight of being inconsequential settling on your shoulders like a immoveable force. You don’t try to move, you just let yourself curl in, the emptiness in your mind crushing the small seed of hope that had begun to grow over the last few months. 

If someone asked how long you cried, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. You didn’t even rise the next morning when formation came. The knocks on your door emanated, but you just laid there, staring at the beams that crossed your room. Limbs feeling heavy, you don’t move for the next two days. The force of depression holding your limbs down. 

A strong rap of two knocks makes one eyebrow raise. You try to think of who it could be, but there aren’t any names that come to mind. 

“Cadet L/N.” A stern voice calls from the other side of the door. 

You wince knowing that there’s no way to avoid this knock. Trying to comb your hair down with your hands, you walk to the door and open it to see Professor Devera and your wingleader on the other side. 

“You have not been to formation for the last two mornings, cadet.” Devera states, though there’s a softness in her eyes you’ve never seen before as she looks you up and down. “Though I can tell you haven’t been feeling yourself, have you?”

You look back at her in slight confusion, is your professor really going to let you off the hook? She turns her head and looks back towards your wingleader, the only thing you can be thankful for at the moment is that it isn’t Xaden. 

“She will need to have a punishment, as she did not come to command for leave due to illness. However, I believe we can limit its severity.” She finishes before giving a nod to both you and your wingleader and walking back down the hall. 

As you watch her walk away, you catch a glimpse of familiar black curls down the hall before your attention is brought back to your wingleader.

“Looks like it will be dish duty for a week, Cadet L/N.” Septon called as he walked away from your room. Though he surprised you turning around and giving you a small smile. “Next time, let your squad leader know and you can avoid it.”

With a small shake of your head, you pad back into your room and close the door softly. Letting out a large sigh of relief and dread. You don’t even get two steps in before the knock on your door comes, and there’s no doubt in your mind at who is on the other side.

Not wanting to go back to the world yet, you ignore the knocks and sink into your bed, pulling the covers over your head. The knocks sound again, sharper this time, but you just sink further into your bed and close your eyes. 

The dreams hit harder than normal, your mind pulling images of taunts and those who claim to care turning their backs on you. But when you watch your dragon fly away without you, you rise clutching your chest, your heart feeling like it may flutter completely out. 

Feeling the sweat drop down your brow, you rake your hands through your hair, pulling at the untamed mess. Knowing that sleep will not be finding you again any time soon, you take a deep breath and walk to the communal showers.

The halls are quiet now that it’s the middle of the night, but you still take the time to check your surroundings. It’s then you notice the note that was lying on the floor at your feet, the familiar sprawling script adorning the page.

Y/N,

I don’t know what happened, but we all need to know you’re alright. I’ll come check on you again in the morning.

Your Bodhs

You try to reign in the quiet scoff, but it’s out before you can stop it. You shake your head at the note, a wistful feeling leaving you knowing that its always Bodhi. 

Tucking the note on your desk, you head to the bathing chambers hoping to chase away the feelings that have settled over you. The threat of never being good enough biting at your core. As the water begins to warm, you will yourself to drudge up at least one good memory, one instance that will bring a smile back to your face.

When it seems impossible, you shower quickly and turn the taps off, needing some fresh air, something that doesn’t feel like the oppressive weight of Basgiath. Tying your boots tightly, you wrap your cloak over your shoulders and walk towards the clearing, hoping its empty since most of the Tyrs have already been assigned their help. 

As you walk through the tall grass, you let your fingers graze over the strands, the sound of them blowing in the wind bringing a soothing melody. Once you arrive at the familiar oak, you let your back slide against the rough bark and look out towards the moonlit sky and the slightly illuminated town in the distance. 

“Looks like Garrick is going to owe me, just like I thought.” The familiar voice floats over the light hum of the rustling grass.

Turning your head, you watch as Bodhi’s shape continues to come into view.  

“Are you stalking me Bodhi?” You voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it seems to have no effect on the man coming towards you.

“No.” Bodhi replies cooly. “But I do know you rather well, so I’ve been checking out here the last few days.”

Your brows scrunch in confusion at his words. 

“You don’t have to look so disbelieving.” Bodhi continues as he finally sits down next to you, long legs sprawled out and hands resting behind. “I saw the look you gave everyone before dumping your dinner and bolting.”

Your brows now rise in surprise at Bodhi’s revelation. For months you’d been feeling like an outsider in the group, a mere spectator to the stellar show that everyone else provided in the quadrant. 

“People do see you, you know. Even if you don’t feel like it.” You don’t try to hide your scoff at Bodhi’s words.

“Please, if that were the case, then someone would’ve noticed when I spoke to them days ago.” You let the hurt leach into your voice, a bitter taste coating your tongue. 

Closing your eyes at your frustrations, they are startled back open when you feel a warm hand tug against your waist in a bid to move you closer.  “I did notice. And you’re right, you should be proud of the match against Denton.”

Your eyes flare as Bodhi continues to haul you closer to his side, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. 

“Surprised?” Looking into those chocolate brown eyes, you can’t help but admit to yourself that you were. 

“Considering you didn’t breathe a word when I was leaving - yes.” The statement said with a nonchalance you didn’t really feel.

A look of regret passes his face as he squeezes you a little tighter. “I wanted Garrick and Xaden to realize what they had done. But the minute you walked through the door, I regretted not kicking them both under the table.”

There’s no stopping the slight laugh you release at Bodhi’s statement and as you relax, you let your head fall to Bodhi’s shoulder. 

“Why is it always you Bodhi?” You can’t help the question as it leaks out. “Why are you always the one to breathe warmth back into me?”

A contented sigh leaves his lips as you both stare up at the stars. “I don’t know about warmth, but I do know that you should never feel insignificant. You are a treasure to this world and we would be missing too much if we lost your light.”

“Thank you Bodhs.” The words pass you lips on the smallest whisper, the feeling of warmth finally crawling its way back through your veins. 

As you watch the night sky with a small smile, you let yourself snuggle a little closer to the man that always makes you feel everything, except inconsequental.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor @nevermoresworld @nastylicious @iambored24601 @mysticalfuncollectorus @sadpieceofbread @alwayshave-faith

Divider: @empyreanevents

[chvoswxtch]

revelation

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: billy's questioning leads to more than one epiphany you weren't ready for.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, lots of angst, billy being the shithead he is

word count: 4.2k

a/n: I know y'all were big mad at me last update. I don't know if this one makes up for it or not. but...enjoy. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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Flickers of flesh colored light began to flash in your brain. It was as if each of your senses were rebooting one by one, your body slowly clawing its way out of the darkened abyss you’d been lost in. Murmurs of conversation and clinks of metal crept into your eardrums. While that sickly sweet artificial chemical taste lingered on your tongue, a dull throbbing was emanating from the back of your head. Trying to inhale a deep breath, a familiar strong cologne seemed to flip the switch of consciousness. 

“Ah, there she is.”

As your eyes fluttered open, you fought through the haze of disorientation, forcing your vision to clear. A blur of green approached slowly, and after blinking a few times, the fuzzy silhouette came into focus. Billy knelt down in front of you, a serpentine smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. 

Your bones felt like they were made of stone, but when you tried to move, you realized it wasn’t just a mental restriction, but also a physical one. Glancing downwards, you saw that your wrists and legs had been bound to the chair you were in with black leather straps. White hot rage struck through your nervous system like a bolt of lightning. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm the one tied to a chair here, asshole.”

Billy let out an amused chuckle at your sharp snap, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Just a precaution, darlin’. I've seen you in action, and I like my face the way it is.”

Narrowing your eyes in resentment, your lips were set in a tight line as you clenched your jaw while simultaneously clenching your fists. Billy’s eyes flickered down to your hands before returning to your heated glare, and he let out a deep exhale through his nose. Standing up fully, he grabbed a wooden crate to his left and dragged it over towards you. After sitting down on the edge of it and folding his arms over his chest, he gave a faint nod of his head in your direction.

“I need to know what you know.”

“About what?”

“Frank and Madani.”

Pure annoyance laced with confusion quickly creased between your brows, and your exasperation was evident in your tone.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Billy. That’s what this is about? I told you I don't know anything. Okay, whatever you and Madani have Frank working on-”

Billy suddenly cut you off, snapping his fingers before pointing his index finger in your direction.

“Ah, see, that right there. Madani and I don't work together. We never have. Anvil has a contract with Homeland, but my business is with them, not her.”

Billy paused for a moment, letting those words linger in the air. He searched your face for any flicker of recognition that would give you away, but all he could see in your expression was perplexity. And that you were royally pissed off. Either you had one hell of a poker face, or you truly didn’t know anything. He was determined to find out.

“And I haven't assigned anything to Frank in almost two months, because he told me he needed some personal time to take care of somethin’. So imagine my surprise when you tell me that he’s got some business goin’ on with me and Madani.”

Every word that left Billy’s lips left you feeling confused. It was like he was single handedly ripping up the pieces of what you thought you knew regarding this entire situation with Frank. The ferocity of your anger dulled slightly, becoming overshadowed by disillusionment. 

“I…I don't understand.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

In an instant, your brain began to replay every single conversation with Frank over the last two months, trying to figure out what you were missing. You could feel in your gut that the answer was right in front of your face, but you were struggling to figure it out, and it left you feeling immensely frustrated. Dropping your gaze to the concrete floor beneath your feet, your eyes darted back and forth, like you were reading some invisible text written in the cracks.

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

It’s personal.

Those were the key phrases that kept popping up in your head. They were the ones sticking out from the rest, and your foggy brain was relentlessly trying to figure out why. Closing your eyes, you tried to shift your mindset. You had to treat this like a story. You had to walk through what you knew, sort through the pieces Frank had given you, and connect the red string on the mental evidence board in your brain.

Thinking back to the conversation where you’d confronted Frank at his apartment about his strange behavior, you willed your brain to focus on what he’d said, and how he said it.

“He…he said he had a new assignment.”

Billy had been watching you closely, paying attention to the flash of varying emotions crossing your face. He could see that you were trying to figure something out in your head, and your words made him sit up straighter. 

“What did he say the assignment was?”

You remembered Frank looking remorseful as he sat on his couch, trying to explain the situation, but he had also looked…guarded. He didn’t maintain eye contact with you the entire time, which was strange, and when he did look at you, there had been something in his eyes besides guilt. It was a flicker of something you couldn’t decipher, because he was hiding it from you. Whatever it was, he didn’t want you to see it.

“He didn’t. He just said it was personal. He wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”

“What did he tell you?”

That feeling of frustration you’d felt during that initial conversation bubbled up once again, and you let out an irritated exhale through your nose as you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look upwards. Wherever Billy had you, it appeared to be underground. There weren’t any windows, and the fluorescent overhead lights were harsh, aggravating your sensitive eyes. You swiftly shut them again to block out the light, trying hard to conjure that memory of Frank once more.

But all you could see was your mother. The unpleasant glare above brought you back to a sterile hospital room, and instead of Frank’s deep voice, you heard the daunting beeping on the machines that had controlled her fate with their wires, and the struggle of her labored breathing. Her body had turned against her, stolen her time, but it hadn’t been able to take her feisty spirit. 

Clenching your fists, you tried desperately to escape the memory, but your mother had always been as stubborn as you were. The phantom feeling of the chilled flesh that barely covered the bones of her hand touching your skin felt so real and vivid, you didn’t know if Billy had knocked you out again or not.

Her familiar voice from one of her last good moments, exhausted with illness, but still melodic with whimsy, played in your ears.

“Can you force the tide to come back to the shore?”

A furrow of confusion had settled between your brows at her interjection, and you’d refocused your attention from the book in your hands towards her.

“Did they up your meds?”

“Ha ha ha, smartass.”

Setting down the book you’d been reading her, you smiled at ever present sarcasm, and you’d rolled your eyes playfully.

“No mom, I can’t force the tide to come back to the shore.”

“And why is that?”

There had been a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes, even though they were slightly sunken in and surrounded by dark circles. You had resisted the urge to answer literally about gravity and the moon, and instead let her continue with whatever point she was trying to make.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

She’d reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, and her skin had been so cool to the touch, felt so fragile, it had made your heart constrict in your chest.

“Because it comes on its own. You just have to be patient, and let it come to you.”

Patience had never been your strong suit, especially when it came to putting things together, or trying to figure something out. If something didn’t click fast enough, you would get frustrated and try to coerce it, to make it make sense, which usually never worked in your favor. It wasn’t until you stopped trying so hard and took a step back that you had your biggest breakthroughs. Clearly, it was a lesson you were still trying to learn.

“Y/N. What did Frank say-”

“Can you shut the hell up? I’m trying to think.”

Billy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips when you snapped at him through your gritted teeth, but he obliged. Letting out a quiet shaky breath, you resisted the urge to give into the emotions building up behind your eyelids from that memory. You slowly unclenched your fists and relaxed your jaw. 

Quit trying to force fragments together. Focus. Let it come to you.

Instead of rushing through the memories and waiting for the answers to pop out, you replayed them slowly, carefully analyzing over every frame, dissecting every word. Frank had been very cautious with his phrasing, but that wasn’t a coincidence. 

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

Madani gave me some intel. 

Madani needed someone she could trust.

“He said that he was helping Madani-”

Madani. Frank said he was helping Madani. Not once had Frank mentioned Billy. He had only ever said Dinah’s name. 

Opening your eyes, you slowly lowered your head, looking straight forward at Billy. He arched one of his dark brows, an expectant look on his face.

“Said he was helpin’ Madani with what?”

For a moment you stared at Billy in complete silence. Something wasn’t right. As soon as you had let it slip in your office that Frank was working with Madani, Billy had physically reacted. There was something that had flashed in his eyes, darkening them to momentary blackness. His voice was cold when he’d questioned you about it, almost…angry. You’d initially thought it was because he thought you knew something you weren’t supposed to about Frank’s “assignment”. 

But now you realized it was because he didn’t know about it.

“Why didn’t Frank tell you?”

There was unmistakable suspicion in your voice, and it visibly caught Billy off guard. He narrowed his eyes slightly, cocking his head to the side as he looked at you.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out.”

Frank hadn’t mentioned anything about what he was doing with Madani to Billy, his best friend. The man he served side by side with for years, had formed a brotherhood with, who he had considered part of his family. That made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a dreadful chill straightened your spine. He hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what was going on, but he’d at least given you something. 

Frank had mentioned owing Madani a debt, but he was loyal to a fault, and the fact that he hadn’t told Billy set off warning bells in your head. But Billy’s extreme reaction to being purposefully left in the dark was what set your nervous system ablaze with unease. 

The idea of Frank working with Madani without his knowledge seemed to set Billy off, triggering a volatile chain of events. He’d drugged you, kidnapped you from Curtis’ apartment, was essentially holding you hostage, and now he was interrogating you to figure out what you knew. 

One of Frank’s cryptic explanations abruptly parted through the lingering clouds of fogginess in your brain, shedding a blinding light on the most important piece that had been hidden in the shadows of your subconscious. 

“Oh my God.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper and shrouded in disbelief.

It’s connected to someone I know.

You remembered how Frank had stiffened when he’d said that, how his face had hardened to stone. His voice had been quiet, layered with an ominous undertone and barely concealed vitriol. He’d nearly morphed into a man you didn’t recognize right in front of your eyes, and it had made you shiver with discomfort.

And suddenly it clicked. Betrayal. That cold flicker in his eyes he tried to hide was betrayal.

“It’s you.”

Billy watched as the canvas of your face morphed into a portrait of realization and horror.

He visibly stiffened at those words, his lips pressing into a firm line, emphasizing the sharpness of his jaw. 

Billy. All of this was because of Billy. Whatever Madani had found, it was connected to him. That’s why she brought it to Frank. Little moments started to stand out in your head that made you wonder just how long ago Madani had planted the seed of doubt in Frank’s mind. Looking back, he’d acted strangely when you’d mentioned Billy’s name recently, but it was so subtle that you hadn’t even picked up on it.

But him being adamant about leaving you with Curtis, someone you’d never even heard about or met until yesterday, should've been a huge clue.

Knowing that what was causing the divide between you and Frank was none other than the man currently standing in front of you and whatever he had done, you were swiftly filled with an anger that turned your blood molten. Your disbelief and horror slowly hardened into a wall of ice, but your eyes were aflame with resentment.

“What did you do.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation, and the way you grit it through your teeth demanded an answer. Billy’s eyes showed no hint of remorse, and he made no attempt to correct whatever conclusions you were drawing in your head in regards to his character. He rose to his feet, taking a step forward to tower over you, staring down into the flames of rancor blazing in your eyes with a steely gaze of his own. 

“I made something of myself.”

His voice was crisp and clear. There was no layer of apology, no waver of regret. Whatever he’d done, Billy felt justified in it. 

His arrogance had always pissed you off.

Slowly tilting your head to the side, you stared up at him in clear challenge, your tone razor sharp and dripping with venom.

“Yeah? What did it cost?”

The edge of his mouth twitched at your taunt. Grabbing your wrists that were strapped down to the arms of the chair, he leaned forward, getting right in your face as he spoke in an aggravated tone.

“I wasn't handed nothin’. I had to earn everything I got. I had to make some tough decisions along the way, maybe did a few things I'm not so proud of. Empires aren’t built without sacrifice.”

One of the last things Billy had said to you that day in your office when you’d mentioned Frank working with Madani was that some secrets were better left buried. That choice of phrasing left you with a gut feeling that it wasn’t what Billy had left buried, but who. 

“But you didn’t sacrifice anything, did you Billy? No…you sacrificed someone, and it’s come back to haunt you. So who was it? Someone important to Dinah? Or to Frank?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Billy snapped, suddenly getting defensive. His dark brown eyes had eclipsed into pools of disdain, and his lips were twisted into a faint snarl.

“I’m not lettin’ that bitch destroy everything I built.”

Rising to his full height once again, Billy’s expression shifted back into a passive and more controlled one as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I’m gonna send Frankie an invite to do a little trade, you for whatever he’s got.”

Letting out a dry scoff, you shook your head as you stared up at him.

“You’re really more concerned about losing your wealth than your best friend?”

“If he digs too deep, he’s gonna find somethin’ he ain’t gonna like, and the war he waged on New York is gonna look like a fuckin’ daydream compared the nightmare he’s gonna bring to my doorstep.”

Billy’s words seemed to pour over you like a bucket of ice, your fiery rage fizzling into frozen perplexity.

“War on New York? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s eyes flickered up from the phone in his hand, meeting your confused gaze. He arched one of his dark brows, looking at you curiously. 

“Oh c’mon, you haven’t figured it out yet? You’re a clever girl. You didn’t put together the pieces I gave you?”

“What pieces?”

“The gift I left on your desk.”

The file. The one that had Frank’s name on it. You’d had a sneaking suspicion Billy was the one that left it, but you never asked him about it, or paid it any attention after your argument with Frank. A furrow of annoyance settled between your brows.

“I never read it.”

Billy seemed genuinely surprised by that, and also confused.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t my business, and Frank found it anyway and took it.”

He eyed you silently for a moment before slipping his phone back into his pocket and sitting back down on the edge of the crate. Billy cocked his head to the side slightly.

“He tell you how his family died?”

Immediately, you went rigid. A wave of emotions crested within you. The recollection of Frank’s vulnerability in opening up about his tragic loss was fresh. It wasn’t something you’d forget anytime soon, or ever. Hearing the grief in his voice, seeing the pain in his eyes; the worst day of Frank’s life was seared into your memory as deeply as the memory of your own. Billy bringing it up so casually incensed you all over again.

“Why does that matter?”

Billy let out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose at your defensive tone. 

“Did he tell you how they died?”

He repeated his words in a more firm voice, holding your heated gaze.

“Yes, you dick. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Instead of being angry at your insult, a smirk curled at the edge of Billy’s mouth. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, and it filled you with a sickening feeling of foreboding. 

“Pop quiz, sweetheart. Who were the three gangs the Punisher took out?”

Bewilderment wiped any lingering emotion from your face. Billy’s question seemed to send a shock through your brainwaves, causing a delay between it and your mouth.

“What?”

“C’mon, this is an easy one. You wrote an article about the guy. Who were they?”

Billy’s eyes twinkled with amusement under the harsh fluorescents, clearly enjoying knowing something you didn’t. He was taunting you, and despite knowing better than to give into his little game, your curiosity got the better of you.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the Mexican Cartel.”

Billy’s lips spread into a pleased smirk at your reluctant answer, and he gave you a faint not of his head.

“Good girl. Now, you had a uh, mentor, at the Bulletin. Ben, right?” 

The mention of Ben’s name sent a pang through you, but Billy’s sudden switch in topics from the Punisher’s victims to Ben gave you mental whiplash. He didn’t give you more than a second to react before he continued.

“He wrote an article a few years ago about a little shootout, ended in a massacre. Remind me, where was that?”

Anxiety shot through you, making every single hair on your body stand to attention. 

“Central Park.”

“And there was one survivor. What was his name?”

The apprehension you felt was evident in the way you lightly gripped onto the arms of the chair. You hadn’t known that answer when Ben originally worked on that article, but you knew it now. Trying to keep up the strong front you were putting on, you attempted to keep your voice even.

“His name was never released.”

“No, it wasn’t. But when he woke up from that coma and found out his entire family had been killed in that shootout, he sure as hell made sure that New York would never forget the one they gave him.”

Billy watched the way your expression transitioned from translucent coolness, to perplexity, and finally wary hesitance. Keeping his eyes locked on you, he slowly rose from the crate, stalking towards you, but instead of coming to a stop in front of you like he had earlier, he began to circle you like a predator. 

“Tell me sweetheart, who was there that day?”

“Why does that-”

“Just answer the question.”

Letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, you began to rattle off the details you remembered from the article.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the-”

Immediately, you froze. Billy came to a stop behind you, and you could almost feel the way he was staring at the back of your head intensely.

“And?”

His voice was calm, but you could detect a hint of amusement. He was enjoying this, forcing you to solve his little riddle. But this time, you didn’t want to put the pieces together. You didn’t want to solve this puzzle. You wanted to run away from it. 

“The Mexican Cartel.”

The words were barely a decibel above a whisper when they left your lips, but in the silence of the space, they seemed to roar in your ears. Your hands were now gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that your knuckles had gone stark white, the flesh stretched taut over the bone. 

Feeling Billy’s hands settle on your shoulders, you flinched, and he squeezed them roughly in response. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he bent down to speak directly into your ear.

“What’s his name?”

Billy was a master manipulator. He was toying with you, trying to get a rise out of you by messing with your head. That’s all this was. It was a cruel trick, trying to make you think that the man who had single handedly wiped out the three largest gangs in New York City was the John Doe from the hospital. The he was-

“C’mon, you’re a smart girl. I can see the gears turning in your head. You know his name. Tell me who the Punisher-”

“The Punisher is dead.”

The sharpness and volume of your voice seemed to echo around the space you were currently trapped in. 

“Dead, huh?”

Billy gave your shoulders another firm squeeze before letting go and appearing in front of you again. He looked down at you, taking in the way your eyes were wide open, your breathing had become ragged, and your nails nearly bled from digging them into the wood of the chair so hard. He knelt down in front of you, brushing your hair away from your face, causing you to flinch at his touch, which seemed to annoy him.

He ran his hand through the strands of his raven hair, pushing it back into its perfectly gelled style as he let out a deep exhale through his nose and glanced around absentmindedly.

“He should be. Shoulda died a long time ago. Hell, that bullet to the head shoulda put him down for good. But that stubborn son of a bitch just refuses to die.”

Shutting your eyes, you could see Frank in the cabin. The golden sunlight coming through the window, shining on his tan skin. His warm brown eyes locked on yours, making you feel like he could see right into your soul. The roughness of his calloused palms stroking your cheek while tucking your hair behind your ear. The velvet baritone of his voice echoing in your ears.

We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. 

I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started.

I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. 

It was there. It was right there. Frank had inadvertently told you the truth that day, and you hadn’t even realized.

Billy could see the revelation you’d had when you opened your eyes. He could see the evidence of the truth shining along your bottom lash line. You were so thunderstruck by your epiphany, you didn’t budge this time when Billy reached out to brush a stray tear away from your face.

“Nah, he ain’t dead sweetheart. He's been right by your side this whole time. And when he finds out I've got you, he’s gonna come for you.”

It didn’t matter what Frank had found on Billy. As soon as he found out what Billy had done to you, he was coming. But it wasn’t Frank who was coming.

It was the Punisher.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[v6quewrlds]

Can you plzzzz write something based off the new Alo ad song with Joe. Maybe y/n and Joe have been dating for awhile, their heading to his house when he decides to take the "long way home" just to admire her/he realizes he's in love/falling in love with her!

Btw I love your writes sososo much!!! Like have you ever thought about writing a book frfr? Kinda new here so not sure if you've ever talked about it but yeah <3

imagine taking the long way home with joe.

author's note⠀⁎⠀got so carried away writing this. i honestly don't think i have the attention span/commitment required to write a book lol. but this song is the cutest ty for requesting <3

Three short knocks on the mahogany of her front door echoed through the hallway. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest as she paused her frantic search for the last earring she'd lost amidst the chaos of packing. She rushed to the door, her pulse racing like it did every time the anticipation of seeing Joe caught her in its grasp. She took a deep breath, casting a quick glance at the mirror by the door before opening it with a soft smile and bright eyes.

"Hey," Joe greeted with a casual ease, a bouquet of white peonies in one hand and a bottle of her favorite wine in the other. His grin was as warm as ever, his blue eyes scanning the room, taking in the sight of her apartment in the throes of preparation for her short getaway.

She moved to the side, allowing him to enter. "Hey," she echoed, closing the door before turning to step into his arm for a brief hug and a chaste kiss. "You didn't have to bring these," she said, nodding at the flowers and the wine, taking them from him with a gentle show of awe.

"They're your favorites," he said simply, tucking his hands into his pockets with a shrug. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she was getting quite used to around him. She took the bouquet to the kitchen to find a vase, her mind racing with the excitement of the days ahead.

The apartment was small but cozy, filled with the scents of her favorite candles and the faint sound of an old Drake song playing in the background. As she filled a vase with water, Joe wandered in, peering over her shoulder. "You almost ready to go?"

She nodded, setting the flowers down. "Just gotta take the trash out. I don't wanna leave with it just sitting here. I'll take it on our way out."

Joe offered to do it for her, a gesture that touched her more than he could know. She watched as he took the bag, telling her he'd be right back as he headed out the door. As he turned, she took the opportunity to sneak a peek at him. He was dressed casually, a blue crewneck and worn-in gray jeans that hugged his athletic frame. His hair was ruffled slightly, as if he'd run his hands through it, a nervous trait which she found utterly endearing.

While Joe was gone, she took one last look around her apartment, ensuring she hadn't forgotten anything. Her eyes fell on the fridge, a collection of photos held by magnets. The newest addition was a polaroid of them in the mirror. Her camera was covering half of her face as Joe appeared to be mid-sentence. She couldn't remember what he'd said, but she could see the laughter in his eyes, the joy she felt that day reflected back at her.

They had known each other for a year and had been dating for four months, but it felt like forever. She couldn't believe how fast she had fallen for Joe, having been one heartbreak away from swearing off men entirely. Yet here she was, about to spend her precious PTO in his arms, in his house, surrounded by his life.

When he returned from tossing the trash, he found her with her back to the door, her hand lingering over the fridge, the photo of them smiling back at her. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Ready?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

She turned in his embrace, leaning into him. "Yeah," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Let me grab my things." She stepped away from the fridge, breaking the momentary reverie, and picked up her bag, her heart thumping against her chest as he held out a hand to take it from her.

As they left her apartment, Joe led her to his car parked at the curb. The car was a sleek black, gleaming under the streetlights, the seats plush leather as she slid into the passenger side. They'd had their fair share of fancy dinners and morning afters since they started dating, but there was something about staying at Joe's place - four days uninterrupted - that made this feel different.

On the way to Joe's, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was being unusually quiet. She tried to keep the conversation flowing, filling the silence with tales of her workplace dramas and the latest episode of the show they were watching together. Yet Joe's responses were shorter than usual, his eyes on the road as if it held secrets he hadn't yet uncovered. The only solace to her nervous mind was his warm hand on her thigh, a silent reassurance that he was still there with her, even if his thoughts seemed a mile away.

She turned her attention to the road, realizing they were taking a route she didn't recognize. "You're not taking me to some sketchy motel, are you?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Joe chuckled, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Nah, I just wanted to admire the scenery," he said, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her thigh. "If I wanted to kidnap you, I'd be a little more creative than using my own car."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Good point," she conceded. They drove on in the comfortable silence, the hum of the car engine the only sound between them. As they approached a red light, Joe took the opportunity to shift in his seat, turning to her with a seriousness that made her pause mid-sentence.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice trailing off as she met his gaze. There was something in Joe's eyes she hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that made her heart swell. He reached over and took her hand, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in a rhythmic pattern.

"I just wanna look at you," he hummed simply, his gaze roaming over her features like a photograph he was memorizing. She felt a sudden shyness bloom in her chest, the weight of his stare making her self-conscious. She tried to laugh it off, but it came out as more of a nervous giggle. "You're so beautiful."

Her face warmed at his words, and she playfully swatted his hand away. "Joe, the light's been red for ages. You're gonna miss it," she said, but there was no bite to her tone.

He didn't break eye contact, his expression earnest. "I know these lights," he said, a half smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "We'll be here a while." His right moved to cradle her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

Her eyes searched his, the playfulness in her gaze slowly giving way to something deeper. "Joe…" she breathed, not quite sure what to make of the sudden shift in their usual dynamic.

The light turned green, and her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. No honks yet. She couldn't hold back her laughter, breaking the tension. "Alright, you've had your moment, now drive," she playfully ordered, her voice a mix of affection and amusement.

Joe's smile grew, and he finally turned back to the road, his hand falling away from her face to its spot on her thigh. His foot eased off the brake, and they rolled through the now-green light. She watched as the scenery passed by, her thoughts racing with the unspoken words that had filled the car. The rest of the drive was spent in a gentle quietude, their fingers intertwined, the occasional glance shared between them speaking volumes.

When they arrived at Joe's house, it was a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of her apartment. Expensive and sprawling, it was a testament to his success, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a perfectly manicured lawn and a pool that reflected the moonlight. It stood alone on a hill, a good distance away from the other affluent homes in the immediate area.

He pulled into the garage and cut the engine, the silence enveloping them as the door rolled down behind them. She felt a peculiar mix of excitement and trepidation as Joe opened her door for her. She stepped out, her sneakers setting against the cold cement floor, her eyes scanning the room filled with various equipment and a few luxury cars. She couldn't help but feel a touch overwhelmed by the grandeur of his life, so different from her own.

"You taking it in?" Joe asked, his hand lingering on hers as he helped her out of the car.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "Yeah," she said with a nod, "just a little…wowed by all of this." She gestured to the garage, taking in the grandeur of his home.

"Still?" He teased with that deep chuckle of his. "You've been in here at least twice before."

"Every time feels like the first," she replied, a hint of awe still in her voice as her eyes fell back to his. She could feel her breath catch as Joe leaned in, his gaze never leaving hers, his thumb still brushing against the back of her hand. The air in the garage grew thick with anticipation, and she stepped closer, her free hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

"You okay?" She asked again gently, her fingers brushing through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. His eyes searched hers, a faraway look swirling in his baby blues, one she hadn't seen before.

"Yeah," he murmured, "Just…thinking." He stepped closer, his other hand finding the small of her back, pulling her into him until she was nestled against his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart against her own, his warm breath fluttering against her face as he exhaled as if searching for the right words.

"I love you." He said finally, the words coming out so softly she wasn't sure if she'd heard him right.

She froze, her eyes widening. She had felt it, of course. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, the little things he did. But she hadn't expected to hear it, not yet. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared up at him, her eyes searching his, looking for any sign of a joke or tease. But Joe's face was earnest, his eyes holding hers without a trace of humor.

She searched for the words she hadn't yet said out loud, the words that had been growing in her chest for weeks now. They felt heavy on her tongue, but she knew they were true. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. The moment stretched out as if time had paused just for them.

Joe's face broke into a smile, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He leaned down to kiss her, a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke of love and relief. She felt her heart swell, her hands coming up to wrap around his neck, deepening the kiss. They broke apart, both breathing heavily, exhaling together as if staring in a mirror.

"I've been waiting to tell you," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I didn't know if it was too soon, but I couldn't not say it."

She leaned into him, her hand still on his neck, her eyes searching his. "I've been wanting to say it," she said, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I just didn't expect it to come out like this."

Joe chuckled, his eyes shining with affection. "Well, I figured I'd make it a memory worth keeping," he said, his thumb still stroking her cheek. The silence that followed was peaceful, the only sound their synchronized breaths and the distant hum of the garage door motor.

She felt a warmth spread through her, a warmth that seemed to banish the cold from the concrete around them. "It's definitely one I'll hold onto," she said, her voice low and earnest. She leaned into his embrace, feeling the strength in his arms, the beat of his heart. It was perfect.

[dumpywrites]

Test Drive - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: “How does one incite a first kiss?”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, friends with benefits? but they only kiss

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: The idea of friends figuring out their feelings for each other is always so cute to me idk why >_<

Yoongi and you used to date once… back in high school. That happened due to peer pressure and the fear of missing out from not getting a prom date like everyone else. In fact, neither one of you had ever said anything about your feelings to each other, just a mere “do you think it’d be cool if we just date?” uttered by your friend on a random Thursday after school. It didn’t last that long as you agreed that friendship just made a lot more sense than relationship to you both. 

Fast forward to just a few years later, you were now a fully functional adult, at least that was what you’d like to think. The high school quote on quote friendship gang that you used to have, was now slowly divided by work. All of you were occupied by your own schedules, projects, side jobs, or simply, just adulting stuff. You were just glad you had a friend like Jimin who would take his time to organize random hangouts now and then, just for the sake of it. 

And so after not meeting for around two full months, all of your schedules finally lined up. It also happened to be the first time in forever that Jin introduced someone new to your group, a girlfriend. 

“Honestly, I thought you’d die alone.” Taehyung said nonchalantly. 

“Just because you were voted most handsome student that one time in college, doesn’t mean you get to say shit like this…” Jin said, clearly annoyed, which only resulted in laughter from everyone. 

“You’re just butthurt you weren’t the one who won.” Taehyung smirked and took a sip of his cola. 

“Cut it off guys, you’re scaring poor Wendy here.” You said, smiling at the girl sitting next to Jin. “Don’t worry, we’re not always like this.”

“She has to get used to it one way or another, she’s dating the most annoying one in our group after all!” Jimin said while snickering. 

“I swear I’m going to murder you all…” Jin groaned. The girlfriend next to him only giggled. 

“Man, I wish I wasn’t so single.” Nayeon puffed her cheeks and sighed. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon too.”

You nodded. “Relatable.”

“Aren’t you and Yoongi used to date though?” Jimin suddenly said. 

The guy who was only quietly sipping his coffee, suddenly straightened his posture. “I heard my name mentioned.” Yoongi said. 

“Oh my god… it was just silly thing we did to have a prom date!” You whined. “Right, Yoongi?” You looked at the guy, searching for validation. You earned a shrug from him. 

“I wanna know the details!” Wendy suddenly said with excitement. 

“We were both dumb and had never dated anyone before. It was more of a play date kind of thing.” You replied, looking at Yoongi again in hope that he would back you up. 

“I was the one who suggested it, the fomo was getting to me seeing Taehyung date left and right. Look at how that turned out for him though…” Yoongi simply said. The mentioned guy could be heard protesting in the background.

“I always wonder,” Nayeon tapped her chin in a comical way. “Did y’all ever kiss or something?”

“Eww, never!!!” You cringed, while the others laughed. “We dated for two weeks in total because just holding hands made us gag.” 

“Not gonna lie, I could picture it. The two of you would look cute.” Wendy commented with a playful smile. 

“Lord… trust me, we don’t.” You shook your head at her. 

“Hey, Yoongs!” Jimin called. “When was even the last time you went on a date?!”

“Contrary to popular believe I actually go on dates, excuse you.” The guy rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“I hardly believe that. We don’t need to count Y/N here, okay???” Jimin chuckled. 

And that was how Yoongi became grumpy the entire ride back home. He gave you a ride because your house was in the same direction and you were just too lazy to deal with the busy street on a Saturday night. The moment you stepped inside the car, the guy was already complaining. With some time to kill, you decided to stop at a drive thru for some ice cream and chit-chats. 

“They really need to mind their own business.” Yoongi said, still vexed. 

“I’m sure they were just joking.”

“Do I really look like a loser?!” 

“You don’t.” You quickly replied. 

He sighed. “Sorry, it’s just that it’s been a while and I suddenly feel self conscious.”

“Aww, Yoongi…” You cooed. “Is there someone in mind though?” 

“Not really.” He said with a straight face. 

“What’s it like anyway? Your ideal type and all…” You turned your body to face his side, lifting your feet a little bit. 

“Uh… I guess I like someone who has no filter and just chill.”

“What about appearance?”

“You sound oddly excited.” He side eyed you. 

“I’m just curious! Plus you never really talked to me about this and we’ve been friends for years.” 

“Hmm… let me think.” He tapped his thigh, wondering. “Nah, I think I couldn’t care less.”

“I find it hard to believe that…” You squinted your eyes. “Men are visual beings.”

“Do not generalize!” He eyed you again. 

“Is it someone like Minjoo? Cause I remembered her being very pretty.” You didn’t know why you were whispering. 

“That was such a long time ago.” He shook his head. 

“Hey, I heard that apparently your first relationship supposedly shapes your ideal type.” You shrugged. 

“So it’s you then.” 

Your eyes widened. He really had to say it with the blankest looking expression. The honesty of this man really blew your mind sometimes.

“Oh, shut up! That doesn’t count!!!” You protested. 

He only chuckled, clearly finding your reaction amusing. 

“Is Minjoo your first kiss?” You whispered again, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“This topic has clearly shifted from wanting to help me out to full blown interrogation.” He folded his arms and closed his eyelids. “No, she was not.”

You dramatically gasped. “The drama!”

“I think my first kiss was in uni and neither of us were sober at that time so it doesn’t really matter.” He scoffed. 

“Damn, I was gonna ask how’s your first kiss like, only for you to say that. I’m sorry, I guess.” You sighed with a teasing smile on your face. 

“What’s yours like?” He asked. 

“It was sweet actually.” You smiled as you reminisced through the memory. “Both of us were really shy and I think we kissed under a tree. It was some real k-drama shit.” You laughed. “It’s kinda embarrassing now that I think of it…”

“Must be nice.” He nodded a few times. “To be quite honest with you, I don’t even know if I’m a good kisser.” 

You raised your hand and high-fived him. “Surely that’s not something we should be proud of.” You giggled. “Like, how does one incite a first kiss? Hell, how does one incite a kiss in general???” 

“I’m pretty sure you just go for it, don’t need to think much.” He laughed. “Worst case scenario you get rejected.”

“This conversation started with me wanting to help you with your insecurities to then giving me an insecurity! Now I’m worried about my kissing skill!!!” You whined. 

“You think you might be rusty? If you’re rusty, then what am I?!” He grinned.

“Should we just practice kissing?”

The car suddenly went silent. It was no help that the radio volume was playing at almost the lowest volume. The sentence just flashed through your mind and you let it out without thinking of it twice. In your head, it would be way weirder to ask someone random or even someone you romantically interested in to indulge in the idea. He was your friend, a very close one too. He was in fact, just Yoongi. It should not be weird, right?

Yoongi’s lips turned into a big O shape. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“I mean, in what other situation can you just ask a person to practice kiss with you. Any other situation would be too embarrassing. We’re just friends that want to test something out!” 

“You sure it wouldn’t be weird?” Yoongi raised one of his eyebrows. 

“I think so?” You looked at him skeptically.

“No take-backs.” He warned you.

“Roger that.” You nodded. “Do we just… uh, how do we???”

Instead of replying, he just softly brought you closer. The space in between the car seat was making it a bit tricky, but his hand smoothly pulled you by the back of your neck. And your lips met, just like that. Both of you let it linger for a few seconds, before you felt his lips moving, so automatically, your response was to mimic his movement. 

“Stick your tongue out for me.” He said between the kiss. 

“Oh, you’re giving directions now?” 

You pulled back, smirking at him before leaning back in. You did as told and soon found both of your tongue dancing, intertwining with each other. You couldn’t help but to giggle every now and then, breaking the kiss as you did, but each time Yoongi would reach for your lips back on his. You could feel him smiling through it, maybe he wanted to giggle along with you too. 

After what felt like forever, you both pulled away, mostly due to the awkward angle making your back ache a little bit. 

“That was… something.” You chuckled, fingertips holding your lips as you still couldn’t believe what happened. 

“That was not so bad…” He breathed out and grinned. 

“I think so too.” You giggled. “It’s just kinda funny though, I’m sorry I kept laughing.” 

“It’s okay, it’s kinda cute to be honest.” 

Sometimes you hated how frank your friend could be, because this was the kind of stuff he just blurted out without thinking, and it was messing with your head. 

“So… what do we do with this information?” You looked at him, feeling your face flushed. 

“Nothing, I suppose.”

─

It was just a week after when you receive a text from Yoongi, asking if by any chance you were free after work. You were not sure what he wanted to say that was so important to the point that he had to tell in person immediately. You soon found out why. 

“I have a date tonight.”

He said, standing right in front of your door that you just closed right after welcoming him in. It was raining and the black hoodie he was wearing was slightly damped after running from the parking lot, adding to the dramatic effect. It looked like he was shivering ever so slightly, you just had the tiniest urge to hug him to make sure he was warm.

“Huh?” You gaped. “With who??? I didn’t know you were close with someone?!“

“I downloaded bumble a few days ago. It was Taehyung’s idea.” He cut your question short. 

You folded your arms, wanting to tease him but no words came up. You couldn’t exactly pin point as to why you felt almost disappointed upon hearing the news. “Congrats? You could just call me or text me.”

“What if I kiss her at the end of the date?”

Your eyes widened as you started to get some ideas. Or you could just be one hell of a pervert if that was not the case. 

“I need your feedback… and consent.” For the first time in a while, you saw nervousness in Yoongi’s face. He kept fiddling with the ring he had in his middle finger. He cleared his throat before popping a question slash offer to you. 

“Can we practice again just for a bit?” 

In short, Yoongi ended up ditching the date and spent the whole night making out with you on the couch. He never asked or mentioned anything about the alleged date afterwards, just silently watched the tv you had on as you leaned on his shoulder.

The first time was odd, but it was odd in a cute and endearing way. But the second one was intense. If you were giggling mid kissing before, this time you were holding down your voice, trying to not make any weird noise. When he bit your lower lip, did he remember the fact that both of you were just friends?

─

At this point you were both experts in kissing. At least in your case that was what you would like to believe. It had been going on for weeks and it was turning into a habit that you found yourself guilty on too. It was just too easy to keep coming back to him, asking the silly question. It appeared to be the same for him as well. He never refused. Kept coming back to you as well. 

None of you ever addressed anything, not that you thought it would matter anyway. It would be a lie to say that you didn’t enjoy this, because clearly, you were addicted at this point. You just could not bring yourself to stop. Any chance you get to be alone with him, your lips would find each other almost as instantly. It would always just end like that though, a kiss, a make out sesh. Never more, never less. 

With Christmas just around the corner your friends were starting to plan getaways, dinners, parties, and other possible options. You? You were just thinking of how to sneak and shower Yoongi with smooches. It was getting unhealthy and you were completely aware, but oh well. 

Came twenty fourth of December. It was snowing and surroundings were looking festive. With everyone having days off from work, it was decided that renting a cabin and spending the night there sounded perfect to all of you. 

Wendy and you were in charge of the Christmas tree, while Jin and Taehyung being the taller ones in the group, were assigned for decorations that acquired more height. Yoongi could be seen trying to set up the fireplace, as Jimin and Nayeon set up the food and snacks. 

“Done!” Wendy clapped her hands happily as both of you finished the tree with a star on top. 

“We should take a picture together with the tree!” Nayeon exclaimed. 

All of you started to scoot, preparing your poses as Nayeon grabbed her phone and put it on a table after setting the camera timer. When she ran back to quickly join the rest of you, you suddenly felt Yoongi’s arm coming from your back, pulling you closer to him. A big grin was plastered on his face. Normally, you wouldn’t bat an eye to that, you had been friends for years and years. So you weren’t so sure why it made you malfunction for a second when you felt his fingertips brushing your shoulder. Thankfully, you had enough time to look up back at the camera to make an appropriate expression.

Two board games and one boring christmas movie later, most of you were sleepy, if not a little bit tipsy. Taehyung started taking sips of Jimin’s coffee he found in the fridge, that was when you knew that man was drunk. While Jin and Wendy had already head upstairs to their room, Nayeon and Jimin were sitting on the carpet while you and Yoongi on the couch, with this weird gap between the two of you. 

“I heard the bumble dates went well.” Taehyung said, as he occupied the empty space between you and Yoongi. 

Your head immediately jerked to your left side, looking at both Yoongi and Tae. Didn’t he ditch the date? “Oh, you actually went to the date?”

Yoongi looked at you, with yet again another unreadable expression. He was about to open his mouth but the other guy beat him to it. 

“Did he show you her photos? The girl looks hot!” Taehyung exclaimed eagerly. 

“Our Yoong-yoong finally went on a date?” Jimin looked up with a curious smile. 

“Oooh, spill the tea!” Nayeon joined. 

“It was only one date.” 

You froze. So he did go to the date and he never told you a single thing. You were not sure how to feel or how to react regarding the news, but you felt betrayed. 

“She’s not a catfish or anything, right?” Taehyung asked, scooting closer to Yoongi. 

“She’s not.”

“Nice.” Taehyung nudged the man. “Are y’all going on another date or something?”

“I don’t think—“

“You better be!” Tae cut the guy short again. “Come on, you need this. You need to at least get laid.” He laughed. 

“Hey, maybe let’s not pressure the guy like that…” Nayeon said to Taehyung.

“Let’s just celebrate the fact that Yoongi just went on a date.” Jimin chuckled. 

You tried your best to not look like the conversation bothered you in any way. “Told you, you have nothing to worry about.” You said to him with a smile. 

Yoongi was only silent and soon the topic changed. 

The next morning you woke up very early, but most likely due to the fact that you could barely catch any snooze. You decided to make yourself a cup of tea and sat on the front porch, enjoying the cold morning air and the falling pieces of snow. 

You started getting teary. You could be still sleepy, maybe it could also be the hormones acting up. It’s about time of your PMS, judging by the date, but you were not certain. What made you so upset about? You should be thrilled that your friend who you wanted so badly to get his confidence back, finally went on an actual date.

Not even seconds later that your mind started to wander at a possibility of him kissing another person, then you started tearing up again. 

Sooner or later you needed to accept the cold hard truth. Jealousy was a knife.

“Isn’t it cold out there?”

You looked back, surprised to see Yoongi closing the front door behind. He took off his gloves and placed it on your lap. 

“It’s fine, the tea is warm.” You reasoned.

“I don’t feel that cold.” He said, taking the seat next to you. “Why are you up so early?”

“Could ask the same to you.” You said after putting on the gloves. It was slightly bigger and your heart raced at the thought. 

“Can’t sleep.” He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “You?”

“Same.” You realized you hadn’t looked him in his direction the whole time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

You were taken aback by the sentence, but still chose to look straight at the scenery in front of you. “About what?”

“The date.” He sighed. “Actually, I only went because I felt bad that we already agreed on a time and place but I cancelled on her in such short notice before. She actually turned out to be really nice and we hung out for a bit…”

You felt sick listening to it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, instead you just nodded along. 

“She asked me for a second date but I refused.” 

This time you looked at him. “Why? Didn’t you say that she turned out to be really nice?”

“That day after I took her home, we almost kissed… I backed away because out of nowhere I just saw your face.” He sighed, followed by a nervous chuckle. “She’s nice…” He looked away, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “But she isn’t you.”

What?

“Yoongi, I don’t understand…”

“I don’t either, but I can’t bring myself to kiss anyone else other than you.” He looked at you with a genuine expression. “Can’t imagine you kissing anyone else either, it kills me.”

It had been the same case for you too. 

“I actually feel the same way.” You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a huge weight lifted off your shoulders. “What does this mean for us now?”

He smiled, so wide that your heart melted seeing the sight. He took your right hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. You felt your cheeks warmed up, and a giddy smile curved your lips. This definitely was different from how you felt back in the day.

“You good?” He asked with a big gummy grin.

“It doesn’t feel weird like how it was when we fake dated.” You giggled. 

He smiled and held your cheek with his hand, while the other still holding yours. Midway through leaning in, he stopped and straightened his gaze at you. 

“I like you, if that’s not clear by now.” 

“I know.” You giggled, blushing. 

He quirked his eyebrow. It seemed like he was not too pleased with you not saying the magic words back to him. He might need to kiss you first to earn it and that was the idea that Yoongi could definitely get behind. 

Oh you could already imagine the chaos when your friends finally found out about this whole rollercoaster of a story. 

Thank you for reading! ❤

[spacexgrl]

Bittersweet ! 🎀

mdni <3 you’re here pt 4

series masterlist 💋

~ in which Ellie breaks up with you and you go a little crazy ~

ex! ellie williams x fem! reader , abby anderson x fem! reader

college au!

warnings: suggestive/ kinda smutty, angst, break up, cheating,cursing, toxic behavior, smut in future chapters, sexual themes<3 feminine and girly reader ,not proof read!!

taglist: pls comment if you want to be added! <3 @elliessweetheart @lonelyfooryouonly @vamp1reg1rrrl @autisticintr0vert @morphids @amsxdoll @addthespaghetti @mangoxxred

You couldn’t recall the last time you had such a good night sleep. The alarm you set the day before pulled you out of your peaceful slumber when Abby sneaked her arms around you from behind giving your tits a gentle squeeze. A small laugh escaped your lips as she wouldn’t let you out of her strong grasp as you tried to get out of bed.

“wanna shower with me?”

Abby answered with a simple nod and left soft kisses on your shoulder before letting you go. You undressed before her and made your way into the bathroom with her following your steps, taking in the sight of your beautiful figure damn..she couldn’t wait to fuck you from behind.

You let out a sigh of relief as the hot water hit your body, “here let me get that for you” Abby massaged your vanilla body wash everywhere, she made sure to accidentally roll your nipples between her fingertips and grind on your ass in the process. You decided to return the favor, grabbing on her beefy biceps, feeling on her built stomach lowering your hands past her damn V line dangerously close to her pussy but never initiating anything. “ Fucking tease” Abby rolled her eyes as she lowered herself cupping your ass as she picked you up pushing you against the glass door of the shower making your pussy grind on her hard abs. You lost yourself as your lips found hers ,your hands tangled in her wet locks while hers gripped on the fat of your ass, carving her hand prints on it. “fuuck Abby-!”

“love the sounds you make baby..so beautiful when you say my name”

you were putty in her hands, too weak to resist her charm..

just as you were about to ask for more you heard your phone ringing from your bedroom it was probably your best friend asking if you were skipping classes again…to yours and Abby’s dismay your intimate moment was cut short damn cockblock..but you made sure to get back to it as soon as possible.

You quickly dried yourselves and changed into some new clothes, you just threw on your favorite baby pink juicy couture tracksuit, some mascara and strawberry flavored lip gloss, “you’re so pretty baby” Abby said as she changed into her sweats from the night before, she didn’t really care for her outfit today because she had practice later anyway. A small blush creeped on your cheeks at her words.. She looked so delicious, you believed she could be wearing a trash bag and still look fuckable.

“i was about to say take a picture it’ll last longer but you probably saved my entire instagram profile already”

“fuck off anderson”

you bickered as you followed her outside to her parked car, she opened the door for you and got into the drivers seat. She’s such a gentlewoman. She pulled out of your driveway and searched for the nearest starbucks near you on her cars obnoxiously big built in screen.

“sooo what’s the deal between you and Ellie?”

you looked at her from the passenger seat, taking in her features her side profile is so beautiful you wanted to sit on her nose so fucking bad..catching a glimpse of her biting the inside of her cheek, thinking of an answer.

“ I drunkenly admitted that i find “Ellie’s girl” hot at some party months ago. Someone spread the word and now i’m her arch nemesis. I don’t really care for her it’s a one sided thing. Besides i never tried anything with you..’m not a homewrecker.”

she’s right, she never did. You remember asking Abby for help on one of your assignments since you shared a few classes so you met at the library the next day ..yes she had definitely had a few chances to snatch you away from Ellie, but that wasn’t her style.

That resulted in a big fight with Ellie why would meet up with her alone?? Are you cheating on me? Ellie accused you of cheating on her every time you interacted with Abby. You waved at her yeah you’re cheating , you greeted her back in the hallway fucking cheater , you just looked in her direction wow just say that you’re in love with her. It’s laughable that she’s the one that ended up cheating on you. You should’ve seen that she was projecting her actions on you.

Abby listened to you as you vented to her about what Ellie did. She couldn’t believe it. Ellie’s a fucking idiot she thought..Abby will definitely get back at her somehow. Should be easy enough if she’s already feeling threatened by Abby’s raw existence.

“yeah…and sometimes she acted like you’re the worst person in the world as if you killed her dad or something that’s how she made you look.”

you laughed at your own jokes while Abby pulled up into the Starbucks drive-in and ordered your usual drink and something to eat, she insisted to pay because you were too busy fooling around in your shower instead of having breakfast and it was her fault so she made up for it. “thank you Abby, you’re the sweetest” You thanked her with a wet kiss on the lips, the taste of sweet strawberries and you matcha vanilla latte lingering on hers..she made sure to take a picture of your drinks in front of her steering wheel, showing off the flashy logo of her luxury car,tagging you in her instagram story so you could repost it.

You gladly did.

“anything for you baby..”

a few minutes into your drive to Uni your notifications were going off uncontrollably. Abby smirked, eyes still glued on the traffic in front of her. Just as she expected.

46 missed calls from ‘Ellie Williams DONT ANSWER’

are you fucking kidding me

we’re broken up for less than 24 hours and you hangout with anderson

what the fuck

the fuck is wrong with you

did you fuck on our bed?

fucking answer me

pick up your fucking phone

busy fucking in her car now?

didn’t know you were a gold digger

be honest i’m better than her

she looks like she can’t fuck

i can’t believe you

anderson of all people

you just had to choose her

‘Ellie Williams DONT ANSWER’ is typing…

you put your phone on silent at this point , Abby scoffed as you read the messages out loud to her, mimicking Ellie’s voice when she was pissed. You were unbothered, you had a good laugh with Abby as you made fun of Ellie’s childish behavior.

Yeah she was definitely regretting letting you go…you almost felt bad for her.

cry about it 💋

you answered before blocking her number.

🎀

pt 5

[redrose10]

< Little Birdies >

Detective Yoongi x Female Detective Reader, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Some suggestive bits, mentions of violence, guns, injuries

I hope you like it and thanks for the request!

*******************************************************

“Your friend seemed nice.”, you mumbled after another sip of your coffee. The thought of the strange woman carrying her bra and underwear in her hands while she tiptoed out of the apartment you shared with Yoongi making your stomach turn just a little.

The shutter of the camera made a loud clicking sound. After making sure he got the shot Yoongi turned and smirked at you, “You want her number? You seem more interested in her than I am.”

“No thanks. Not my type.”, you scoffed.

“Mmhm…yeah I forgot…you like assholes named Hoseok that somehow forget to text you for days at a time and spell your name wrong in birthday cards that they give you three weeks too late.”

“Yeah well at least I don’t have a revolving door of different women because I’m a manwhore that can’t go more than three days without getting my dick wet.”

“Ouch…”, he said clutching his chest in fake hurt but still with a smile getting you to giggle along with him.

“Seriously though Y/N, you should dump him. You deserve better.”

“Like you?”, you playfully responded.

“Umm yeah, I’m a great catch.”, he proudly exclaimed before grabbing a few more photos.

You snorted in response, but deep down you knew he was right. He was kind, thoughtful, funny, brave, and on top of that he was incredibly handsome. You’d had a crush on him since his family moved in next door to you when you were both six years old. The two of you became pretty much inseparable while growing up even joining the police force together and getting an apartment to live in. You weren’t entirely sure of his feelings towards you and you were just too scared to make any move that could possibly ruin your relationship. So you kept them a secret all these years.

Yoongi took a few more pictures as a group of men walked out of the restaurant you had been scoping out for the last few hours before placing the camera on the back seat. “I think we got enough for now. Let’s get back to the office and search for any updates.”, he said putting the car in drive.

The thing was that you had no idea how much Yoongi liked you, he knew that he even loved you. It killed him watching you date guys who treated you poorly or didn’t care about you like he did. Even when you dated Taehyung who was actually very nice and caring and never did or said anything to make it seem like he didn’t love you, it still didn’t sit right with him. Yoongi always knew he could love you better, he could love you more.

He hated that he couldn’t bring himself to stay in a relationship longer than a few months because he always ended up feeling like he couldn’t fully commit to them since you were always on his mind. He hated sneaking in random women that he met in bars or through friends just to spend the night pretending that it was you moaning his name in his ear as he thrusted in and out of them. He hated that he could stare down the barrel of a gun like it was nothing, but he didn’t have the courage to really tell you how he felt about you. He dropped hints. He thought he was being very obvious at times. Everyone else could see it, but for some reason you never did. A part of him wondered if you did catch on, but didn’t feel the same way and you just didn’t want to embarrass him or ruin the friendship you guys had. The thought of that made his chest ache.

“Good morning Y/N, where is your other half?”, Jimin smirked while Jungkook giggled next to him. You wanted to say something harsh in return but you reminded yourself that they were good kids and just liked to push your buttons a little. They were rookies and were assigned to work in the same office as you and Yoongi. They were in charge of paperwork and smaller tasks, but mostly they just gave you and Yoongi a hard time.

The thing was you actually didn’t know where he was. He had a date last night, like an actual date and not just a one night stand. You fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home and when you got up for work he wasn’t there. The date must’ve gone really well was your first thought. Your second thought was that it must have gone so well that he didn’t even come home last night because he never lets you sleep on the couch. Something about it being bad for your posture so he always carried you to bed. It seemed like someone else had kept his attention.

Before you could answer the two men he came walking into the small office. “I was buying you guys some breakfast, but I guess I’ll just have to eat it myself.”, he said while purposely letting the large bag of food smack Jimin in the back of the head as he walked by.

“Caramel Latte.”, he smiled handing you a to-go cup.

“Thanks… did you forgot the —“

“Blueberry bagel extra toasted with extra cinnamon cream cheese.”, he smirked handing you the still warm bagel.

“Thanks Yoongles.”, you smiled already digging in.

From the side Jungkook mocked in a high pitched voice, “Yeah thanks Yoongles.” Jimin joined in, “Yeah maybe for lunch Yoongles can give Y/N some of his own di—“, he couldn’t finish because Yoongi had taken a half of a bagel and shoved it into Jimin’s mouth to shut him up earning a laugh from everyone in the small office.

Once everyone ate and and got their briefings and you and Yoongi were in your car off to scope out a new location that was suspected of being a mafia hangout, you finally took a moment to ask the question that had been bothering you since the night before.

“So uh your date went well I’m guessing…you know since you never came home last night.”, you slightly cringed at how petty and desperate you sounded. You weren’t his mother so you had no say in when or if he even came home at all.

“It was alright.”, he mumbled.

“Mmm do you think you’ll see her again?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Unless someone else want to go on a date with me instead.”

You smiled, but didn’t say anything else. Instead you turned to look out the window pretending you were taking notes. You missed the way Yoongi looked you up and down.

The truth was he didn’t really have any plans to ever see that woman again. As horrible as it sounds he thought that she could maybe be a distraction for a while, a way to get his brain to stop thinking about you every minute of every day. But for the entire evening all he could think about was the look of sorrow in your eyes when he told you about the date. And right before he was about to leave you dropped the bomb on him that Hoseok had broken up with you that same morning. He felt awful. He offered to cancel the date, but you begged him not to. He was miserable and decided to end it early. He stopped at the convient store and grabbed all of your favorite snacks and a cute little stuffed poodle to add to your collection of stuffed animals he’d gotten you over the years. But when he got home you were already sound asleep on the couch. Normally he would carry you to bed not wanting you to wake up sore, but you looked exhausted and his shoulder had been acting up worrying him that he’d end up dropping you if he tried. So he grabbed another blanket and tucked you in instead before placing a soft kiss to the top of your head and getting in bed himself so that he could get up bright and early and surprise everyone with breakfast in the morning.

You hated working nights. You were so glad when your rookie years were over and you could have first dibs on the more desirable shifts. But they were super backed up on paperwork and you needed a distraction. Yoongi was on another date. He wouldn’t confirm or deny if the date was with the same woman so you chose to assume it was a second date and in Yoongi world being lucky enough to get a second date with him is basically like a marriage proposal so you were feeling a little heavy hearted.

“You two should just tell each other how you feel.”, Jimin spoke from the cubicle across from yours after noticing you staring into space. “Yeah it used to be fun to tease you guys, but now it’s just sad.”, Jungkook added after popping a handful of chips into his mouth.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh come on Y/N…it’s clear that you two like each other. Childhood best friends that have always had a thing for each other, but were always too afraid to say anything in fear of ruining the friendship so they yearn after each other in secret while trying to force love elsewhere.”, Jimin snorted, “It’s a tale as old as time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s my best friend and there’s no way he’d like me any ways.”, you spat feeling a little irritated.

“Yeah…but do you give all of your friends big puppy dog eyes every time they walk in the room?”, Jungkook questioned which pleased Jimin judging by the smirk on his face.

Rolling your eyes you continued to type away on your computer without giving them a verbal response.

“And Yoongi has it down bad for you.”, Jimin said making you stop your actions.

They snickered back and forth knowing they got you.

Jimin continued, “Seriously Y/N, he buys you food all the time.”

“So? He buys the whole office food.”

“Yeah, but we get the stuff that was 50% off because it was about to expire while you get the premium fancy coffees and the hot fresh sandwiches.”

“So what? I’ve known him since we were kids.”, you shrugged, “I’d do the same for him.”

“Yeah well what about these?”, Jungkook said pointing at a bunch of pencils that were snapped in half on Yoongi’s desk.

“They’re just pencils…I don’t really understand?”

Jungkook laughed, “Yeah they’re all just poor innocent pencils that Yoongi has snapped with his hands because he was squeezing them so tightly in anger every time you get all flirty with the ballistics guys…uh what’s his name? Namjoon, yeah that guy.”

“I do not flirt with him. He’s just nice and has cute dimples.”

Jimin snorted, “Don’t let Yoongi hear you say that. I don’t think we have any room in the budget for more pencils.”

“Okay and like he actually took a bullet for you. I’m not sure I would even sprain my ankle for this guy.”, Jimin sighed pointing over at Jungkook earning quite the glare.

He did have a point with that one. You were both new at the time. You were closing in on a well known and dangerous drug dealer. A shot was fired and you froze. If Yoongi hadn’t acted quickly and stepped in front of you it would’ve hit you right in the forehead. Instead he took the bullet in his left shoulder barely missing a major artery. It’s been nearly seven years and he still hasn’t 100% recovered, still having pain from time to time. You’ve always felt awful about it but that was him just doing his job and protecting his friend, nothing more.

You shook your head, “That doesn’t prove anything. That was just him doing what he was sworn in to do.”

“Yeah well he also turned down that promotion because of you.” The sound Jimin’s hand made when it connected to the back of Jungkook’s head would’ve made you laugh at any other time, but instead his words kept repeating in your head, “What promotion?”

Jimin put his hands up in defense and looked at Jungkook., “This one is on you. Yoongi made us promise not to tell her and I do not want to receive the wrath of a man who can easily snap a pencil with one hand.”

Jungkook swallowed before nodding, “Well a few months ago Yoongi was offered a promotion to captain. But he uh…he turned it down because he didn’t want you out in the streets without him. He said no one could or would protect you like would so he declined it.”

“W-wait, he actually turned down a promotion like that because of me?” Both of the guys nodded but remained silent.

“I’m sorry…I um…I have to go.”, you mumbled grabbing all of your things. You felt sick and you needed to talk to Yoongi and make him go beg for that promotion.

You stood in front of your door for a minute praying that you weren’t going to walk in on anything you didn’t want to see so you took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Thankfully the apartment was empty. You were going to take a quick shower and then decide on your next move. But as you were taking off your shoes the door opened and Yoongi came walking in.

“W-What are you doing here?”, you asked shocked to see him home so early and also (thankfully) alone.

“Well last time I checked I lived here? Wow you must have a fever setting in.”, he chuckled.

“F-fever?”

He grabbed your hand and took you to the kitchen where he started unboxing the soup he had picked up for you, “Yeah Jimin texted me and said you left in a hurry because you weren’t feeling well so I got you some soup and some tea and some medicine and this cute cupcake because cake makes everything better.”, he smiled.

“Did you leave your date for this?”, you questioned feeling a little sicker by the minute.

“Uh yeah, but it’s no big deal.”, he said handing you a bowl of the soup and encouraging you to eat it.

It all started repeating over and over in your mind. The missed dates, the promotion, the bullet. You wondered how much else he’d given up for you.

“No Yoongi, you have to stop doing this.”, you said taking a step back.

“Doing what?”, he laughed, “Taking care of you?”

“Yes Yoongi! You can’t keep skipping out on dates and taking bullets and rejecting promotions. You need to start…you need to start doing what makes you happy. You need to stop focusing on me so much.”

He stood still and licked his lips. His hands were tightly gripping the counter.

“Peppermint or chamomile?”, he asked.

“What?!”

“Do you want peppermint tea or chamomile tea? I got both just in case.”, he asked again already reaching for a mug.

“Yoongi I don’t want any tea! Are you listening? You can’t keep giving up things because of me. I just want you to be happy. I want you to achieve your goals. I want you to find the woman of your dreams and spend the rest of your life together in love and stop worrying about me all the time.”

Yoongi was normally a very stoic slow moving man so when he moved so quickly that he had you caged in against the counter within seconds it somewhat startled you.

He stared deeply into your eyes, something he rarely did, “Y/N did you ever stop to think that maybe THIS is what makes me happy. That maybe I enjoy taking care of you. That maybe my dream is to have you close to me forever. That maybe I found the love of my life when her and her parents came over to introduce themselves to the new neighbors and she came walking up to me with cute pigtails and a gorgeous smile to give me one of her moms famous brownies. Did you ever think that maybe the day I took that bullet I didn’t just do it because it was my job…that I did it because I would rather die myself than have to spend the rest of my life without you. And the promotion? Sure it would’ve been nice. The money could’ve helped. But the risk wasn’t worth it to me. You’re all I need to be happy. I’m done trying to pretend that you’re just a friend to me. I’m done going on dates with other women pretending that they’re you. I love you Y/N and as long as I have you then that’s all I need in this life.”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until he reached up to wipe away at the tears that had settled on your cheeks. Those were the words you’d wanted to say for so long but we’re too afraid that they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

“I-I love you too Yoongi.”, you whispered before burying your face in his chest and feeling his arms tightly wrap around you to pull you even closer.

You had already felt a million times better, but Yoongi did what he did best and made sure you ate all of the soup and drank the tea. Then you guys decided to dig into the cupcake which you happily shared with him.

“Soooo how did you find out about the promotion?”, he asked before feeding you another bite of cake.

“Ohhh a uh some little birdies told me.”, you mumbled trying not to make eye contact with him.

He nodded, “Mmmhm I see. And do these little birdies have impeccable hair and irresistible smiles?”

“Well… you know…I don’t think the hair of these birdies really matters…and I really don’t think birds can even smile.”, you said trying to distract him, “And you should be nice to these little birdies because they’re the ones that helped get us together.”

He leaned in and gave you a long awaited kiss, “Jimin and Jungkook are still going to be on car washing duty for the next three months.”, he laughed before going in for another kiss, “Which is better than the crime scene cleanup that I originally had planned.”

“But I do have the nicest smile right?”, he asked when you guys were finally done laughing.

You sat in silence deciding to tease him a little bit.

“Riiiggghhhtttt?”, he questioned again with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Weeeelllll Namjo-“

Before you could finish the statement he stuffed the rest of the cupcake in your mouth to stop you and then breaking out into a big gummy smile that always had been and always will be the best to you.

[tenshx]

☼ boundaries ☼

➪ read it on ao3

✰ pairing: captain grant curly x reader

✰ word count: 5.4k words

✰ summary: curly finds that distance and time has done nothing to rid of the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with you.

✰ authors note: guess what gang,, i finally found the strength to finish writing this. 😎 I LOVE CURLY SM!! this whole story was him just basically being in love with the reader,, it’s almost 11 pm at night so there are probably errors, pls just ignore it till i revise.

Strange.

You haven’t gotten an emergency phone call for as long as you could recall. The past few months have been rather mundane, having the same clients here and there enter your office with the occasional new face that would eventually become a passing memory.

But you suppose it comes with the job of being a therapist in this rather small town.

You stare at the caller ID with blurred vision, mind fogged and voice scratchy from being abruptly woken up by your rather harsh ringtone blaring in your ear. You cringe at the sound— all too jovial and bright in contrast to such a gloomy and rainy evening. There’s a silent reminder in the back of your mind to set it to something more neutral, less frightening to the ears to ease your heart as you rouse.

With another glance at your bedside digital clock, you sigh— there was no excuse for you not to answer, agreeing to be on-call for most days at certain times. If they had only reached out thirty minutes later, you wouldn’t have to force yourself out of your nap.

Reluctantly, you answer, running a frustrated hand through your hair in hopes to release some stress. You quietly clear your throat, attempting to sound as if you hadn’t just woken up, trying to mimic a responsible human being working diligently instead of wasting their day away rotting.

Yet nothing could truly prepare you for the panic in your coworker's voice, her tone startling you a bit as you begin to sit up straight against the headboard of your bed. You don't even get a chance to speak, let alone say a greeting, before she’s bombarding you with a plethora of information that your mind could barely process in the span of a minute.

You try to slow her down; once, twice, before you give up entirely and allow her to speak freely, doing your best to listen and soak in as much as you could in your exhausted state. She’s blabbering about some urgent request they received for a patient that needed to be seen immediately, how this particular man was rescued from a stranded Pony Express ship that had been crashed years ago.

You’re intrigued now.

It had been years since you’ve heard that name, way back when the company had gone bankrupt and ultimately shut down with time.

It had been years since you’ve heard anything regarding that company. Last time being..

Then suddenly, she says a name, one all too familiar with you and you suddenly feel cold, mouth feeling like cotton as shock and disbelief set in. Your surroundings seemingly freeze, the air feeling incredibly dense as you try to ground yourself.

This had to be some kind of joke— they said he had been presumed deceased, his file eventually collecting dust in your cabinet as they ended their search for the Tulpar ship a long while back.

Somehow through the paralyzation, you manage to speak, but it comes out as a whisper in a voice you don’t recognize.

“.. What did you just say?”

She stops for a moment, hearing your almost skeptical tone, but eventually answers with a deep breath.

“Your former patient, Grant Curly. He was rescued about a while back and had been undergoing medical procedures and physical therapy. They gave him the green light to begin therapy for his mental state and..”

You don’t hear the rest as reality attempts to pull you back down, hand gripping your phone a bit tightly, trying to make sense of the situation. While he was your patient, you both considered each other friends rather than a professional relationship.

He came in quite often to confide in you about his passing issues; his family, relationships with friends, his job and education and the pressure that came with it.

His very last appointment, one that you remembered clearly— your last memory of him — he spoke about that very same ship he was stranded in, how he had a sinking feeling he couldn’t describe, how he was trying something new by dragging one of his closest friends into the delivery as his co-pilot.

You forget his name — Joe? Jerald? Jimothy? You shake your head. That doesn’t sound right. You do, however, remember how he mentioned that his friend was trouble, a convicted felon at his young age, and that maybe this would help him get a fresh start. A reset at life.

He was always so kind at heart, wanting the best for everyone around him. It was always a trait you admired deeply about him, a simplistic thing that picked him out of the crowds of patients admitted into your office.

You want to think more, remember Curly from the deepest part of your memories, but your coworker cuts your mind short of it.

“.. He’s different now,” she says and you hold your breath, not sure how to respond at this point. “At least thats’ what I’ve heard. I.. I’m not sure how to describe his injuries, but he’s not the same.”

Of course he wouldn’t be. What good could come out of being stranded in a dark abyss, especially with any kind of injury? His emotional and mental state had to be fucked up in some way.

But you don’t want to think further than that. You don’t want to vision your friend’s suffering.

“Okay,” is all you manage to croak out, not wanting to continue this conversation at the moment. You’re not sure how to cope with the news, how to deal with the resurfacing emotions that you thought you’ve overcome the past few years. Your stomach feels queasy and you feel your throat closing in.

You find that sleep doesn’t come easy that night.

⁂

You don’t know what to expect when you enter the office. The usual calm music doesn’t sound as soothing, the aromatic oils you usually set up first thing in the morning smells a bit more churning than relaxing.

They tell you he’s ready, a few rooms over as he waits for his scheduled appointment time. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time to prepare yourself, hands frantically grabbing your clipboard along with his updated file. Fourth degree burns, amputated limbs, damaged vocal chords, and several other injuries you couldn’t stomach yourself to read. They said it was speculated he crashed the ship, but his refusal to talk left the rumor unconfirmed.

Somehow, you don't believe it. He was in a slightly jumbled mental state before his departure, but it wasn’t enough for him to commit something so devastating and cruel.

You convince yourself twenty minutes isn’t time but fail ultimately. The past week since the news dropped should’ve been more than enough for you to process.

But it isn’t. No amount of time will ever be.

So with another shaky sip of your coffee and a final look of your reflection through your computer screen, you let out a deep breath before pushing yourself out of your chair.

⁂

You’re not sure who you’re staring at.

Maybe you’re dreaming, you had to be.

He was different, both physically and mentally — you knew that his burns and amputations were an incredibly clear sign he’d be basically unidentifiable, but you weren’t sure what you were expecting.

His one eye, the same vibrant blue you’d remember from anywhere, staring at you with a mixture of unfamiliarity and familiarity all at once as he looks up from where he sits. There’s a surgical mask covering the bottom of his face, a beanie covering his head, and a patch covering his right eye in an attempt to cover the damage done, but it honestly doesn’t do much. His leathery and irritated skin gives it away along with his amputated limbs, now adorned with prosthetics he doesn’t seem to be used to.

Then you realize you’re gawking at him almost, jaw open a bit and eyes wide in a way that could come off as rude. But you don’t mean to be, you’d never be — not with him. You’re horrified, a bit sickened by his appearance, not because he looks appalling and unpleasant to the eye, but because it suddenly strikes you that he isn’t the same man you’ve known for years.

You clear your throat and he tenses a bit, sitting up straight with his gaze still fixed on you. He’s almost like a puppy yearning to be beckoned, as if waiting for you to recognize him.

“I..” Your throat feels dry but you try to push past, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. “It’s nice to see you again, Grant.”

You haven’t said his name since he was pronounced dead, knowing that you encouraged him to depart, unaware that you were sending him off into his impending doom. An unfathomable guilt blooms in your chest, realizing that you were involved in the consequence of his current state.

He doesn’t stop staring, as if trying to observe you properly, his eye scanning you from head to toe before you offer him a strained smile, making your way to your chair. There’s a part of you that wonders if he recognizes you despite age finally catching up a bit to mature your features more than before, if he remembers the sound of your voice that danced with his during his sessions.

But regardless of your attempts to keep things professional, the words escape the proximity of your lips before you could push it down.

“Do you remember me?”

You can’t help but ask, voice quiet and hesitant, wanting to break the silence but unsure of how to.

He doesn’t respond at first and you believe you’re passing memory for him for a mere second, a drop forming in your stomach, but he spares you a nod and your eyes light up a bit. Your shoulders visibly relax and his does too at the soft smile forming on your face, his hands slowly loosening around the fabric of his pants. His eye then falls on the notepad provided for him as if he wants to tell you something, vocal chords still damaged and voice box still under maintenance.

So in response, you gently move the table closer to him, lightweight and cheap, providing him with one of your pens shortly after. You’re not sure if this is what he wants, but as he moves his prosthetic arm shakily to grab and scribble something nearly incomprehensible on the paper, an obvious sign that he was still working his way through his new limbs, you realize you’re still able to read him the same way you have before.

It takes him a bit to write but eventually, his hand retreats back to his side, him rolling his shoulder a bit in an attempt to stretch it. You pull the notepad closer to you, deciphering his writing to the best of your abilities.

‘You look the same. How could I forget?’

You blink a few times, rereading the same scribbled line before a small laugh leaves your mouth at the lightheartedness of his comment. Deep in your heart, you assumed he’d write something dreadful or heart wrenching, perhaps even something that you wouldn’t understand, but it’s something so simple and strange that it forces a smile out of you. It reminds you that there’s still a part of him buried deep despite everything.

“I’m not sure if that's an insult,” you banter a bit and he shakes his head as vehemently as he can, not wanting to give you the wrong idea.

With Curly— the most honest and selfless man you’ve met— you dont think he’d ever let you think otherwise.

He doesn’t say much after that, but he continues to stare, his bright blue eye almost piercing through you. You want to say more, you want to tell him how you’ve missed him terribly and the conversations you’ve both shared. How he’s made such a big impact in your life in such a short amount of time and that when he disappeared, leaving you behind, everything just—

Thirty minutes was all he had left of this session, all that his insurance was willing to cover. So with a deep breath and another smile, you sit straight and organize your papers.

You nudge the notepad towards him, “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears.”

⁂

Curly’s not sure how to feel about all this.

One minute, his life is turned upside down, him being the ultimate cause of his crews doom and the next, he’s being rescued from that same ship, a silent offering of a second chance at life.

One he doesn’t deserve, but was selflessly given anyway.

Recovery is difficult, having to navigate through the basics again, having all this unwanted attention at him. People wanting to interview him left and right, others looking at him with disgust while others look with sympathy and pity.

Curly’s not sure how to feel about anything, really. He’s not even sure if he’s even feeling or if he’s simply forcing himself to act human again despite being trapped in an endless void of despair — in a body he can barely recognize.

He’s lost most of his friends. Many of them refused to involve themselves with him for a few reasons; his sudden changed appearance being the first and him being the sole blame of the intentionally crashed freight ship being the next. As much as he wanted to keep them in his life, he knew he was far too exhausted to explain everything.

His family situation is a bit better, but with all their constant pushes to talk about what happened, to communicate with them, he feels a bit pressured. It doesn’t help that his mother cries in devastation almost every time she sees her once successful and perfect son in absolute shambles. He’s never made his mother cry in such a way, only with tears of pride and joy.

He’s not sure if he can take much more, every blow heavier than the last.

Then somewhere between the lines of recovery, his doctor brings up therapy, suggesting the same clinic you worked in, and he feels nauseous at the idea of seeing you. You’ve been on his mind since the moment he’s gained consciousness once everything truly settled, him valuing the connection you both shared more than most of his other relationships.

Curly instantly denies with a desperate shake of his head, realizing how afraid he truly was. He’s unable to handle another rejection, especially not from you, one of the people he’s held the utmost respect for.

His doctor tells him to sit on it, think it through, claiming how this would be a healthy outlet for him to ventilate his emotions to help him recover steadily.

He does for a few weeks, especially with the pressure from his parents, considering several options. He can either find a new therapist, resort to online therapy, maybe even confide in a support group, but he finds that he can’t stray away from the idea of seeing you again after all these years. The thought of him never knowing if you’d accept him or not lingers far more than the fear of rejection sitting in his heart.

For him, that alone was enough motivation for him to set an appointment, both relieved and terrified to see your name pop up in the system just like old times, his throat feeling tight at the thought of seeing you again.

Before he knows it, his appointment chases him faster than he could process the whole situation. He feels queasy as he sits idly in his assigned room, his hands shakily doing its best to pull on the fabric of his sweatpants.

He’s nervous, absolutely mortified, wondering if he’s made a mistake setting this appointment. A handful of unbearable scenarios begin to form in his already anxious mind; you staring at him in disgust, you leaving the room in horror, or him being completely wiped from your memory.

He flinches at that thought; he’s not sure if he finds comfort in knowing that he's basically nonexistent to you, realizing that he could walk away without any repercussions and allow you to live your life freely without having to explain his disappearance or if he’d be heartbroken, having to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t as valuable in your life like you were to him.

But as you walk through the door with a faint knock, your eyes wide and mouth agape, he feels himself shrink, yet there’s a blossom of yearning in his chest as he gazes at you with absolute desperation and awe.

In a flash of a second, every poor attempt of him convincing himself that things would be better otherwise suddenly diminishes into thin air.

He wants you to remember him, yearning for that once close connection you both shared before everything happened. A deep part of his soul hoped you were reminiscing the same way he was, recalling all the memories you’ve both built together as friends, despite Curly feeling something more.

Like a melody, his name escapes your lips, the soft, comforting sound of your voice almost intimate to him. He’d love it whenever you’d grace him with the sound of his name, feeling almost special coming from you.

When you take a seat close to him, the nostalgic scent of your perfume brushing against him, he almost forgets to answer your question.

“Do you remember me?”

Of course he does. He always has, even on the brink of death. Forgetting you would be a crime in his eyes— you were everything to him before he left and just maybe, his feelings aren’t as different as he sought it out to be.

The only thing that breaks him out of his trance is the defeated expression on your face and he realizes you might’ve hoped as much as he has. So with a quick and simple shake of his head, he sees your eyes light up and a smile form on your face and he realizes his feelings would never change for you, even if it was one-sided.

He also registers in a small span of ten minutes that he still needs a lot of practice with the new attachments to his body, his fingers awkwardly holding the pen, using all the strength he could to write something comprehensible at the very least.

Curly learns he’s a man of words, wanting to tell you everything but not being able to. He has this itch to express how much he’s missed you, how he's never stopped thinking about returning home and telling you everything like he always has, how you still hold your beauty despite the years coming, and how he'd finally confess and tell you he’s loved you for as long as he could remember.

But he settles—frustrated—with a simple message, telling you that yes, he remembers you and no, he would never forget.

He feels himself grow a bit breathless at your familiar laugh as you reread the paper several times, growing nervous at the sudden tension between you two leaving— as if he's never left in the first place. As if he was the same man you remember him as before all this.

The perfect Captain Grant Curly.

⁂

It’s almost as if a part of you is back home.

He sets an appointment almost twice every week whenever he isn’t bombarded with his physical therapy and checkups, just like he always has. Sessions are just as you recalled, the spark between you two still as bright as ever, but with his added trauma, bad days were definitely inevitable.

There were times he’d invest himself into the conversation, sharing jokes or simply just listening and replying in any way he can, and there were those moments where he wouldn’t spare you a word or glance, just wanting to bask in your company in his dampened state.

Even on his worst days, you don’t question him. Pressure was the last thing he needed and with time, you were sure he’d slowly open up.

He does, but scarcely, throwing fragments of his memories that you try to piece together whenever you could, wanting nothing more but to understand and help him. There’s an ocean of emotions in his gaze as he attempts to share his experience on the freight ship; fear, devastation, and panic filling his expression faster than he can pull it from the air.

So you tell him to take his time, that you’ll always be there, and that alone builds the comfort in him to return to your office without hesitation.

Recovery is easier with you.

It’s never been easier. For once, someone is on his side and he knew it’d be you at the end of the road waiting for him.

You always have, even before Pony Express, before anyone else.

So when he finally receives his voice box, finalized and complete to his liking, he finds himself rushing to your apartment, taking the next uber to your door. He’s aware it's late— you’re probably getting ready for bed, relaxing on your day off like you deserve to, but he can’t wait.

He wants you to be the first to hear his voice after so long into his recovery after offering yours for so long, his name so delicate in your mouth.

It’s nearly seven at night when he's at your doorstep, faint knocks echoing through the empty halls of the buildings as he anxiously waits outside, hoping that his appearance wouldn’t attract attention from any passers or your neighbors.

Yet none of that matters as he hears muffled footsteps coming from the other side, the silence allowing his anxiety to grow for a mere second before he hears you.

“Grant—?“ He hears you fumble with the door lock before the knob turns and you come into view, wide eyed and confused.

He doesn’t have the patience to properly observe you or spare you an explanation on why he's at your flat at such an odd time of the day. He knows he should’ve texted you like he usually does before ever meeting up, but it’s different.

This is different.

Your name leaves his lips in a whisper, riddled with emotion and a bit of static, cutting you off immediately. Advanced technology is fascinating, able to match his voice as much as he could allow it to be, the familiarity of it knocking the breath out of your lungs. You feel weak in the knees, paralyzed and overwhelmed at the sudden surprise on a random Saturday.

When you don’t reply, lips trembling a bit and expression full of emotion, he takes a step forward, wanting to reach out but also resists to respect your boundaries.

“I—,” he tries to break the silence, wanting nothing more but your approval. “I wanted you to be the first.”

You’re choked up, wanting to say something to him, but the sound of his voice that you haven’t heard in years drowns you in a sea of tears that begin to spill out. You try to wipe them away before they could leave wet trails down your cheek, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. It never does with Curly.

He decides that he’s already broken your boundaries by showing up unannounced, so he takes another chance, moving to envelope you in a gentle embrace, murmuring apologies, muffled through his surgical mask. You don’t shy away from his affection, leaning your head against his chest for a moment to collect yourself before inviting him inside.

⁂

Your apartment remains his safe space, unchanged and truly home from what he last remembered.

He slowly stops setting appointments and instead, shows up at your doorstep, a silent agreement between you both. It feels more private, more intimate, and he feels more welcomed here than the clinic you worked for.

He remembered the night before he left, flowers in hand and him laying next to you on your carpeted floor as you both stared at the ceiling, talking about the future and what he’d do after his final trip. He had mentioned resigning, wanting to do more with his life other than being a captain and you had listened in, wanting to ease his worries before he left.

If only you had known, you would’ve never let him step foot off of the ground. Maybe if you had, things would’ve been different.

But for him, you were always his safe space and continued to be. Despite his world crumbling, that would never change.

“It wasn’t me,” he says unexpectedly as he looks at the ceiling, both of you laying on the floor of the dimmed living room. You turn your head to face him, seeing his defeated expression as he sunk his head into the pillow. “I didn’t…”

He pauses for a moment and you remained unmoved, eyes piercing through him, “.. I wasn’t the one who crashed the ship.”

When you don’t say anything and instead scoot closer to him, he realizes you’re listening and before he knows it, everything spills out, the gate finally breaking open. Only then, you learn how distraught and regretful he is as he explains everything, knowing that you’re only able to hear him— not as a therapist, but as his friend.

You’re mortified hearing the story— of course Jimmy had been the cause of all this. You’ve met him once or twice whenever Curly swung by to drop you something in your office or apartment and he was definitely unfriendly, often glancing at you with judgement and annoyance. You’re not even sure if he properly introduced himself.

Everything his crew had been through because of his selfishness, along with Curly’s blindness to see through his friend’s mistakes. You knew him being a good-hearted person would cost him one day, but you didn’t think in the worst way possible. It was a mistake and while you can’t excuse some of his actions, the last thing he needed was unsolicited advice and chiding from your end.

So you move closer to him, shoulders nearly touching before you slide your hand between his prosthetic one, slowly interlocking your fingers between his. He feels you lean your head against his shoulder, him tiredly sighing before resting his head on yours.

“It should’ve been me,” he says in a moment of defeat, shoulders slumped. “Shouldn’t have given Jimmy a chance. Maybe my crew would’ve been alive.”

You’re not sure what to say to him right now, but you spare him your company to remind him that you’re here with open arms.

To remind him that you’re his safe space.

⁂

“You know,” Curly starts, eyes set on the television as he speaks. “I just wanted to thank you.”

You look up from your book, your sight falling on Curly who was cozied up on the couch with a throw blanket you bought him a few nights ago. The cup of herbal tea you made him about half an hour back had gone cold or room temperature at best, the steam wafting from it moments ago now vanished into thin air.

He seems to pause before speaking again, “For everything.”

With a tilt of your head, you hum in confusion, watching him fiddle with the fabric laid gently over his shoulders. He notices your curious gaze, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat.

“You’re the only person that’s made everything bearable,” he explains simply, his eyes still trained on the screen in front of him. “Even before the whole.. incident, I haven’t really depended on anyone more than I have with you. I’ve told you everything about me and even at my worst, you haven’t left.”

He knows it’s supposed to be a professional relationship; a therapist to their client, that’s all it was supposed to be. Curly was always so adamant about keeping his work and relationships separate out of the sake of professionalism, but this is different.

You’re different.

This isn’t casual— it hasn’t been since the moment he’s pushed his boundaries, developing a strange relationship with you outside of your office. It’s been anything but that since the day he’s asked for your personal number outside of work, shyly asked to meet up outside of his scheduled appointments, and even going as far as stepping inside of your personal home, the safest place he’s ever found himself in.

He finally looks up at you, wanting to know what you think of this. Wanting to know what you think of him outside of a client.

You offer him a lazy, but comforting smile, shrugging nonchalantly, “No need to thank me. Besides, isn’t that what friends are for?”

He seems to almost deflate at your response, but tries to reassure himself that this is what he wanted to hear. That, at the very least, you considered him something beyond another one of your clients. He should be happy, grateful that you’ve wanted anything to do with him.

Yet—

“Friends?” He lets out a quiet snicker under his breath, feeling his nerves get the best of him. His eyes start to travel, down to his hands clenching the delicate fabric of his pants, to the abandoned coffee mug, and anywhere but at you in fear of your reaction.

He’s decided he’d push his limits one last time, crossing a line that he knows he shouldn’t. You’re silent and he’s more so, swallowing nervously as the quietness begins to crawl up his spine in a manner that terrifies him. The words are itching, scratching its way out his throat as if bile threatened to make its exit.

“Is that all I am to you?” Curly laughs— not in a way that would ease the tension nor lighten the mood, but in a sense of coping, his mind jumbled and in an attempt to soothe the thundering of his heartbeat traveling to his ears. Realizing that it was far too late to go back now, his voice grows a bit quieter as he continues to speak. “By now, I thought that maybe—“

He refuses to glance, but despite his attempts to avoid your eyes, he still somehow feels the sharpness of your gaze piercing through him. You were always an open book to him— easy to read and almost predictable, but right now, he can’t make out the expression you might have on.

He tries to convince himself that maybe it’s shock or a sense of flattery and joy, but the thought of your features twisted in a disgusted manner, revolted that someone of his nature— a freak— would confess to someone as flawless as you washes away any ounce of hope rising in his chest.

It feels like forever and he’s about ready to take your silence as a rejection, already mustering up a reassuring answer to save you from the guilt and awkwardness as his mouth begins to open. He finds that he’s unable to finish his sentence, almost berating himself for taking such a risk.

Then you speak, his mind suddenly blanking, the sound of his pulse racing through his ears.

“You’d thought by now, that maybe what?” your voice is meek, yet gentle, encouraging him to continue.

He doesn’t respond, unsure of how to, suddenly losing the bravery he wore proudly moments ago. Yet, the sound of his name leaving your mouth cuts him out of his trance, resurfacing that little bit of hope drowning in his embarrassment and shame.

“Grant Curly.”

It takes all his courage, but he manages to build the strength to look up at you, eyes meeting yours. There’s an almost serious expression on your face, but the slight flush of your cheeks almost tears your stoic facade down immediately. There’s a glimmer in your eye, as if waiting for a confirmation, and he’s sworn you’ve never looked more beautiful.

The words leave his mouth faster than he can rip it from the air.

“That we’d be something more,” it's almost a whisper, almost breathless, but loud enough for you to hear. “After all we’ve been through, I was hoping you’d see me more than just a friend.”

A wave of emotions cross your features; shock, disbelief, and then joy as a grin forms on your face, cheeks painted a vibrant hue. He’s never seen such a lively glow on you, his chest burning terribly as if all the air was pushed out of his lungs, mesmerized.

He doesn’t get a response instantly, but you quickly close the distance between you both as you nearly leap off the couch, your answer clear as day.

Good thing Curly was never great at keeping boundaries whenever it came to you.

[moonalumi]

first kiss w jackson ellie <3

“ellie kiss me…”

an- i wanted to do tlou universe but it ended up modern but i’ll probably make a pt 2 but GUYSS i love els so much guys especially jackson era like she’s so princess bookie baby bear cutie pie angel honey bun

stars litter the sky, moon being the only source of light in the scuffed up car belonging to an equally scuffed up auburn hair having girl who tonight; points out all the planets that are visible that night, to you.

“how can you not see it it’s so obvious!”

“ellie, im not a big ol nerd like you,” you say, sighing frustrated into your seat. ellie shortly following, “i’m not a nerd it’s just— whatever.” throwing her hand up in the air and resting them on the steering wheel.

“aww i’m sorry did i get you mad?” you tease, sitting up and leaning into her while a cheeky smile plastered on your face.

ellie’s eyes widen, her getting visibly nervous now at your closeness, “no no i’m not mad i’m sorry if i—“

giggling you put your hand on her arm, “calm down i’m just teasing you dork.”

she stifles a laugh then focusing her gaze at your hand now rubbing soft circles on her hand. then trailing up to stare at your lips. a comfortable silence takes over as fiddle with ellie’s fingers, and the rings (you picked out for her early in your friendship.)

and although the silence for you is comforting, ellie is flushed with nerves. the moment seems too intimate, too domestic, too loving. so whenever you find yourselves in quiet moments like these, she ruins it. by clearing her throat or teasing you. it’s no different this time, she’s quick to shut it down for the sole reason that she doesn’t think you’d ever long for her the way she does for you. she’s so stupid really because it’s so obvious to everyone that you’re in love with each other. maybe you can say infatuated with each other.

but of course, a clearing of a throat pulls you away from the trance of her touch, “i should take you home now before you parents kill me again for bringing you home late like last time” ellie chuckles, reaching for her keys to turn on the car.

“no no no wait—“ you push her hand away from the keys, “i wanna stay longer please!” desperation in your voice as you try admiring that cute confused face she has.

“what? why?” ellie stutters, trying to ignore the fact your eyes are looking at her like your in a trance.

“because i like..being with you”

you lean closer to her again. elbows resting on the middle car compartment. smiling at her softly.

ellie curses herself. how can she resist you when you smile at her like this? when your eyes look at her in a way you only ever do when alone together. frantically searching through her mind on a way to redirect this situation once again; she doesn’t even notice the fact she’s been staring at you this entire time. more particularly your lips.

“ellie, kiss me.”

her eyes flicker to yours. then back. and her hands are flying to cup your face to pull you in for a long awaited kiss.

her lips moving with yours. sucking in your bottom lip, covering it with her saliva. you involuntarily smile into the kiss, causing ellie to follow, causing a sweet tender calculated kiss turn to a sloppy, teeth clashing one.

pulling away with a big shmack, you both smile at each other. each other eyes reflecting pure admiration.

“you should’ve done that months ago.” ellie’s hands leave your face, shaking her head and letting out a little chuckle, “whyd i have to do it? you should’ve done that”

oh the teasing. it’ll never end between you two.

[crazyoffher]

PARANOID.

wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: wednesday becomes what one would call "jealous" and the only way to get her to stop is through confession.

warnings: none.

word amount: 2300+

a/n: this is a rewrite of my old wednesday fic "jealousy doesn't suit me well" (old version now archived)

Ajax, a gorgon boy, was somebody that you considered your best friend. He was one, if not the most energetic person you’ve met beside Enid. You loved him dearly, seeing as he was the only person willing to even sit next to you in class when you first started at Nevermore, and your friendship with him quickly grew.

In present time, you hung out with a newcomer in the same year as you, a deathly Wednesday Addams, more than you hung out with Ajax. He understood well, seeing as your crush on the monotone girl grew like wildfire and he was distancing himself from you too, finding his time consumed by day-to-day dealing with his own crush.

A nice, peculiar girl by the name of Enid Sinclair, but God, did she have to annoy you that much? You knew she only ever meant well, so you tolerated her for the sake of Wednesday and Ajax.

As the months drew closer to summer, you made a pact with the gorgon that you would hang out with him a lot more for the sake of friendship, homework, and crushes. That put a toll on Enid, constantly being cornered by the girl and swearing to make pinky promises that you weren’t sneakily getting with him, which you mentally gagged at the thought of.

He was a nice guy. Well groomed, kind-hearted, intelligent, and attractive, but he just wasn’t for you. After all, your eyes grew into hearts only for one psychotic goth girl.

On the topic of her, your constant hanging out didn’t only affect Enid, but Wednesday too, the girl seemingly more sullen and dead-eyed when you’d drop by her dorm to say goodnight after spending the entire day with Ajax. She constantly bombared you with questions…

“Where were you?”

“Were you alone with him?”

“Why do you feel the need to constantly be in his presence?”

And every time, you’d give her the same answer.

“I can’t tell you.”

That wasn’t a lie, you genuinely couldn’t for the life of your own sanity and Ajax’s. She’d shut up after your responses, to your surprise, and give you a small goodbye before shutting the door in your face.

You felt bad, and you’d only hope your plan would work out in the end. Your shreds of hope being thin didn’t ever help your nerves as the days passed by like television calendar montages, paper after paper being discarded because you just couldn’t form your emotions right.

In the present timeline, your head was lulled down as you made your way through the halls of Ophelia, walking down the pathway mindlessly with your feet stuttering a bit as if you were a drunkard. Your hand rummaged in your pants, desperately trying to get a grip on the slippery key, and you shut your eyes in contentment when you pulled the metallic object out of your pocket.

“Finally.” A mutter was vocalized from nobody but you, rubbing your eyes with your other hand from your need for rest as you trudged up to your dorm room door, the space empty as your former roommate had recently faced expulsion for a reason that was still classified as unknown. You shoved the key into the lock with might, hand clasping over your mouth as you let out a deep yawn, feet stuttering once more into the room.

You were tired, but even saying that was an understatement. You felt close to death, your classes taking their normal toll on you, and you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to help Eugene get his bees in control at the tiring hour of 5:30 a.m. It had been nineteen hours since you had awakened, and last time you checked, that wasn’t a good thing in your books.

The bright lights lit up the room immediately after flipping the switch, verbally groaning, and shutting your eyes as you walked further into the room. You soon faced your closet, squinting your eyes as you searched for a fresh pair of pajamas, but your eyes flew open, and you let out a small yelp at the voice coming from the other side of the room.

“Back so late?”

“Fuck, Wednesday!” You jumped, your hands flying to your chest in an attempt to calm your breathing. Through your widened eyes, you noticed the girl sitting on your former roommate's bed, hands intertwined and set on her lap, her posture straight, and her eyes bored into your figure. “You are aware it’s midnight, right? What’re you doing here?”

“I could only presume you were aware of the time too.” Wednesday stood up, her posture still straight, and she walked toward your study desk, fixing up the mess that consisted of pencils and papers strewn out. “Curfew was two hours ago.”

You grabbed a plain black shirt from your closet, turning to give her a quick ‘really?’ look. “Yes, because I bet you care so much about curfew. Need I remind you of the times you forced me to break the rules last year?” The gothic girl didn’t reply, shuffling your papers into one thick stack.

“It was for commendatory reasoning. I know nothing about your trips; carry on the fact that you prefer to keep them private, but I can assure myself that what it is that you’re breaking curfew for isn’t an adequate reason.” She spoke calmly, well-paced, and formally; you could only mentally snarl at her quick-wittedness.

You moved to your drawers, pulling out the first pair of shorts that revealed themselves. Wednesday faced you now, her eyes never leaving your figure as she awaited a response from you. Her eyes were filled with their normal sense of death and destruction, but almost had a small glint of… sadness?

“And yet,” you started off, shutting the drawer closed and throwing the clothes on your bed, “here you are, in my dorm instead of yours. If you’re going to berate me for rebelling against a simple curfew, at least don’t be a hypocrite about it.” 

“What were you doing today?” She disregarded your words; her body leaned against your study desk, and your head turned to face her, eyes unconsciously raking over her body from her shoulders to her legs. “It’s like you want to hear the same answer every time.”

“I’d rather not.” She pushed herself off your desk, the lingering of your eyes over her body not going unnoticed, a small smirk begging to form against her lips. “I was hoping to get a different answer from you—the truthful one, you could call it.”

“The truthful one?” You questioned. She did a curt nod, her bangs jumping slightly from the movement. “Fine. I went to Séance Society at 1:30, Archery Club at 2:30, and then Ajax and I went into town. We stopped at the Weathervane for coffee and to do homework, then we walked around before we went to a corner store to buy snacks. We waddled all the way back to the school grounds, and here I am.”

At the end of your sentence, you pointed to your shoes, marking your location. Wednesday only sucked her teeth, taking a step forward before crossing her arms. “And?”

Your lips thinned, with dimples popping out at the action, and you tried your hardest not to create an outburst. You questioned how you'd managed to develop a crush on her when she drives you crazy. “That’s it. Why do you care so much?”

Wednesday’s expression didn’t change, but she was having a mental battle with figuring out an excuse to say that would sound like her. “You are my friend, and I care about my friends.” That didn’t sound like her at all. “I must know your whereabouts at all times for your safety.”

“Bullshit.” You stated, your gaze now fixed on her. “You wouldn’t ever admit that, meaning that those words were an on-the-spot lie-”

“Well, we’re not on the topic of me right now.” She interrupted, annoyance lacing her voice at your accusations—your true accusations. “We’re conversing about you and your secrecy. Tell me what you do with him; I’m not asking anymore.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you let out an agitated huff at her sternness. Your mind was in a battle, deciding whether today was the day or if you should just tell her half the truth. Would Ajax kill you? Maybe, but your confidence was at an all-time low, and you had no other options.

“Ajax’s been discussing with me a... uhm, sort of... plan about Enid. Ajax has a crush on her, and we’ve been figuring out a way for him to, er, confess his feelings to her so they can date. Yeah…” 

God, did you suck at lying, and Wednesday could see right through you. She advanced toward you this time, and from the distance between the two of you, you could see the mixed emotions welling up in her gaze. “What else?”

“Wh-that’s it, Wednesday. I swear-”

“But your swears mean nothing.” Ouch. “You couldn’t hold eye contact with me; your words were faltering; your fingers were itching at your arm; and your voice was half an octave higher. I firmly believe you are truthful in your speech about Ajax and Enid, but you’re lying to me about it being the whole truth.”

You gulped, your brain shredding under her gaze, and you thought hard. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5-

“Fine!” You huffed, stomping to the front door and crouching down to pick up the bag that you left. Wednesday would rather die than admit that she mentally flinched at your tone, watching as you ruffled around in the bag before pulling out a journal.

“Now is not the time to ask for my help on your homework, (Y/L/N).” You shook your head at her words, walking back to where you stood before and opening up the journal on a random page. Inside that page was a folded piece of paper, and your fingers twitched as you went to pick it up.

To say your nerves were at their peak would be a trivialization when you looked up and saw Wednesday standing directly in front of you, staring at you with narrowed eyes. You drew your hand out in her direction, silently telling her to take the paper, which she did not. “What is that?”

“Read it and find out. Not today, though! Tomorrow seems like a goo-” Wednesday took the paper, carelessly opening it, and her eyebrows scrunched when she saw how much was written. She looked up at you with curious eyes, not preparing to be outside your dorm room with the door slammed in her face a couple of seconds later.

You sank into the door, hands over your face, and you screamed, the sounds of embarrassment muffled. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” You repeated, bolting away from the door, settling into your chair, and gasping for air. You sat there for about thirty seconds, though it felt like hours, when a knock was placed on the door.

"Y/N, open the door," Your ears pick up Wednesday's voice, which is quieter than you anticipated and infused with a rare warmth. She sounded sincere rather than irritated or sarcastic.

You took a deep breath, getting up from your chair and going to unlock the door while swallowing your anxiety and peering out to see Wednesday's frustrated expression.

"Look, I know this is unexpected," you started in a voice that was shaking. ”However, what I stated in that letter is real. Wednesday, I've liked you for a while.”

It was like a major weight was taken off of your shoulders. You had finally confessed to the girl you’d been chasing for over a year, and you watched a battle happen through her eyes, multiple emotions mixed in her mind and overdosing her brain.

There’s a slight shift in Wednesday's mood, and you can see the turmoil in her eyes. "I do not understand why you would think that about me. I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around," she acknowledged, her tone containing a hint of vulnerability. Your eyes softened at her words, a pang of sympathy coursing through you for the girl. 

She had been so despised, so targeted, even if most of it was her fault, that it broke her down — broke her mindset down into believing that she was unlovable, even by her friends.

You take a step forward, your attention fixed on her. "You may not realize it, Wednesday, but you are incredible. You're powerful and unique, and I respect how you remain loyal to yourself regardless of what people say. Your willingness to go against standards intrigues me."

Her usually stoic face shows a small crack, a glimpse of uncertainty. "I've never been in a situation like this," she confessed quietly. You found that hard to believe; the beauty of the girl was something you drowned in most days, but you knew that it was the truth because people were afraid of her. Never you, though.

With a gentle smile, you say, "Me neither, but that's okay. If you let me, we can figure it out together."

Wednesday keeps silent for a second before taking a cautious step closer to you. "You make me feel... different, too," she confesses, carefully choosing her words. You clench your jaw to fight off the large grin that threatens to form on your face, and your heartbeat remained fast-paced, but for a different reason this time.

You reach out, taking her hand with caution in your movement. You didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in anyway, but she reassured you when she gave your hand a light squeeze. “We don’t have to figure out anything right now. Consider this… confession?” You gave her a small smile, and it grew wider when your eyes fell on the corners of her lips, watching them twitch into the smallest smile.

“Confession.”

☟

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