#That turned out to be too hard for me but I hope the heavy contrast and harsh lighting gives a close-ish feel!

[pellucid-constellations]

Lessons in Care

Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel loves you so much. Even though you can't cook. You're trying though.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: A small injury

a/n: Consider this a small gift to make up for me disappearing for a month <3 This is part of the line cook au, but as I've mentioned, nothing is really in order so read however you want :) The rest of this AU can be found in my masterlist right there ⬇ love you <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“Like this?” You shook the pan a little harder, the handle's weight tweaking your wrist at an odd angle. 

“Almost. Try not to hold your elbow so close to your body. It won’t flip right.” 

You pressed your lips together and narrowed your eyes. “This is so hard.” 

“I believe in you,” Azriel teased, an amused upturn of his eyes as he watched you struggle. 

“Why is this pan so heavy? It’s literally like 40 pounds.” 

“It’s cast iron, baby.” 

“That’s stupid.” 

Azriel barked out a laugh, red tinting his cheeks as if he hadn’t expected the sound to leave his lips. Your mouth quirked up in a small smile despite your struggle. You shot your gaze to the side to try and catch the sweet expression that still lingered on Azriel’s face.

“Would you like me to do it?” Azriel posed after clearing his throat. 

“Of course not. I came early so you could teach me.” 

“I could teach you another time. You have class soon.” 

“Why do you want me to fail?” 

“I don’t—” 

“You totally do. You want me unable to cook for myself so I’ll always have to rely on you, and then I’ll never be able to leave you.” 

Azriel laughed again, a quiet, rumbling sound. “You caught me. Now hand that over before you hurt yourself.” 

You groaned and turned slightly to evade your boyfriend’s reach. “Az, I’m serious. Teach me how to flip these stupid eggs right now.” 

“Okay, okay. Just let me help.” 

The feel of Azriel’s hand lightly sliding over yours startled you. You jumped and your fingers twitched, the sudden motion sending the tips of your fingers too far forward until a simmering pain shot through your skin. You flung the pan back on the burner instantly, its contents splattering along the stove and into the open flame. It burned a bright orange and then settled as you held your hand close to your chest. 

You hissed a breath through your teeth and Azriel’s hands were on you. 

“Shit, baby, let me see, yeah?” he stressed, mindlessly turning the burner off without taking his eyes off you. He tugged your hand at your chest with gentle fingers. “Let me see.” 

You released the tight grip on your fingers and rested them in Azriel’s open palm. “I was just surprised. I don’t think it’s that bad.” 

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he examined your burn. He tsked, pulling you gently by your wrist over to the sink. “It’s going to blister.” 

Cool water rushed from the pipes and soothed your skin. Azriel held your wrist in a soft grip and turned your hand slowly, back and forth in a repetitive motion. 

“I don’t think so, Az. It’s not that bad.” 

Azriel shook his head. “That pan was pretty hot—I’d be surprised if it didn’t.” He looked up at you. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

You offered a gentle smile and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You didn’t scare me.” You raised your brow playfully. “You just made me nervous. A cute guy like you holding my hand—reaching over to help me to cook. Made me all jumpy.” 

Azriel breathed out a disbelieving scoff. “I’ve done far worse than just hold your hand.” 

“Scandalous!” you proclaimed, affronted. “How can you say such things at work, Azriel? You’ll be fired.” 

“I can only hope,” Azriel grumbled. 

Azriel directed you to keep your hand under the water as he dug through a cabinet for the first-aid kit despite your protests. You truly felt that you were fine and didn’t even need a bandaid, but it was easy to forget the multitude of scars that littered Azriel’s hands and how they contrasted with your completely unmarred skin. 

That was purposeful, meaningful—Azriel worked hard so you wouldn't have to. Azriel found peace in keeping you safe and happy. 

So you let him fuss. 

“Okay, let me see again, baby,” Azriel requested, flipping the water off and reaching for your hand. Your skin stung as it met the air beyond the sink, but Azriel’s caring touch was like a balm. 

He dried your fingers with a towel and uncapped a spray bottle, coating your burn with too much of the medication before grabbing a set of gauze and tape. You stared at the materials in exasperation. Azriel didn’t notice the expression and continued to admisinister care as if you’d been in a fire.

“Az, I love you so much, but I don’t need all of that. It’s a small burn. I’ve probably done worse with my curling iron.” 

Your boyfriend only hummed and continued his work. “I don’t want it to scar. It blistered already.” 

“Yes, but—” 

“Almost done.”

You let him work. A few moments of silence passed. Azriel kept his gaze hard and his brow set in a harsh line. 

That wouldn’t do. 

Once your finger was fully wrapped and protected from everything Azriel could fear, you puckered your lips in contemplation and shook your head. 

“Still hurts really bad,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. Azriel followed your movements, leaving little space between you. 

“What?” he questioned, a tinge of panic in his tone. “That should’ve numbed it. How bad does it hurt?” 

“Really, really bad. Like my whole hand is on fire, actually.”

Azriel—who had yet to release your fingers—stared down at them in startled befuddlement. He turned them one way and then another as if that would answer his questioning gaze, and then looked back up to meet your eyes in a way that was almost pleading. 

“I’m sorry, maybe I should—”

“You have to kiss it,” you revealed, not wanting the sad expression to linger on his face any longer. “Duh.” 

Azriel let out a breath that bordered on relief, but most of it seemed founded in exasperation. He shook his head and brought your fingers up to his lips all the same, smiling to himself as he began to kiss each of your fingertips. Even the ones that clearly weren’t burnt. He flipped your hand over and kissed the knuckles, too, capturing your eyes as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. 

“‘M sorry you got hurt,” he mumbled with his lips against the back of your hand. “Told you you shouldn’t try cooking, baby.” 

The warm feeling that had begun to seep into your chest paled in comparison to the offended scoff that echoed in the empty kitchen. Azriel’s poorly concealed, devious smile was hidden in the kisses he started pressing into your palm, and although it would have fit the sound you let out, you didn’t pull away. 

“Azriel, you are just asking for me to—” 

“The hell is going on in here?” The kitchen door smacked against the frame as Cassian made his entrance. “Someone get hurt?” 

Azriel dropped your hand just as soon as Cassian had spotted him pressed against you, clearing his throat and turning to the disheveled first-aid kit on the counter. You brought your knuckles up to your mouth to hide your laugh at Azriel’s expense, his face flushing in vulnerability. 

“Oh, I see what was going on. You were romancing your girl, weren’t you, Az? Well, don’t let me interrupt. You came in early and everything,” Cassian teased, his hands raised in surrender. 

“We were just finishing up,” you countered, a laugh trickling through. “I have to get to class, Cass. You can start your shift.” 

“Uh huh,” Cassian smiled, raising his brows and then lowering them when he caught your hand reaching for your backpack. “You okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Azriel interrupted. He took your bag from you and slung it over his shoulder, pressing a nonchalant kiss to your head that you knew was actually not nonchalant. “I’m going to take her to school. Cover for me for 20?” 

“Sure, man.” 

“Az, I was going to take the bus you don’t have to—” 

“C’mon, baby.” 

“But I don’t even have my helmet for your bike.”

“I always bring your helmet.”

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

Dark is The Way, Light is a Place.

Ongoing Series Synopsis: As a board-certified clinical psychologist working at PTMC, you were expecting to see patients of the hospital. But by some twist of fate, you end up seeing several ER doctors for individual therapy. Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch / Jack Abbot/ Frank Langdon x Psychologist!Reader Genre: Angsty, existential, dark, and sometimes fluffy therapy sessions. A/N: I'm a clinical psychologist so this is a planned series to explore what therapy sessions might look like with some of the Pitt crew. Planned for at least Robby/Abbot/Langdon but open to incorporating others. I hope you enjoy, thank you for reading

Next Chapter

Robby has been in the elevator hundreds of times– transporting patients, rounding with Jack, taking the “long way” to the roof for a much needed shift in perspective. 

But he’s never been to the eleventh floor. This building, this hospital, he knows it like the back of his hand–a second home. But the eleventh floor is foreign to him- Behavioral Health.

There’s a hard rule about the “soft” sciences and the ER– They come to you. Doctors aren’t transporting patients in five-point bed restraints who bite in an elevator. The Psychologists and Psychiatrists come to the ER for the consults, the medication orders, the 72-hour hold evaluations. He’s joked about them before with Jack – bats hanging in the rafters, waiting for the next crisis to swoop in.

And yet, here he is. The eleventh floor, at the eleventh hour. 

Robby hesitates when the elevator dings and the door opens - a moment of apprehension about the inevitable reveal of the skeletons in his closet - It’s not too late to head back downstairs, no one would know you were even here, not even Jack. And he wouldn’t blame you. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts as the elevator doors begin to close, bumping against the outside of his arm. He’s already got one foot out the door- an unconscious step towards finding out where the wild things went. He bites the bullet, and steps out, turning the corner towards room 1122.

—------------------------

“Thanks, Doc,”  Jack opens your office door and steps into the hallway, turning back to confirm, “I’ll see you next week?”

There’s something about the way he wears his sadness -like a badge of honor of all of the things he has survived. His sessions are exhausting and existential. He holds his trauma in his hands and wrings it out like rain. He speaks about death–his own and the people he’s lost. He talks about ending it, in a very matter-of-fact, this-is-what-it-would-feel-like way, and backs away from the ledge when he recognizes that the feeling in his body is actually fear. 

“Same time as usual. But Jack, you fucking call me if you need me,” Your tone is serious and empathetic, a directive for the man who talks about darkness like his soul was forged there, “Dark is the way…”

“Light is a place,” he replies, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He repeats the mantra under his breath several times, before turning to walk down the hall. 

You stand to close the door when you’re met with a familiar face, Dr. Robby, waiting outside the door. 

“Michael,  I’m so glad you’re here.”  

He locks eyes with Jack, an unspoken greeting,  like one of the great bromances of the 21st century. For a second, you imagine the two of them hugging, but instead, they acknowledge each other with a nod, Jack reaching out to squeeze Robby’s shoulder, as if to say, “I’m proud of you.” I’m sure they’ll compare horror stories on the roof later. As Jacks walks off you watch Robby’s expression change to something unfamiliar - anxious. He looks over his shoulder, as if he’s making sure no one else saw him come up here, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. 

The stark contrast in presentation is unsettling. You’ve seen him work downstairs, confident, calm, collected. Here, he’s softer, uneasy, wounded. Heavy is the head that wears the crown 

“Come on in,” You smile, holding the door open for him to slip past you and into your office. You can hear the audible sigh of relief as the door closes behind him, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, “this your first time?”

His back still faces you as he takes in his surroundings, hesitant to sit. He studies the diploma’s hanging on the wall, an exercise in distraction. Maybe if he spends his time pointing out things about you, you’ll run out of time to talk about him.

“On the eleventh floor? Yes.” He points to the certificate on the wall, and finally turns to look at you  “Board certified, huh?” 

He keeps you at arms length, wants to talk about anything but the reason why he’s here. You could make small talk with this man all day, he’s got the bedside manner for it, wears being “just fine” well, with smile lines to prove it, charismatic, attractive, a good guy. 

“I meant therapy, Michael.” 

He nods, sheepishly, “That easy to tell? Although I’m not sure if I should be wasting your time. There are far worse off people than me” 

“Sit.” You motion to the couch, and he initially ignores your command. His attention turns to the sound of staff running past your doorway and down the hall, likely responding to a crisis. Emergencies are his thing, always running to put out a fire, not even recognizing that he too, is engulfed in flames. 

“I’m happy to discuss you ‘wasting my time,’ and the fact that you have had your hands balled up in fists in your pockets since you got here for the next..” you look at your watch, “55 minutes. But not until you sit.” 

This time, it’s a directive. It catches him off guard, the slow recognition that he, for once, is not in control of what happens here. He apologizes, removing his hands from his pockets after your pointed observation, and takes a seat.

You take a seat opposite of him, matching his posture,  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well” His answer is short and to the point. a real nothing-to-see-here vibe. He folds his arms across his chest, briefly glancing at his watch, “I told you, I’m probably wasting your time.” 

"I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, than wasting this time with you. Humor me, you’ve got my full undivided confidential attention.” 

He inhales and rubs a hand over his neck, avoiding eye contact with you, “Found myself on the roof like Jack.”

There it is.

“I really need to start having office hours up there.” You lighten the mood, before diving back in, “Okay, you’re on the roof, then what happens? You get close enough to the edge to think about jumping?”

“Jesus, no.” He retorts, like the thought of diving off the roof is the most outlandish shit he’s heard all day. Not Robby. Not cool, calm, collected Robby. He’d never do something like that. Right?

“Therapy only works if you’re honest with yourself. We’ve all thought about jumping, Michael. doesn’t mean you intended to.”

“Touche,” He’s still trying to feel out the process, unsure of how safe of a place this is.

“Let me show you something,” You turn to your desk, rummaging through a disheveled pile of papers, for a blank sheet of paper. On it, you scribble a mantra, handing it to him.

“Dark is the Way, Light is a Place.” He says it aloud, slowly, eyebrow raised, looking to you for an explanation.

“It’s from a poem by Dylan Thomas.” You explain, “The gist is that there’s going to be so much pain in this lifetime, but that doesn’t mean it is not worth losing a single moment of it, because at the end of the day, there is going to be hope. But I need you to dig deep into that pain, anchor yourself there, let me sit in it with you.” 

You can see him at a crossroads in his head. Choose to make this all about sleeping and surface level bullshit and leave with his sanity and some semblance of wellbeing, or bare his soul to someone he’s just met, to anchor himself in the pain, to share it and reveal what’s hidden in the darkest places of his mind, and leave with his soul wide open, exposed, and raw, with the promise of an eventual catharsis.  He chooses the latter. 

“For the first time in my career, I didn’t want to come back here” his voice cracks, “I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t pull myself out of it. For days, I felt this sense of darkness, this hopelessness.”

“You felt scared” you reflect, but he shakes his head silently for a few seconds, drawing a deep breath in before continuing.

“Being on the roof, wondering what it would feel like at the bottom, Fuck. I felt at peace with that.”

He watches your face when he says it, looks for you to flinch, or your eyes to widen. He waits for the recoil, for you to hit a panic button. You maintain eye contact, softening your expression, sitting with his words.

“That must have been really hard, and really hard to share. I’m really proud of you for allowing me to sit with you, with this.” 

“Dark is the Way, Light is a Place.” He repeats, and for the first time in a long time, he feels proud of himself too. 

[yamysunmoon]

a drabble of top reader and sub tara would change me 😵‍💫😵‍💫

a/n: heeyy sooo i cheated xd, i know drabbles are supposed to be 100ish, i think this one is around 400, haven't got the chance to check tho.

Hope you like it anyways <3

Warnings: masturbation, oral (tara receiving), a bit of begging, dom!reader, sub!tara, barely contextual quickie.

Tara x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

Whim

Tara (3:03)

Hey

You up?

Read

Tara (3:04)

Is everything ok?

Can you come over?

You stare at the messages, your eyelids heavy, blinking slowly. Tara can be insistent late at night.

You (3:05)

Everything's okay, gorgeous. I was just half asleep

Tara (3:06)

Then you shouldn't. Cause i need you in my bed right now

You sit up on your bed as if you had a spring for a spine. She can be pretty convincing sometimes.

The next thing you know, you're pedaling your way there. You throw your bike over the fresh, cool grass of her front yard, you open her frontal door knowing she leaves it unlocked for you.

"Tara?" You hear noises coming from her bedroom. Quickly, you open the half-opened door.

You find her laying down, half-lidded eyes, head turn, looking at you wearing just her blue shirt.

"I'm so sorry. I just couldn't bear it anymore" she apologizes in a husky, sultry voice.

Her hand stray between her thighs.

You walk closer, then crawl on the bed until you reach her. Kneeling between her well-spread legs, you reach for her neck in a slow gesture and press at her pulse points very gently,

a threatening touch.

She lets out a hoarse whimper.

"If you couldn't wait for me, then why bother hitting me up?"

Your soft yet low tone leads her to move her fingers faster, the squelching sound reaching your ears.

"Because..." She whines misserably, tilting her head up. You feel the air inside her throat, the muscles of her neck moving under your grip. "Because— it's not enough... I need you..."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, managing to keep your composure eventhough you yearn to launch yourself at her immediately.

Your grip tightens ever so slightly.

"You're such a capricious girl, you know that?"

She whimpers louder, leaning into your touch. Her hand leaves her core to grasp onto your free hand.

"I am" she admits, desperate. "Please. Help me."

You grin at her, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, something that makes her shudder under your touch. Satisfaction.

Tara brings up her other hand, cupping your cheek. She stares at you with her umber eyes, a deep, pleading, gleam in them.

Without breaking eye contact, your slide your hand down her body and cup her mound.

She arches her back towards your hand, a sharp gasp leaving her lips.

She blushes hard, the freckles painted across her cheekbones becoming prominent, their brown tone contrasting over the red of her cheeks.

You slide two fingers between her folds, the length of your digits perfectly covering her entire slit. You move your fingers in a side-to-side motion, her obscene sounds resuming, making your ears tickle.

"Fuck, Tara..." You breath out. "Took me five minutes to arrive here, for god's sake. And you're already fucking soaking..."

She quivers before your whispers, her hips following your touch, restless.

"I know, I..." She mumbles, looking away with embarrassment.

"I was already... Before I texted you..." She admits in a soft mutter.

Her words make you speed up your movements, causing her eyes to flutter shut, parted lips blessing you with tantalizing moans.

Your lips part too, heavy pants escaping from them. Your forearm is moving too, making your touch much firm and purposeful.

A shaky whine vibrates against your hand around her neck, and you can feel her getting closer to the edge.

She keeps her eyes shut, you lean in and kiss her cheek tenderly, a sharp contrast to your steady grip and deft touch.

She turns her head, opening her eyes just enough, and kisses your lips with hooded eyes; a yearning brush of lips that wishes for more.

You trace her bottom lip with your tongue, she gives you access instantly, your tongues meeting in a intense dance that soon turns controlled in your favor.

As you dominate the kiss, she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you down, inhaling sharply through her nostrils as she tilts her head deepening the kiss.

You caress her tongue with yours in a way that makes her whimper weakly, her mind already picturing other places where you've caressed her like this.

Her sounds switch on your demanding side, and you kiss her harder, rougher.

Your fingers slide a little lower, fingertips circling her entrance as you reach for her clit with your thumb.

She writhels, then her hips start bucking firmly against your hand, seeking release.

Relishing her every reaction, you feel her muscles tightening against your palm.

You break the kiss in a sudden move that make her open her eyes and stare at you with doe eyes and swollen, parted lips. Her tongue is even partially peeking.

"I want you all over my face"

Your command is decisive. You let go of her neck and descend through her body, leaving feather-touch peck kisses wherever you come across.

Tara grips your hair firmly the moment you put your lips on her. It takes her just a few seconds to coat your cheeks and chin, rubbing against you persistently.

You withdraw your fingers from her slit and entrance, leaving just your thumb working on her clit. Sticking out your relaxed, flattened tongue; you lap at her entrance several times before shoving it inside her.

She yelps, delighted, she grinds against you, even more insistant.

You slide in and out of her comfortably, humming and whining, enthralled by her.

Her lower stomach tenses, pulsing against your forehead. You circle faster with your thumb and leave your tongue stiff for her to fuck herself with.

Her body waves deliciously beneath you, sweet wails escape her lips as she finally goes taut, throwing a last loud moan that looses strength as she convulses, her legs trembling around your face, her orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave.

You slowly withdraw your tongue, only to lick upwards, swirling around her clit, prolonging her pleasure.

Her arousal is dripping down her outer lips, and you're just getting started alternating between gently sucking her clit and licking down, cleaning her up, when she quivers violently letting out weak whimpers.

"T-too sensitive..." She stammers, her voice breathy and thin after that powerful orgasm.

You chuckle darkly against her flesh, leaving one last kiss above her clit before climbing up, laying beside her.

"You ask for more than you can take" you quip with a smug smile painted across your moisturized lips.

She squints at you, narrowing her eyes in a playful sulk.

"Shut up. I'm ovulating" she excuses herself, a soft sated smile softening her features as she rolles to her side, facing you.

She runs her hand through your hair, making you hum and flutter your eyes. "You're such a pretty girl..." She mutters, almost to herself.

"Are you gonna let me sleep now?" You joke with a leer, choosing to ignore her sweet comment.

Tara hums and giggles softly, leaning closer. She draps one leg over yours, pulling you closer.

She nods in an innocent gesture, then hides in the crook of your neck.

You inhale deeply, thinking to yourself— Maybe it's not that bad to have a fucked up sleeping routine if you end up trapped between her arms.

Taglist: @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd , @ortegalvr , @2thamax , @ijustlovemaths , @oxt3n , @aroooheartzzz , @freestarfishdinosaur @lightningirlz @bellward3456 @lailathegayqueeeen

[traveler-at-heart]

Brave

Summary: The sudden loss of someone in your family leaves you broken. Natasha tries to help.

A/N: Special thanks to @happychopshoppenguin for helping me to sort out ideas for this plot.

It was a regular day for the Avengers.

Mission, explosions, fighting some bad guys and then fly back in the Quinjet.

“Fury’s gonna be mad” Clint taunts, looking at you.

“He didn’t say how to stop them from sharing the drive with the Chinese” you smile, thinking that blowing up their entire control room was a bit much. But, you were in a hurry to finish the mission and go home.

Clint rolls his eyes and steers the Quinjet.

“Alright, it’s gonna be at least seven hours. Go get some sleep, dynamite. Tasha, you ok?”

Natasha had been quiet, which was nothing new around you. To most people, it was probably the contrast in personalities; while the Russian was reserved, you were very outgoing.

You’d hope it was just that, and not that she disliked you. After a few attempts at conversation that turned cold, you decided to be cordial, but give her space.

Right now, she’s sitting in the back of the Quinjet, no visible injuries. But still, her hand is over her ribs, and she seems to be deep in thought.

You know what’s happening and that she’d never ask for help.

“Do you need to clean any wounds? I’ll take over the Quinjet while you do” you offer to Clint and he shakes his head no. Walking to the first aid kit, you pull out a bottle of water, painkillers and a pack of ice. You’re about to walk to sit next to Natasha, when you bring a hand to your forehead.

“Great. Blood and sooth. I must stink” placing the first aid stuff next to her, you mumble to yourself about taking a quick shower.

By the time you come out, Natasha has already taken a pill, and has the ice pack over her bruised ribs. Her eyes are closed, and much as you’d like to stare, you go sit next to Clint, hoping to get home soon.

—

Maria is waiting on the hangar when you land.

“Told ya” Clint mocks and you turn to glare at him.

“Did you snitch on me, Barton?”

“Y/N” Maria says, and her tone alone erases your smile.

“What’s wrong?” you say, going over every possible scenario. This is your last mission before a two week break to go back home. “Is it…?”

Your mom was supposed to have surgery. But she was fine. It couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry”

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured over your head. Your hands are so numb, you can’t feel Natasha taking one of them, her arm around your shoulders.

—

It’s been a week. Natasha tries not to think about you, mainly because there’s nothing she can do to help.

And it’s none of her business when (or if) you come back. Still, she feels a certain heaviness in her movements as she makes her morning coffee.

You always made enough for the two of you. And it tastes so much better than the one Natasha makes.

“Is Y/N around?” Maria walks in, looking for you.

“I thought she was still with her family”

“She came back earlier. It didn’t… it sounded bad. Like a family disagreement had happened on top of everything else” Maria sighs.

“Do you know what it was?”

“All I know is that her mother’s condition had been bad for a while… and then they did emergency surgery but her heart was too weak”

Natasha nods in silence, imagining how hard it must be for you. How your mother always sent something she knitted for everyone on the team on their birthdays, or how your parents would fly to visit at least once a month.

“If you see her, will you let me know? I just want to make sure she’s alright”

“Of course”

—

No one saw you, not even for movie night. It’s not like the team was expecting you, but it was quiet as the movie played on the screen, and only Sam seemed to be paying attention.

Natasha looks at the table in the middle of the room.

You always got her Dr. Pepper. Her guilty pleasure, a little indulgence in her life of strict physical activity and healthy meals.

This time, there’s only beer that no one bothers to drink. A headache threatens to sour her mood even more, but the cupboard with medical supplies is almost empty.

That’s how everything feels without you around.

Natasha had hoped you’d be at the staff meeting next Monday, but everyone took a seat, your chair remained empty.

“We have to do something” Steve says, looking around. His eyes meet Maria’s.

“Well, she’s been going on solo missions”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Barton challenges, clearly annoyed. Would it be so hard for Fury to give a damn about his team?

“Listen, any one of you is welcomed to join her but I don’t think…”

“I’ll go” Natasha says.

“Good. Maybe she needs some… girl talk” Steve says and everyone laughs for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, we’ll braid our hair while we wait for the bad guys, Steve” Natasha mocks.

“Nice one, Capsicle” Tony says.

Truth be told, Natasha wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction when you saw her at the hangar.

“I’m on solo duty, Natasha” you say without looking at her, getting inside the small aircraft.

“Fury’s orders” the redhead lies, following you. She almost crashes against your back as you stop and turn around.

“If you’re coming, I don’t want to hear any scolding or complains. I’m running this operation”

“That’s fine by me”

Either way, from what she read on the file, it was only information extraction. And yet, you were gone for thirty minutes, after she successfully hacked into the database.

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha scolds, forgetting about her previous promise.

“Can you get us on the air? I’ll take over in a minute” you answer, your face evidently beaten up, as one of your eyes was starting to swell.

Natasha is torn between concern and anger, but she figures it is better to talk to  you once they’re away from the enemy. With a sigh, she starts the engine and sets the coordinates of the Compound.

A spot on the floor catches her eye.

Blood. A lot of it.

“Y/N?” she stands up, looking around. Following the trail of blood, she opens up the door to the small bathroom. She sees you, your uniform torn around your thigh, a gash exposed. “Oh my God!”

“Ever tried knocking?” you say, without looking at her. Next thing you do is use the surgical stapler to close the wound, not caring to use anesthesia.

“You need stitches”

“I’m fine” you stand up, taking off the top of your uniform. Natasha spots bruises that are just starting to heal.

Maybe that’s why the medical supplies were gone the other day.

“Y/N…”

“If you’re not gonna fly, I’m taking over” you walk towards the cabin, and she stands there, looking at all the blood that you left behind.

What the hell is she gonna tell Maria when you come back?

There’s a moment of silence as you land the Quinjet. You hope that Natasha will not even start about your injury, so you wait for her to leave.

“Y/N?” 

“I’m fine, Natasha”

“I’m worried” she admits in a low voice, which catches you off guard. You’ve never thought she cared enough, not about you at least.

“I’ll stop going on missions until I’m better”

She wants to tell you it’s not enough, because an injury isn’t the issue here. But Natasha also recognizes when she’s about to cross a boundary. 

So, she just nods and leaves the hangar. The feeling of defeat comes with her as you’re left alone on the jet.

—

Another Monday, another staff meeting. 

To everyone’s surprise, you’re the last through the door. Steve sits up, but the rest of the team just looks at you, afraid that saying anything else might scare you away.

For your part, you ignore everyone but Natasha, placing a paper bag from her favorite bakery in front of her. 

She smiles at you, because it’s something you always do on Monday meetings. This time, you don’t mutter your usual excuse of being around the bakery first thing in the morning. You do give a little smile in return, and Natasha tries to ignore the warm feeling she gets from the gesture.

“Everyone, have a seat” Maria says, trying to pretend she isn’t surprised to see you as well. “We have word of a HYDRA base storing potentially dangerous technology. It’s big enough to send the whole team”

“Surely some of us could stay behind if we’re not up for it” Barton says, avoiding your eyes. He’s the only one that knows about what happened on your mission with Natasha. 

“It’s not ideal, but if anyone wants out, speak now. Very well”, she continues after a beat of silence. “Here’s the map of the facility. You leave in an hour”

—

The mission was completed. 

Barely. 

You’re holding a gauze against your side, to stop the bleeding from a bullet graze. Fury’s been called to go over what happened. 

He doesn’t seem pleased.

“You better do something about her” Tony says, his finger pointing at you.

“Stark” Barton warns but you don’t even react to his confrontation.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If she wants to go and get killed, that’s her deal. But we were just about done with the mission when she decides to fight a dozen HYDRA agents on her own”

“We need to calm down” Steve says.

“No, there was a town a few miles south and HYDRA had nuclear warheads. Have we learned nothing? This could have been catastrophic” 

“But it wasn’t, so…”

“If you have some mommy issues to deal with, do it on your free time. I’m not gonna burden myself with civilian deaths over your trauma” 

“Tony!” Steve reprimands, standing up. They’re so busy facing each other, they never see you approaching. You throw a punch that hits Stark square in the eye, followed by another one that breaks his nose.

“Say that again, you fucking asshole” you shout, throwing a kick that never lands. It takes Steve and Bucky to hold you back. “Talk shit, Stark, see what happens” 

“That’s enough. You’re suspended, effective immediately” Fury says.

“I’ll do you one better. I quit” you push Rogers and Bucky away, not bothering to look at the rest of your teammates. 

It’s better this way.

—

It’s not hard to find you. Being a professional spy works in Natasha’s favor, but you’re basically bouncing from your apartment to the bar around the corner.

Sit and drink.

That’s all you do from the moment you walk in, around noon and then you leave past midnight. Before going up your apartment, you stop by the bodega to get another bottle of whatever cheap booze they have and call it a night.

Natasha looks from across the street, debating between going inside and talking to you or just going home.

What can she tell you to make it all better?

That’s the question she asks herself all week, and come Friday Natasha still doesn’t have an answer. 

The bar is crowded and the redhead figures it’s safe enough to go inside without being spotted.

You’re in your usual spot, leaning against the bar while sitting on a stool. The loud music and conversations make you dizzy, but you still ask for another scotch and drink half of it in one gulp.

“Are you moving anytime soon?” a twenty something year old pops out of nowhere and you don’t even look his way. “We want to sit at the bar and watch the game, I’m sure you can go be a sad drunk somewhere else”

“Fuck off” you say after finishing your drink and asking for another one. When they give it to you, the idiot knocks it from your hand. 

“You have ten seconds to apologize or leave” you rub your temples, thinking how much worse your headache will be after kicking his ass.

“I don’t think so” he says, throwing a punch at you. Even with all you drank, you’re able to avoid his fist, knocking him down in one swift motion.

“Crap” you kinda forgot he was not alone. Three more guys show up, and while you’re busy blocking some kicks, one of them manages to punch you in the face. You fall to the ground, feeling a kick to your side and a fist that connects with your nose.

At this point, you give up, thinking that getting your ass kicked in a bar is just as effective as drinking the day away.

But the next attack never comes. In fact, all three men are down.

“Get up” you hear someone say. 

It sounds like Natasha.

You try to stand, but there’s a pain in your side. Before you can collapse on the ground, arms go around your waist and help you stand, walking side by side all the way to your apartment.

The lavender scent and the gentle touch confirms it’s Natasha, and you try not to think about how much you’ve missed her.

The redhead opens the door to your apartment, letting you down on the couch. You grunt as you sit, blood running down your nose and temple.

Yeah, this is going to be the worst hangover of your life.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Natasha says looking around the place. 

You really did miss her and the thought finally breaks you.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Natasha kneels in front of you the minute you let out a sob, tears mixing with the blood.

“It’s not worth it, Nat. I’m not worth the trouble. You should go” you plead, overwhelmed at the guilt that’s been consuming you for weeks now.

“What are you talking about?” 

“She kept asking for me. When they were at the hospital. She wanted to see me, she was scared and in pain and I wasn’t there. My mother died and I didn’t get to say goodbye” 

“Y/N…”

“What kind of person does that? How can you fail so badly to the people that loved you?” 

“You didn’t fail”

“Yes, I did” you say, struggling to breathe.

“You didn’t. It’s ok” Natasha tries to calm you, her hands going through your hair until your breathing evens out. 

The rush of adrenaline leaves your body, and pretty soon, you’re slumped against the couch, Natasha’s hands still in yours.

—

There’s light. And pain.

A different kind than the one you’ve had. As you sit up, you feel your bruised ribs and when you grimace, the split lip reminds you your face didn’t fare any better during your fight.

Natasha…

“How are you feeling?” you turn to find the woman standing in the middle of your kitchen. 

“Like shit” you reply and she chuckles.

“There’s some coffee. It’s not as good as the one you make, but it will do. I should go” she sets her cup down, sighing.

“You don’t have to…” you want her to stay. But you don’t know what will happen if you ask her.

“I do, actually” she walks towards the door, but you endure the pain to meet her at the threshold. 

“Nat”

“No” she shakes her head, without looking back at you. “You have no idea how hard it is to watch someone you love hurt themselves”

The word love echoes, making you take a step back.

Natasha turns to look at you, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I guess you were bound to find out eventually”

“Natasha” you plead, not knowing what to say.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t go into this when you’re going through hell and all i’ve done is watch you from afar. I guess I just want you to know…” she wipes the tears and looks at you. “You buy my favorite brand of peanut butter. You wake up one hour before I do, but the coffee is done only when I’m up. My water bottle is always full and cold before going to the gym. You charge my phone when I forget to, and when it’s late and I’m still working you stop by and tell me you made too much pasta just so I eat something…. You’re not a bad person. You’re wonderful and I wish I could have told you sooner. I’m sorry” Natasha turns around and leaves.

You don’t stop her this time.

—

It’s been three days and Natasha hasn’t heard from you. To be fair, she said a lot of things and didn’t wait for you to reply, so that might have been a bad idea.

Talking to Clint might be the only solution and she’s looking for him when you leave the conference room, followed by Maria and Steve.

Tony approaches you from the other side and Natasha waits around the corner.

“I’m sorry about what I said” Stark says and you nod.

“Fair enough. Not sorry about punching you, though”

“Fair enough” he repeats, smiling.

When they all leave, you turn back, your eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Hi” you approach her, hands inside your pockets.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sober”

“That’s good”

“Mhm” you nod, holding her stare. Your eyes travel to her lips and you sigh. “Can we talk?”

“We don’t have to…”

“I wanna show you something. It won’t take long, I promise. What do you say?” you offer your hand and she stares at it for a second.

When Natasha nods and takes it, you hold her tight, leading her out of the Compound.

—

“She loved Central Park” you remember, walking around the benches, Natasha’s hand still in yours. “The whole city, really”

“She liked it because you live here, I think” Natasha says and you nod.

“Well, that and the pizza”

“Right” the redhead nods. You find a bench and lead her to it, pointing at the plaque.

Love is only for the brave, followed by your mother’s name.

“Is something she said often. Figured it might be nice to have it here, for people to read and gather courage”

“That’s a beautiful way to remember her” Natasha nods, aware that you’re moving closer.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I thought back at my place, Nat” 

“You don’t need to explain anything” she interrupts, giving you a way out.

“I didn’t think you liked me that much. And I absolutely thought I was being more discreet about my feelings for you” 

“It’s hard for me to think that love makes you brave… or strong” Natasha says, taking a step forward so you’re inches apart. 

“I know. Please let me show you?”

“I think I’d like that” she nods, leaning forward until your lips meet in a short kiss.

When you break apart, you remember that time your mother visited. How she insisted Natasha looked at you in a special way. 

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asks against your lips when you smile.

“I love you” you say and she pulls you closer.

Everything will be ok, as long as you have each other.

[supernovafics]

bestfriend!steve comforting you after a break up

wc: 875

a/n: this short thing was born because "walking in the rain" by we all together has been stuck on repeat for me currently. enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“hey, what are you doing out here?” 

you were somehow able to hear steve’s voice over the heavy sound of the rain. 

seeing his maroon bmw was unexpected, and if it was any other moment it would’ve been a pleasant surprise, but in this one it wasn’t because you had really just wanted to be alone. 

“i’m just walking,” you answered, not stopping to walk over to his car and instead continuing your path down the sidewalk; you weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t really mind that right then. 

“walking?” steve asked, his tone incredulous and slightly amused. “it’s pouring out.”

all you could do was shrug in response because you didn’t want to say anything right then; not even to your best friend. 

you hoped that would be the end of it. that steve would understand that your shrug meant that you wanted to be left alone and he’d drive away, leaving you out here walking in the rain on this random tuesday afternoon. but of course, he didn’t drive off. 

instead, he pulled over and parked his car on the random street and then ran to catch up with you; his scoops ahoy uniform immediately getting soaked in the process along with his hair.  

“what’s wrong?” he asked, falling into step with you. 

you shook your head instead of verbally answering him because you knew that it would be too hard to outwardly lie to him. 

steve looked at you, confusion and worry written so clearly across his features because he didn’t know what was up with you in this moment. 

the rain hid your tears well, but it didn’t hide how puffy and red your eyes were. 

“are you crying?” he asked. “what happened?”

you wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing, and it did absolutely nothing to help, but the action still felt slightly soothing. “i don’t really want to talk about it right now.” 

“okay,” steve responded, matching your quiet tone and not pushing you further. “we can keep walking.”

and so you did. continued walking down the random sidewalk and letting the rain fill the silence lingering between you two. 

until you finally did say something. 

“nate and i broke up. well, actually, he, um, he broke up with me… he ended things,” you said and then you quickly continued before steve could respond. “and i didn’t want to talk about this right now. i wanted to wait until i was at least a little less sad about it to tell you, but...” you trailed off with a halfhearted shrug. 

“i’m sorry,” steve told you, voice soft and hand finding yours, giving it a light reassuring squeeze. 

“it’s okay.” 

it was obvious that your words were a lie— there was nothing about how affected you felt by the abrupt end of this six month relationship that felt okay— but steve decided against calling you out on it. 

he gave your hand another squeeze. “can we go to my car now before we end up getting sick out here?”

“okay,” you whispered and for a second, you thought that he wasn’t able to hear you over the sound of the rain, but then he was leading the way back to his car. 

“i just don’t get it, y’know,” you said, voice still quiet, once you were sitting in steve’s passenger seat. your rain-soaked clothes were starting to stick to you in an uncomfortable kind of way, but you weren't really focused on that right then. “what i did wrong.”

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” the certainty in his voice surprised you as much as it managed to comfort you.  

you turned to look at him, the smallest frown on your face. “how could you possibly know that?”

“because i know you and you’re great.”

his words made you smile, just a little bit, which was a nice contrast from how shitty you’d been feeling for the last hour. it was typical steve behavior, him doing anything and everything to make you feel better.  

you’d been used to it from the moment you two met in third grade when you tripped while playing on the playground and he cracked jokes during the entire walk to the nurses office to take your mind off of the pain of your scraped knees. 

“i never liked nate, by the way,” he continued. 

“i know you didn’t,” you responded. “which is what makes this a thousand times more embarrassing.”

you knew that if you had just avoided nate like steve had suggested from the beginning none of this would be happening. you wouldn’t have been walking around aimlessly in the rain and you wouldn’t have needed your best friend to save you from your own sadness. 

 “do you want me to take you to your place or mine?” steve asked softly, breaking the growing quiet. 

“yours,” you answered immediately. you couldn’t imagine not being with him right now— in his house, in whatever t-shirt and sweatpants he’d offer you to change into, on his couch watching bad movies until it got late and you dragged yourselves to his bed to sleep like you’d done a million times before. “please.”

steve nodded. “of course. anything for you.”

[penvisions]

underbelly {gone to the dogs} - a holiday special

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: You and Joel have an understanding, a new thing between you both. Where once biting words were exchanged and annoyance flared, now there's this simmering thing that slowly takes hold. And who is Joel Miller if not a giving man at his core, determined to do right by the people he lets into his pack?

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: canon typical language, outbreak fic, age gap (about 15 years), sub! joel miller, dom / sub dynamics, sexual content, rough sex, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v (it's the end of the world, y'all), oral (m and f receiving), sappy gift giving, holiday fic, some good ole pwp (well a little bc it's me lol)

Fic Notes: set at the beginning of their relationship, so between chapters five and six, i believe

A/N: hello, my loves! this is an apology of sorts for joel's behavior in the most recent chapter of the main series 😅felt like i needed to even the playing field a bit hehe. happy holidays and hope the days are good to y'all!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The table in front of you is an organized mess. From the small baggies of pills and powder, to the piles of hand rolled cigarettes and joints separated in plastic bins, there are four more full of medicine and vitamins that aren’t offered at the infirmary. This is most of the current stock you have, save for a bin that contains five to ten baggies of each drug and pill you offer safely secured underneath the loose panel of wood that acts as one of the many patch ups to the walls of your apartment, this one in your bedroom right beside the bathroom door.

You’ve got a beaten up notebook open as you’re looping out names and exchanges owed. A tally of who you traded with the past two weeks and what they asked for in the next two. There’s a lot to organize and you take an afternoon each week to keep it all neatly transcribed. The small bottle of ink you have is beside the little stamp you’ve kept well hidden from anyone else. Not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands and end up being used on product that is certainly not yours or up to your standards.

Tess had just gotten up from the couch, her resting spot for a moment after work. An inner jacket pocket full of baggies she was about to go and deliver to the tenants of the building next door. Just as you’re about to get up and stretch your legs, the front door opens after a jingling of keys and the lock turning.

Joel.

He’s back late for the day, but you don’t mind getting the random hours to spend with him. You do a lap or two around the table before you set a pot of water up on the stove to boil in an attempt at a late lunch. There are a few cans of potatoes you found last week and you wanted to try and make something soft and hot- mashed potatoes.

Snow dusts the top of his shoulders as you watch him carefully lock the door behind himself, his thick fingers sliding the deadbolt and side latch locks. It’s all in his hair too, darkening the locks by contrast, though you can see the gray beginning to thread itself between the strands. Without a word, Joel is turning and something flies out of his grip and towards you across the room.

You catch it, though the hit of the hard thing is cushioned by a swath of thick paper around it and a twine bow tied to keep it closed.

“Joel, what the hell?” But he doesn’t respond, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair you had been in before disappearing into the bedroom. His boots clunk with the heavy steps he takes, the pain in his back and hips worse today without him needing to tell you. Sighing, you set the electric burner to the lowest setting and sit back at the table.

The little wrapped item gets set to the side, not forgotten but saved for later.

“Why didn’t you open it?”

“It’s just more of the same. Wanted to catalogue everything I already have before adding more to the roster,” You swoop the pencil in your hand over the expanse of the table, it was clear what was going on, wasn’t it? Why did he have to pick arguments with you even now, you’ve shared your apartment and bed with him for nearly a year. But sometimes you still feel like you didn’t know all of him and while you had resigned yourself to that very likely reality, you would take what he could offer you. What he was willing and wanting to offer you, because when you did- the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit, that scowl he wears so well lessens just a bit, his dark eyes lighten enough to let you glimpse at the person you assume he used to be.

“Darlin’, it ain’t none of that.” When you tilt your head to the side, much like an entranced dog, you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs, his next words the softest you’ve ever hear from him. In both sentiment and tone, aside from the night everything shifted. “It’s a gift for you. For the holiday.”

“Joel…” The confusion leaks out of you, replaced by a warmth in your chest. It’s been…god, it’s been years since anyone got you anything for the holidays. And here he is, all brooding and big and violent, giving you a piece of himself you hadn’t previously seen. His eyes are heavy on you as the paper crinkles, the twine unravels.

Atop the notebook, nestled in the ‘gift wrap’ is a little wooden figure. A dog. A cane corso dog.

A physical depiction of the very thing that lended you the nickname you’ve taken on in stride. Adapted in your endeavor to provide things for the people that the remnants of government forces refused to or asked for too much in exchange for. You were always giving, sacrificing, scrounging, never taking anything for yourself unless absolutely necessary. But this? This was something just for you, something made just for you but the looks of it. The scrapes and a blade obvious in the carving.

The gasp that leaves you does nothing to help the rapid flutter of your heart.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sharp eyes watching the way water droplets cling to your skin as you emerge from your shower. The door was wide open, the space heater Joel had found among the rubble now fixed and set between the bedroom and bathroom threshold. A lame attempt at bringing some warmness to where you both curled up at night.

The cold was getting to him, his body aching. Not just sore, but aching in the way that begins to spur thoughts of old age in his mind. He’s not that old, he doesn’t think. But he is a hell of a lot older than you and he sees it in the way you perk up at the sight of snow softly falling from the sky. In the way you offer to run to the commissary or the food hall for everyone when there’s just no energy for standing at the stove or tinkering with something that’s been broken one too many times.

Your eyes are on him as you approach but he doesn’t feel like he used to when they pinned him down in a challenge. Now he feels rooted to the spot, waiting to see what you would do with anticipation rather than anger at being challenged. He no longer feels like you’re heeling him, like he’s nothing but dirt and grime underneath the tread of your boots, flesh that was torn apart and stuck between your teeth.

No. Now he feels like he’s been granted a fresh breath of air straight from your lungs.

And he’s reveling in it. He can’t help out but reach with itching fingers, trailing over the silk of your damp skin. The hitch in your breath he can fucking hear is driving him wild, the way you freely walk around like this when before it was all growls and threats if he even so much as managed a glimpse of what you look like underneath your threadbare clothing. Of the real you that hides behind the harsh persona and attitude you’ve taken on as a shell against the world.

He sees it now, as you let him trail his fingers up to the crooks of your elbows and tug you between his legs. His lips press to your skin, a groan escaping from his chest despite the pull in his shoulder muscles at the action.

The shift of the dynamic was sudden, brought on by seeing you in a new element. One where he was able to glimpse the person you used to be. And it had made his heart both stutter and ache. If you had crossed paths before the end of the world, you would’ve thrown him for a loop, stuck in his head until he carved out time to do something about it. But as the universe played it’s hand, he’s still crossed paths with you. That’s good enough for him, despite the biting words you used to mean as you berated him and bossed him around- shoved the barrel of a gun in his face and demanded what the hell he thought he was doing trying to edge in on the smuggling scene here in this zone like he owned the place.

Because he didn’t then, and he still doesn’t now. No, that’s you.

And he’s now the muscle in it, determined to do right by the situation. It feels good to step down, to follow the orders he gets from you or from you by Tess’s mouth. To just be a piece in the game he had been heading for far too long in far too many places and scenarios. It was nice to just turn off his brain and listen.

He feels much the same way now as he watches with a quick thrumming of his heart and blood rushing to his cock as you move to kneel behind him on the bed still in only your thin towel. Hands gently kneed into his aching muscles, and he leans into the touch. It was a good thing, he thinks, to have taken the time to carve that figure for you. A gift. A frivolous thing he wanted to give to you in the midst of chaos and too cold weather, the half-smile it brought to your face worth the effort of a new hobby he had dared to try.

When prodding fingers find a particular hard knot between his neck and shoulder blade, the moan he lets out pinches his face up in pain.

“Lemme get the menthol stuff, it’ll help.”

He watches as you strut across the room and disappear into the kitchen, towel now gone and all your skin on display. He feels the swell of his cock harden in his jeans and presses a palm to relieve some of the ache there too.

He’s always been the one to lead, to take charge but he’s thinking more and more that you like being that way. And his mind blanks as you stand in front of him with hardened nipples and a jar of homemade lotion that smells far too strong to handle at the moment.

When you upcap it, he reaches out to stop you. The puzzled look that has the hint of annoyance behind it has him rolling his lips, words stuck in his throat. As the silence drags on, you must see the way that his eyes are darkened by arousal and contemplation. But you don’t move until he manages to unstick the words from where they’re lodged.

“Just…not right now. Your hands are good enough, we can save it for another time, yeah?”

Without a word, you’re twisting the cap back on the jar and then pushing a small hand to the center of his chest.

“Then lay back.”

“What for?” He raises a thick brow at the command, ready to dispel whatever hesitation that lingers in his body.

“Gonna take care of you. You gonna let me?”

All he can muster up is a nod before he listens and does exactly what you ask of him. He lets go of everything, every thought and you take the reigns from his hands. The clink of his belt is loud, breaking the drone of the heater working in the corner and the sound of his zipper as him closing his eyes tightly.

“You gifted me something and now let me do the same. Just lemme take the lead, turn that brain off for a moment, yeah?”

Joel sighs out a ‘yes’ as he lifts his hip at the tap of your palms there, allowing you to peel the jeans and boxers from his legs. Goosebumps crop up at the cooler temperature, the heat of his hardened cock bobs against his stomach. He’s never been this way before. Not with you and barely with Tess, physical and sexual interactions always on his terms, on his conditions. Giving into you know feels right, he trusts you. Even as he feels the nip of sharp teeth on his neck before a warm tongue sooths it over.

“You can be such a good boy sometimes.” And the praise falling from your lips in a confident tone should irk him, but it does nothing but cause him to jerk below the waist and clench his teeth together as he feels it wash over him. It’s genuine, not teasing. He should know, because he’s normally the one praising you in such a manner. It’s a nice moment, he realizes, letting you take the lead. Allowing himself to fall into your commands in a less than serious way. In a more serious way. This is everything.

His chest heaves as you move down his body, the denim shirt he’s wearing unbuttoned as you go, lips trailing over coarse chest hair, the trail that moves down down down…

The feeling of him in your mouth is a heady sensation, it’s lighting up your body in hot sparkles that almost vibrate in intensity. The salty, musky taste of him on your tongue is one you would never tire of, even if he seldom lets you indulge him this way.

Down to his core, he’s a giver. He’s someone who gives himself to those around him and that’s obvious even in the bedroom. He always pleasures you, with his plush, delectable lips. His thick fingers and wide hands, the edge of his strong nose. The heft and feel of his cock something you crave just as much as he seems to be willing to sink into your pulsing heat at any chance he could get. It wasn’t just about fucking. Hell, it wasn’t even just about being fucked by him- it was something more. A man whose walls were built so high, bricks unsettling and gaps forming as you both share daily responsibilities and nightly routines. You were bonded.

But right now? He’s given himself wholly over to you.

His lips form a hard line as you nose along the leading head of his cock, flushed a pretty dusky pink, the exact same shade. But you can’t fight the frown that threatens to take over your own as you press your them to the slit to gather the pearlescent drop there, tongue peeking out to taste it.

“Lemme hear you, Joel.” That paired with the hungry way you swallow him down has him surging up with a strangled expletive followed by your name. After that, he hardly has any trouble letting loose deep groans and guttural growls as you take him back into your mouth and hollow your cheeks. His hips lift as you take him as deep as you can, leaking head nudging the back of your throat in the most delicious way.

It's dangerous, how powerful you feel right now. With Joel Miller loose limbed and compliant beneath you, surrendering to whatever you deem he deserves.

But nothing compares to the grip his hands form on your hips and the frantic look in his eyes as you straddle his thick thighs and sink down on him until your bottom is flush with them. Panting, you grind slowly, reveling in the feel of him deep and stretching you to make room for him to nestle. He’s hitting that sweet spot only he can reach and starts burst in the corners of your vision as you meet his gaze.

He’s never looked for open and recked, eyes blown own, breath puffing out in harsh pants, lips glistening from where you swear drool shines over them…

Tracing the bounce of your chest as you continue to grind against him, pleasure swathing you both in a tingling that crawls over every inch of skin. You clench around him, pulling a tortured sound from him as he fights off the feeling of bucking up into you. The shaking of his legs makes you feel pride spark low in your belly just as a flash of heat does.

“Hold on tight, I’m gonna take a ride.”

His head knocks back harshly onto the bed when you lift up and slam back down, eyes fluttering shut as all he does is hold on tight to your hips and lets you take care of him.

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[avonnimimi]

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Plugged

The Series. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

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a/n: Finally getting somewhereeee, here’s part 3 yall @hcneymooners @wannabe-fic-reader I hope you enjoy! Remember, some things may be written in my native english dialect, if you don’t understand, comment and i’ll translate. MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: drug dealer! Vi x Black fem readers, weed, smoking, intoxication, cursing, clit rubbing (r!receiving) choking, hair pulling, dom!vi, orgasm denial? lmk if i missed anything!

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Vi didn’t take you home that night. You didn’t ask why. She pulled up to a sleek, modern apartment complex, way out of your usual league, and didn’t say a word. Just got out, opened your door, and scooped you into her arms like it was nothing.

“I can walk, Violet,” you muttered, half-hearted, pressing your hands against her chest.

“If I wanted you to walk, you’d be walking,” she shot back, voice low and firm. Her grip didn’t falter. She carried you to the elevator, setting you down only to press the button for the top floor.

When the doors opened, she led you down a quiet hallway to the sixth apartment. The second she unlocked the door, her scent hit you, warm, musky, like the kind of comfort you didn’t realize you craved. The place wasn’t spotless, but it wasn’t messy either. It was lived-in. A little chaotic, a little home.

She tugged you to the couch in the dimly lit living room, leaving only the kitchen light on. The glow softened the edges of everything, but it couldn’t soften the tension hanging heavy in the air. You sat; she sank down beside you, knees spread wide, her posture loose but guarded.

“What did you say to Tevonn?” you asked, voice quiet, searching her face. Her hand dragged down her jaw, a nervous tick.

“I reminded him he owes me six bands. Told him if he tried to bullshit me, I’d fuck him up.”

You snorted, dry and humorless. “I doubt you said it like that. You probably made it sound worse. He was apologizing.”

She shifted, legs stretching wider, her body language all deflection. But her jaw tightened, and there was something behind her eyes she didn’t let you see.

“What did you mean,” you started, hesitant, “when you said you were gonna teach Donte another lesson?” His name tasted bitter, like poison in your mouth. Like shame. You still couldn’t believe he’d tried to sell you off, like you were nothing, because he’d been fucking someone else.

Vi chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, but there was no humor in it. “Couple years ago, Donte was with my little sister.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Her gaze turned sharp, focused. “He did some fuck shit. Put his hands on her.”

You stared at her, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and horror.

“So I beat the fuck out of him. But she didn’t like that. Stayed with him. Took care of him.” Her voice was steady, but there was a storm brewing underneath. “Then Donte snitched. Told the cops about my business. That’s how I got locked up.”

Your mind reeled, the pieces falling together too fast, too heavy. You reached out, resting your hand on her shoulder. You didn’t know what to say. Before you could figure it out, she pulled you into her lap, her hands steadying you as you straddled her.

Her fingers brushed the bruise on your cheek, the one Donte left behind. Her touch was gentle, reverent. “It’s bruising,” she said quietly, her voice soft in contrast to the hardness in her eyes.

You turned your face away, shame burning in your chest. Tears welled up before you could stop them, and when they spilled, they came fast and hot, your body shaking under the weight of it all.

“Hey, hey,” Vi whispered, her hands cupping your face. Her thumbs wiped the tears as they fell, and she kissed each one away, her lips soft against your wet skin. Then she kissed the bruise, so tender it broke something in you.

You tried to speak, but your lips trembled. Vi caught it with her thumb, her touch light despite the tension in her shoulders. “Let’s smoke,” she said, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. Normally, you’d have said no. But tonight wasn’t normal. And Vi wasn’t just anyone.

You followed her to the balcony. She rolled the joint right there, the night air cool against your skin. You watched her, mesmerized; the way her hands moved, precise and confident, the flick of her lighter, the curl of her lips as she sealed the paper. It was hypnotic. It was hot. You felt the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading between your legs.

She handed you the spliff, and you took it without a word, inhaling deep. The smoke filled your lungs, thick and warm, pulling you out of your head. Vi rolled another for herself, letting you keep the first. By the time you were done, your body was humming, higher than you’d been in a long time. Donte’s cheap shit didn’t hold a candle to this.

Back inside, you stumbled toward the bathroom. Vi’s voice followed you. “Room’s to the left.” You didn’t answer, too focused on scrubbing the makeup off your face, washing away the night. In the bathroom, you found fresh towels and let yourself borrow them, along with a pair of her boxers and a t-shirt from her drawer.

You crawled into her bed, the sheets soft and cool against your skin. Sleep was already pulling at you when Vi walked in. “Damn, precious, made yourself at home,” she teased, her voice low and lazy. You ignored her, sinking deeper into the mattress, the high still buzzing in your veins.

She slid in beside you, her shirt gone. Your eyes caught on the tattoos covering her back, black ink curling over her muscles like a story written in another language. You stared, the sight of her stealing your breath.

“Keep looking at me like that, and we’re gonna have a problem,” she murmured, her voice rough at the edges.

You didn’t think. You just moved. Crawled on top of her, straddling her hips. Her smirk was quick, her hands finding your waist like they belonged there.

“Don’t do something you’re gonna regret, precious,” she warned, her voice low and gravelly, but her hands betrayed her, grinding your hips against hers. The friction sent a shiver through you, a shaky sigh slipping past your lips.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered, your voice small, “but you keep taking care of me. Why?”

Her hands stilled. Her gaze caught yours, steady and unflinching. “When I like something, I take care of it.”

Something inside you broke open. You leaned in, crashing your lips against hers. Vi met you halfway, her mouth hot and demanding, her tongue tangling with yours like she’d been waiting for this. For you.

When you pulled back, breathless, she caught your face in her hands. “You sure about this?” she asked, her voice softer now, her thumb brushing along your cheek. “I know you ain’t a cheater.”

“Donte ain’t my man,” you whispered, raw and honest, the words thick in your throat. “Not anymore.”

Her lips curved into a wicked smile. “Then yeah, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You crushed your lips back to hers, desperate now. Her hands gripped your hips tighter, grounding you, guiding you as you grind down against her. The friction sent sparks shooting through your body, the waistband of her pants dragging perfectly against your clit.

“mmh fuck…” you moaned, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your head fell to her shoulder, your hips moving instinctively, chasing the pressure, chasing the high.

Vi’s hands stilled your movements, her grip firm but careful. “Don’t do something you’re gonna regret, precious,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, but there was an edge of restraint there. “You’re high. You’re hurt. Ain’t how I want this to go.”

You froze for a moment, your lip trembling, the shame coiling tight in your chest. She was right, but you needed her, so badly. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t get it. I need this. I need you.”

She stared at you, her jaw tight, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Her thumbs rubbed slow, deliberate circles into your hips, grounding you again. “You ain’t gotta beg me, mama,” she finally said, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. “But you’re gonna listen to me.”

Her hands flexed, gripping you tighter. “You cum when I say. Not before. You understand?”

You nodded, a shaky, needy sound escaping your lips. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, heat flooding through you. She leaned back, her eyes dark and hungry, her smirk sharp enough to cut. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Keep grinding. Show me how bad you want it.”

You hesitated for only a second before you moved again, rolling your hips against hers. The friction was maddening, just enough to push you close, but not enough to tip you over. You whined, your hands gripping her shoulders, your movements growing more desperate.

Vi chuckled, low and throaty, her hands guiding your rhythm. “Yeah, there you go. Good girl. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

“Vi…” you whimpered, your voice breaking. “I—I need more…”

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “You think you’ve earned more?” she teased, her tone mocking, but her hands were steady, holding you in place. “Nah. Keep going. You’re not done yet.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, your body trembling with the effort. You were so close, so fucking close, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t—

Suddenly, her hand snaked up to your throat, her fingers curling around it, firm but not tight. She pulled you closer, your foreheads almost touching. “Look at me,” she ordered, her voice sharp, commanding. Your eyes snapped to hers, wide and desperate. “You cum when I tell you too. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, a breathless “Yes,” tumbling from your lips.

Her hand slipped into the waistband of her boxers, your borrowed ones, her fingers sliding through your slick folds like she already knew every inch of you. The first touch to your clit made you jerk, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” she muttered, her voice thick with desire. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, teasing you, building you up until you were shaking. Vi swore she was loosing her mind, finally being able to touch and feel and on your creamy pussy. “That feel good, pretty girl? That what you needed?”

“Yes,” you choked out, your hips rocking against her hand, chasing the high. “Please, Vi, please…”

She grinned, all teeth. “Not yet,” she said, her tone wicked. Her fingers slowed, keeping you teetering on the edge, the tension in your body unbearable. “You wait until I say.”

You let out a broken sob, your head falling to her shoulder, your body trembling. “Vi, I can’t—I can’t hold it…”

“Yeah, you can,” she murmured, her free hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so she could see your face. “You’re gonna hold it for me, mama. You’re gonna be good for me.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, your whole body trembling with the effort to hold yourself back. And then, finally, mercifully, she leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Now,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. “Cum for me.”

The words shattered you. Your body seized, the orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your hips bucking against her hand as she kept working you through it, her fingers relentless, her voice low and soothing in your ear.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s my girl. Let it all out,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. “Good fucking girl.”

When it was over, you collapsed against her, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her lips pressing soft kisses to your hair.

“Go to sleep, precious,” she whispered, her voice warm, steady, grounding. “I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You didn’t answer. You just let yourself sink into her, her warmth, her scent, her presence. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: The truth finally comes to light and Simon’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. His fury, tempered by the desire to help, contrasts sharply with the polished, insincere concern Tom displays when he arrives at the hospital. Though Simon’s emotions boil beneath the surface, he holds back…for now. Alone at the bar later, Simon wrestles with his frustration, plotting a way to help you escape from Tom’s grip without rushing into a dangerous confrontation.

A/N: Cue the heavy emotions. This chapter pulls no punches: it’s raw, painful, and brimming with emotional tension. Simon’s transformation from concerned friend to protective warrior is starting to take shape, and it’s hard not to feel for him as he struggles to do the right thing without putting you at further risk. As for Tom? He’s a smooth talker, but Simon isn’t going to let him off easy. Get ready for more intensity ahead. 🥊

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 5 - The Breaking Point

"Who did this to you?"

Your throat feels tight, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You turn your head, unable to meet his gaze. "It’s... it’s nothing," you whisper, but even you don’t believe the words.

"Don’t lie to me," Simon says, his voice firm but not unkind. He’s kneeling closer now, his hand brushing lightly against yours. "Please. Tell me who hurt you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. You’re too scared, too ashamed. And yet, there’s something in Simon’s expression—an unwavering determination—that makes you feel safer than you have in years.

“It was Tom,” you finally admit, your voice trembling. “My husband.”

Simon’s expression darkens, the storm in his eyes now a raging tempest. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he tries to steady himself. “He’s the reason you...?” He gestures toward the bruises, his voice trailing off.

You nod silently, your tears spilling over. “Please don’t do anything,” you beg. “It’ll only make things worse.”

Simon’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He wants to fight, to fix this, but he knows you’re right. Charging headfirst into this could backfire. He takes another breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Alright," he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "But you can’t keep going back to him. You deserve better than this."

Before you can respond, the dizziness hits you again, and your vision begins to blur. Simon’s voice becomes distant, calling your name as your body starts to give out. He catches you before you hit the floor, cradling you against him.

"That’s it," he murmurs, his tone resolute. "You’re going to the hospital. I don’t care what he thinks. I’m not letting this go."

Simon carries you out of the shop, his movements quick but careful. The world around you feels like a blur, but his presence anchors you. As he helps you into his car and buckles you in, his hands linger for a moment on yours.

“Stay with me,” he says softly, his voice a lifeline. And even as darkness tugs at the edges of your consciousness, you hold onto that small piece of hope—Simon’s unwavering determination to protect you.The hospital room smells sterile, the faint scent of disinfectant lingering in the air. The hum of monitors fills the silence as Simon stands near your bed, his body taut with restrained fury. His question lingers in the air like a thundercloud, charged and heavy.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” His voice is softer now, laced with a bewildered pain.

“It wasn’t relevant at the time,” you reply, tears burning the corners of your eyes. Memories of your laughter with Simon, of moments that felt so light and easy, now feel stained by the weight of this truth.

Simon’s jaw tightens, his fists curling briefly before he releases them. His eyes soften, but there’s a fire behind them that won’t be extinguished. “You don’t have to stay with him,” he says, his voice low but earnest. "If you need a way out, you don’t even have to ask. My door’s open to you. Always."

His words seep into the cracks Tom left in you, offering a glimmer of hope. But before you can find the courage to respond, the door swings open with a force that sends the moment scattering.

Tom strides in, his polished shoes clicking against the tile floor, his face painted with concern that feels more rehearsed than real. "Sweetheart, I just heard you were here. I came as fast as I could!" His voice oozes charm, but it scrapes against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Simon steps back, his entire body rigid as he watches Tom approach. The air shifts, thick with tension. Tom barely acknowledges Simon beyond a cursory, insincere nod. "Thanks for your help, pal," Tom says smoothly, his tone dripping with practiced gratitude. "I’ll take it from here."

You shrink under Tom’s gaze as he turns his attention to you, his smile tightening like a snare. "Let’s get you going home, alright?" he coos, his hand brushing your arm in a way that feels more like a warning than affection.

Simon’s hands curl into fists at his sides. Every muscle in his body screams to act, to stop Tom, to protect you. But he knows—one wrong move here, one sign of defiance, and Tom might make things worse for you. So, he swallows his rage and stays rooted in place, his eyes burning holes into Tom’s back as he escorts you out.

Later that night, Simon sits at the corner of a dimly lit bar, a pint of beer clutched in his hand. Around him, the raucous laughter of coworkers and the hum of chatter feel distant, muted. He barely hears the words of encouragement or the half-hearted jokes tossed his way. His thoughts are locked on you—your bruises, the fear in your eyes, the way you shrank under Tom’s presence.

He downs another drink, the bitterness of the alcohol mirroring the frustration churning inside him. He vents to his coworkers, his voice low but taut with emotion. "I can’t just stand by and let this happen. They don't deserve this. No one does."

One of them claps him on the back, offering platitudes about patience and planning. But Simon barely hears them. Every instinct in him is screaming to act now, to confront Tom, to tear you away from the man who’s hurt you. Yet, deep down, he knows rushing in without a plan could make things worse—for both of you.

As the hours drag on and the bar clears out, Simon sits alone, his pint glass empty and his resolve solidifying. He doesn’t know exactly how yet, but he’s going to get you out of this. He’s going to protect you, even if it means facing demons from his own past—memories of fights and confrontations he thought he’d left behind.

One thought loops in his mind as he steps out into the cool night air: Tom may think he’s won, but he hasn’t met someone like me yet.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[chuubiesl]

i'm here on your doorstep | dick grayson

summary : Dick Grayson feels a deep emptiness in his chest, a feeling that only grows with the absence of his girlfriend. Each day away from her seems longer and more painful than the last. He knows he made a mistake, that he let the right words die in his throat when they needed to be said the most. Now, there he is, once again, standing in front of her door, with his heart racing and his hands sweating.

warning : it's inspired by betty from ts, so that says a lot

The party was in full swing, the atmosphere buzzing with energy and carefree vibes. People moved around the room in a frenetic rhythm, dancing to the loud music that echoed in every corner, while some couples got lost in passionate kisses, oblivious to the world around them. The air was filled with laughter, animated conversations, and the faint smell of spilled drinks. It was amidst this whirlwind of emotions that you spotted him: Dick, standing at the door, like a figure who didn’t quite belong in that party scene. He was there, quiet, observing, with an air that mixed hesitation and a glimmer of hope.

Your heart tightened, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it, and your feet seemed to grow heavier with each step you took toward him. Your steps were hesitant, as if part of you wanted to run to him, while another part urged you to walk away as quickly as possible. When you finally got close, the words came out almost without thinking, laced with a mix of surprise and distrust:

"What are you doing here?"

Dick looked at you, his eyes reflecting a sincerity that seemed to want to break down the barrier you had built between you. He took a deep breath before answering, as if carefully choosing each word:

"Well, I was out on the street and… I just wanted to see you."

He noticed the hesitant look you gave him, that look that said more than words ever could. It was a look that mixed doubt, hurt, and maybe, just maybe, a little longing. Dick then asked the question that seemed to hang in the air between you, his voice soft, almost vulnerable:

"Do you want me to leave?"

There was an innocent expression on his face, as if he truly didn’t know what your answer would be. He had missed you. That’s what kept him there, standing at the door, once again. It was as if he couldn’t stay away, even knowing he might not be welcome.

"See me after everything you did?"

The words came out loaded with an incredulity that couldn’t be disguised. You couldn’t believe he was there, in front of you, as if nothing had happened. A sigh escaped your lips, almost involuntarily, while your eyes stayed fixed on anything but him. It was hard to look him in the eye, hard to face that past that always seemed to linger between you.

"Let’s talk on the porch, Dick."

The suggestion was made with a firm voice, but one that still carried an almost imperceptible tremor. The porch was a calmer place, away from the noise and commotion of the party. Maybe there, you could finally have the conversation you had needed for so long.

"Of course," Dick replied, his voice soft, almost restrained, as if he were trying to measure every word, every tone, to avoid making things worse. He followed you in silence, his steps echoing lightly on the floor as you both walked toward the porch. The night was cool, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of wet grass and the distant murmur of the party still going on inside, as if the world kept turning, even though, for the two of you, everything seemed to have stopped.

When you reached the porch, each of you sat in one of the rocking chairs, their smooth, rhythmic motion contrasting with the tension in the air. The silence between you was thick, heavy, as if every second that passed carried the weight of everything that had been said and left unsaid. You could barely look at each other. Your gazes met for brief moments, only to quickly look away, as if there was something too painful about maintaining eye contact. It was hard to tell if it was hurt, shame, or a mix of both that kept that invisible barrier between you.

The music from the party reached the porch in a muffled way, like a distant echo of a world that seemed far away from that moment. Out there, there were no judgmental looks, no pity. It was just the two of you, the night, and the silence that seemed to scream louder than any words.

Dick was the one who broke the silence first. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say what needed to be said. His words came out slowly, measured, but loaded with a sincerity that was impossible to ignore.

"I’m sorry for making you suffer," he began, his voice a little shaky but firm. "I shouldn’t have done that. I know I messed up, and I… I deeply regret it. I still care about you, more than I can express."

His eyes were fixed on you now, as if he were trying to convey all the pain and regret he felt through that gaze. It was clear that he was upset with himself, perhaps even more than you could imagine. He knew he had hurt the girl he loved, and it was eating him up inside.

But, even with all the regret, there was a stubborn hope in his heart. He was still there, waiting for a chance, for a sign that you might forgive him for the betrayal. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but still, he hoped.

"A summer away, and this happens," you jabbed, your voice now bitter. "I hope it was at least worth it; hitting on two girls and losing the right one."

"It wasn’t intentional," Dick began, his voice heavy with remorse, as if each word were a burden he had been carrying for a long time. He looked at you with a sad expression, his eyes revealing a mix of regret and vulnerability. "I just wanted to have a little fun, you know? Just trying to forget some things, but… things went too far. I didn’t plan for this to happen."

He paused, taking a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words to explain something he himself didn’t fully understand. "I was tired. Tired of everything. And the alcohol… it was running through my veins, making me more impulsive than I already am. I just wanted to get away from people, away from everything. But now… now I’m sure that you’re the only one I really care about."

His eyes fixed on you, filled with a fragile hope, as if he were holding onto a thin thread of possibility for reconciliation. He wanted you to believe him, to see the genuine regret in his gaze.

But you weren’t ready to accept his words so easily. Your eyes, which had refused to meet his until now, turned to the old tree in the garden. That tree that had witnessed so many moments between the two of you, with both of your initials carved into its bark, like a symbol of a time that now seemed so distant. It was painful to look at it, as if each letter carved into the wood were a reminder of what you had lost.

"Dick, it wasn’t just one day with Barbara," you said, your voice firm but with a tremor that betrayed the pain you still felt. "It was an entire summer. Were you drunk the whole summer? Don’t use alcohol as an excuse, because deep down, you were following what you were feeling."

Your eyes moved away from the tree and briefly turned back to the house, where the party was still in full swing. People were laughing, dancing, drinking, as if there were no tomorrow. It was a stark contrast to what you were feeling at that moment. While everyone seemed lost in the euphoria of the night, you had lost the desire to celebrate. The joy of the party seemed distant, almost unreal.

Dick lowered his head, as if your words had hit a nerve. "The alcohol just made things worse," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if he himself didn’t fully believe what he was saying.

You didn’t let him hide behind that excuse. "The alcohol just gave you courage, you mean," you said, your words direct, cutting, but loaded with a truth that both of you knew was there. The alcohol may have amplified his impulses, but deep down, the choices he made were his, and his alone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him approaching. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction. Part of you wanted to pull away, to create distance, to protect yourself from anything that might hurt you again. But there was something deeper, something that kept you from moving. Maybe it was the memory of what you once had, or maybe it was the hope, however faint, that things could be different this time.

He then sat down beside you, his weight sinking slightly into the couch or bench where you were sitting. His movements were careful, as if he knew that one wrong move could shatter the fragile balance between you. He put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You felt the warmth of his body, the familiarity of that touch that had once been so comforting. He noticed how tense you were, as if your body were on alert, and he knew he had to be gentle, that he couldn’t push too hard.

You felt uncomfortable, yes. There was an internal war raging inside you, between the desire to protect yourself and the urge to let yourself be carried away by the moment. But, as much as part of you wanted to pull away, another part couldn’t. Slowly, your head found its way to his shoulder, as if it were the natural place to rest. Your hands, almost instinctively, moved toward his, and your fingers intertwined in a gesture that had once been so familiar, so full of meaning. You gave a light squeeze, as if trying to say something that words couldn’t express.

"You’re an idiot, a jerk," you said, the words coming out low, almost whispered, but loaded with a vulnerability you couldn’t hide. There was no anger in them, just hurt. Hurt for what he had done, for what you had lost. And, behind it all, there was still love. Because, despite all the mistakes, all the disappointments, you still loved Dick. And maybe that was what hurt the most.

"Yeah, I’m an idiot," he replied, his voice hoarse, as if the words were stuck in his throat. "There’s no excuse for what I did. I want to be better for you." His eyes filled with tears, and he didn’t try to hide them. He was hurting, not just because he had lost you, but because he had been the cause of all that pain. He hated himself for hurting the girl he loved, for ruining everything. But, at the same time, there was a sense of relief in being there, by your side, even if it was just for a moment.

He tilted his head slightly, letting his lips brush against your hair in a soft, almost reverent kiss. He breathed in the familiar scent of your shampoo, something he hadn’t realized he missed so much until now. It was a small gesture, but one filled with meaning. He was trying to win back your trust, trying to show, even in a timid way, that he still cared, that he still wanted to make things right. And, deep down, you knew he was trying. But you also knew that the road to rebuilding what had been broken was long and uncertain.

You stayed thoughtful for a few seconds, maybe minutes; time seemed to slow down, as if the world around you had stopped to let you simply exist in that moment. His touch, so familiar yet so distant, was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. His hand held yours with a gentleness that almost made you forget, for a moment, all the pain you had felt. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly, as if trying to hold onto that feeling, to keep it in your memory.

"Can I ask for something?" Dick said, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he didn’t want to disturb the silence surrounding you.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you nodded slightly, confirming that you were willing to hear what he had to say. Your hand squeezed his more firmly, as if trying to convey that, despite everything, you were still there, still trying.

Dick then turned to you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that almost took your breath away. He seemed to be trying to read every emotion on your face, every thought crossing your mind. And then, he asked the question that made your heart stop for a moment:

"Can I kiss you?"

The world seemed to spin faster for an instant. You felt your heart race, your thoughts jumble. Your eyes glanced toward the house, imagining what your friends would say if they saw you giving Dick another chance. The judgments, the disapproving looks, the comments that would surely arise. But, deep down, you knew you didn’t care what others thought. Because, in that moment, all you wanted was this.

"Yes."

The word came out in a whisper, almost imperceptible, but enough to make Dick smile. It was a smile that lit up his face, full of relief and hope. He leaned in slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away, to change your mind. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned slightly forward, meeting his lips with yours.

The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were trying to convey all the regret and love he felt through that simple touch. Your lips met, mingled, as if trying to reconnect something that had been broken. You were so close that you could almost feel his breath, the warmth of his body.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; time seemed irrelevant. When you finally pulled away, it was with a series of soft pecks, as if neither of you really wanted the kiss to end. You stayed there, in silence, just looking at each other. Your eyes met, and you saw in his a promise, a determination to make things right this time.

"Just… no more summer flings," you said, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.

"I promise," Dick replied, his voice firm, full of conviction. He smiled, a smile that was both sweet and determined. "I’m ready to be your boyfriend, only yours. I don’t want to be with anyone else." His voice was filled with a sincerity that was impossible to ignore. He kissed you again, but this time it was different. The kiss was firmer, more passionate, as if he were trying to show you that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment, like those in the summer. This was real. This was something much better.

And, as you got lost in that kiss, you felt that, maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

[clarkeyzzz]

any type of hurt/comfort with George Clarke would be greatly appreciated 🙏🙏

Secrets, Lies, and Uncertainty 

george clarkey x fem!oc

summary: george publicly dismisses the idea of settling down, unaware that his secret girlfriend, Tessa, overhears.

warnings: hurt/comfort

notes: i had so many ideas for this request so expect more hurt no comfort coming soon!

2.3k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

The air in the dimly lit living room hung heavy with the scent of spilled beer and cheap cologne. Laughter erupted from a circle of friends gathered around a coffee table littered with empty bottles and half-eaten snacks. George, his brunette hair tousled and cheeks flushed from one too many drinks, leaned back into the plush sofa cushions, a lazy grin plastered across his face.

"So, George," Arthur drawled, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "when are you gonna settle down with a nice girl, eh? You can't play the field forever, mate."

The group snickered, and George felt a flicker of panic in his chest. His eyes darted briefly to the kitchen doorway, where he caught a glimpse of her – Tessa, with her cascade of chestnut curls and emerald eyes that always seemed to see right through him. Their secret burned in his throat like the whiskey he'd been drinking all night.

Forcing a chuckle, George waved his hand dismissively. "Settle down? Me? Nah, that's not in the cards anytime soon, fellas.

But as the words left his mouth, George felt a pang of guilt. He caught Tessa's silhouette retreating from the doorway, her shoulders visibly tensing. The laughter of his friends faded into a dull roar as he realized the impact of his careless words.

"Yeah, you know me," he continued, his voice strained as he tried to maintain the facade. "I'm all about the bachelor life. Why tie yourself down when there's so much fun to be had?"

Arthur clapped him on the back, nearly spilling his drink. "Well George, a true ladies' man aren't you!"

The conversation drifted to other topics, but George found himself unable to focus. His eyes kept darting to the kitchen, hoping to catch another glimpse of Tessa. The weight of their shared secret pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe in the crowded room.

As the party began to wind down, George excused himself, claiming he needed some fresh air. He stumbled out onto the back porch, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy interior. The sound of the sliding door opening behind him made him turn, and there she was – Tessa

Tessa stood in the doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the warm glow from inside. The distant laughter of their friends echoed behind her, a stark contrast to the tense silence between them. George's heart raced as he took in her appearance - her emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Tess," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean-"

"Didn't mean what, George?" she interrupted, her words sharp and brittle like shards of glass. "Didn't mean to reduce our relationship to nothing more than a dirty little secret? Didn't mean to make me feel like I'm just another notch on your bedpost?"

George winced, the weight of his careless words crashing down upon him. He reached out to her, but she took a step back, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

"I heard everything," Tessa continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "Every word about your precious bachelor life, about how you're not ready to settle down. Tell me, George, where do I fit into that picture? Am I just a placeholder until something better comes along. 'Bachelor life'? 'So much fun to be had'? Is that really how you see us?"

The porch light cast long shadows across her face, accentuating the hurt in her eyes. George could see the slight tremor in her lower lip, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater – telltale signs of her distress that he'd come to recognize over the past few months.

"It's not like that," he protested weakly, taking a step towards her. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it, George?" Tessa demanded, her voice cracking. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you're ashamed of me, of us."

George ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the cool night air sobering him faster than he'd like. The distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves seemed to mock the tense silence between them.

"I'm not ashamed," he said softly, taking another tentative step towards her. "I'm... I'm scared, Tess."

Tessa's eyebrows furrowed, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "Scared? Of what?"

George sighed, leaning against the porch railing. The rough wood pressed into his palms, grounding him as he struggled to find the right words. "Of how much I feel for you. Of how real this is becoming. I've never felt this way before, and it terrifies me."

The moonlight cast a silvery glow on Tessa's face, illuminating the conflicting emotions playing across her features. She uncrossed her arms, her posture softening slightly.

“You’re not a secret. You’re the part of my life that I treasure the most. I just... I panic sometimes, about how the lads will react. It’s stupid, and I’m an idiot for making you feel this way."

"So your solution is to pretend I don't exist?" Tessa's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the night air like a knife.

George flinched, the truth of her words stinging more than any shouted accusation could have. He opened his mouth to respond, but Tessa held up a hand, silencing him.

"No, let me finish," she said, her emerald eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and determination. "For months, I've been sneaking around, making excuses to my friends, lying to my family. All because you said you needed time. And I understood, I really did. But tonight... tonight I realized that maybe I've been fooling myself."

The porch light flickered, casting dancing shadows across their faces. In the distance, an owl hooted mournfully, as if echoing the pain in Tessa's voice.

"I'm not asking for a grand declaration, George. I'm not expecting you to shout our relationship from the rooftops. But is it too much to ask for a little acknowledgment? To not feel like I'm your dirty little secret?"

George's chest tightened, each word hitting him like a physical blow. He could see the pain etched in every line of Tessa's face, the moonlight highlighting the unshed tears in her eyes. The weight of his thoughtless words hung between them like a tangible presence.

"Tess, I..." he began, his voice hoarse. "You're right. I've been a coward, and I've hurt you in the process. That's the last thing I ever wanted to do."

Tessa's eyes welled up, her lower lip trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. "I just... I can't keep doing this, George. It's tearing me apart."

As the words left her lips, the dam finally broke. Tears began to stream down Tessa's face, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. The moonlight caught the glistening tracks on her cheeks, turning them into silvery rivulets. Her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned against the porch railing for support, her fingers gripping the weathered wood so tightly her knuckles turned white.

George felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He'd seen Tessa cry before - during sad movies or when recounting a particularly touching moment - but never like this. Never because of him. The sound of her muffled sobs seemed to echo in the still night air, drowning out the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Her emerald eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were now red-rimmed and filled with a pain that George knew he had caused.

He took a deep breath, the crisp night air filling his lungs and clearing his alcohol-addled mind. In that moment, looking at Tessa's face – a face he'd come to know better than his own – he realized how close he was to losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"The truth is," George continued, his words coming faster now, "I'm terrified of how much I love you. It's not just liking you, or enjoying your company. I'm head over heels, can't-eat-can't-sleep in love with you, Tessa. And that scares the living daylights out of me."

Tessa's sobs quieted as she looked up at George, her eyes wide with her lips parting in surprise. The distant sound of car doors slamming and engines starting signaled the departure of some of their friends, but neither George nor Tessa moved. The moment hung between them, fragile and charged with emotion.

"You... love me?" Tessa whispered, her voice a mixture of hope and disbelief.

George nodded, swallowing hard. "More than I've ever loved anyone. And that's why I've been such an idiot. I thought if I kept you at arm's length, if I didn't let anyone else see how important you are to me, then maybe I could protect myself from getting hurt. But all I've done is hurt you instead."

He took a tentative step forward, relief washing over him when Tessa didn't back away. "I don't want to hide anymore, Tess. I don't want to pretend that you're not the most important person in my life. I want to shout it from the rooftops, tell everyone who'll listen that I'm the luckiest bloke in the world because I have you."

Tessa's blinked back the remaining tears, her bottom lip still trembling. "You really mean that?"

George reached out, gently cupping her face. "I'm truly sorry, Tess. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't important, like you were something to be ashamed of. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I've been too scared to admit it."

Tessa's eyes searched his face, as if looking for any sign of deceit. "Why now? What's changed?"

George let out a shaky laugh. "Nothing's changed. Everything's changed. Seeing the hurt in your eyes tonight... it made me realize what an arse I've been. And how close I was to losing you."

"So, what do we do now?" Tessa asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tessa's eyes softened, the hurt slowly melting away as she processed George's words. She reached up, placing her hand over his on her cheek. "I don't want to lose you either.”she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But, George I can't keep living like this, always wondering where I stand. I need to know this isn't just another empty promise.

George nodded,his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone. Understanding the weight of her words. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. With gentle determination, he took Tessa's hand and led her back towards the sliding door.

"What are you doing?" Tessa asked, confusion evident in her voice.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," George replied, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his stomach.

As they stepped back into the living room, George was relieved to see that a few of their friends were still lingering, including Arthur. The conversation died down as they noticed George and Tessa's entrance, hands intertwined.

"Oi, George!" Arthur called out, his words slightly slurred. "Thought you'd done a runner on us!"

George took a deep breath, squeezing Tessa's hand for reassurance. "Actually, mate, there's something I need to say." His voice carried across the room, drawing everyone's attention. "I haven't been entirely honest with you all, and it's time I set things straight."

A hush fell over the room as George pulled Tessa closer to his side. "This amazing woman right here? She's not just a friend. Tessa and I have been together for about seven months, and I've been too much of a coward to admit it."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while a few others exchanged knowing glances. George pressed on, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I love her. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm done pretending otherwise."

Tessa looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and love. George felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he continued, "So, to answer your question from earlier, Arthur – I have settled down. And I couldn't be happier about it."

For a moment, silence reigned. Then Arthur let out a booming laugh, crossing the room to clap George on the back. "Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. "Our George, all grown up and in love!"

The tension in the room dissolved as their friends erupted into a chorus of cheers and congratulations. Tessa felt her cheeks flush as she was enveloped in hugs and well-wishes, the secret that had weighed so heavily on her for months finally out in the open.

"About bloody time, mate," Arthur said, giving George a knowing look. "We were wondering how long you two were going to try to keep it under wraps."

George blinked in surprise. "You knew?"

Arthur rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Course we did, you numpty. The way you two look at each other? Not exactly subtle, are you?"

As their friends laughed and joked around them, George turned to Tessa, his eyes searching her face. "I'm sorry it took me so long to do that," he said softly, so only she could hear. "I promise, from now on, no more hiding. No more secrets."

Tessa's lips curved into a radiant smile, her earlier hurt melting away like morning mist under the warm sun of George's declaration. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering for a moment as she whispered, "I love you too, you wonderful idiot."

George's heart contracted at the admission. He pulled her into his arms, reveling in the familiar scent of her shampoo and the feel of her soft curves molding against him. "God," he vowed, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're it for me, Tess. You're my everything."

[andy-15-07]

I absolutely, totally love your blog ❣️ makes my day everytime you answer an ask

Could you write sth about reader having real bad insomnia and Joel taking care of her ? In Jackson (everything is fine and everybody is well, but the past shows up in her dreams and makes her give up on sleeping...)

When the Night Whispers

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1862 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Jackson's evenings were meant to be peaceful—a haven of community, warmth, and the simple rhythms of a small town. But for y/n, the nights were anything but restful. Despite the life they'd built together in Jackson, the past had a way of creeping into her dreams, turning each attempt at sleep into a battleground of memories and fears.

It was well past midnight when y/n awoke again, her eyes snapping open to the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Every time she closed her eyes, fragments of painful memories returned: voices, faces, long-forgotten moments that now held her captive. Tonight was no different, and the familiar dread of another sleepless night settled over her like a heavy shroud.

Before she could pull the covers up to hide from the dark, Joel was already at her side. His soft footsteps and the quiet concern in his eyes were a comforting contrast to the chaos in her mind. "Hey," he said in a gentle murmur, settling on the edge of the bed beside her. "I'm here."

y/n's voice trembled as she responded, "Joel, I can't stop thinking... I'm so tired, but I'm caught in these memories every time I try to sleep." Her eyes were full of a weariness that went far beyond the lack of rest.

Joel reached out, carefully brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I know, sweetheart. I see how much it hurts you. What's on your mind tonight?" His tone was soft, inviting her to share the heavy load of her thoughts.

"It's everything—my past, the things I can't forget," y/n confessed, her voice breaking. "Even here in Jackson, where everyone seems happy, I'm haunted by dreams of what I'd rather leave behind. It feels like the past is always there, whispering to me, even when I'm trying to forget."

Joel's gaze grew serious as he listened. "I'm sorry you're going through this," he said firmly. "But you're not alone, y/n. I'm here to help you face those ghosts. We'll take it one night at a time."

After a long, thoughtful pause, she asked quietly, "How did you cope with your own past, Joel? How did you keep going when the memories wouldn't let you be?"

Joel's eyes darkened with memories of his own struggles. "I've had nights where I thought I wouldn't see another sunrise. There were moments when every memory felt like a weight too heavy to bear. But I learned something important along the way: running from the past only gives it more power over you. I started focusing on the present, on building a life here—even if every night felt like a battle. And when the nightmares came, I'd remind myself that I was still here, still fighting, still capable of finding something good in the darkness."

y/n managed a small, hopeful smile. "It sounds like you're saying that even if the nightmares are real, I don't have to let them define me."

"Exactly," Joel replied, his voice both tender and determined. "You are more than your memories. I know it's hard to believe when the past is so vivid, but every new day gives you a chance to create happier memories. And when those nightmares come, I'll be here to help you through them."

For a long while, they sat in silence, the quiet of the night punctuated only by their soft breathing. Finally, y/n spoke again. "Joel, what if I wake up feeling completely lost? What if the past overwhelms me so much that I'm not sure I can handle it?"

He squeezed her hand, his grip reassuring. "Then I'll be here, holding you until you find your footing again. If you ever feel like you're drowning in your memories, lean on me. We'll talk through it—whatever you need. You deserve every bit of care and every chance to find peace."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I'm scared, Joel. Scared that one day I might not wake up because these nightmares become too powerful. I don't want to lose myself in them."

Joel's gaze was soft, his voice a warm promise in the darkness. "I promise you, y/n, we'll face every night together. We can try little things—maybe a routine before bed, a walk outside under the stars, or even just talking until the fear subsides. Whatever it takes, we'll find a way to bring some calm back into your nights."

A tentative smile began to form on her lips as she considered his words. "A walk under the stars... I'd like that. It might be just what I need to remind me that there's still beauty in the night."

Later that evening, as dusk turned to twilight, Joel and y/n stepped out into the cool night air. The streets of Jackson were quiet, lit by the gentle glow of lanterns and the soft shimmer of stars overhead. They strolled slowly, their hands intertwined. "Tell me about one of your happiest memories here," Joel said, his tone light yet sincere. "Something that makes you smile, even for a moment."

y/n paused, looking up at the vast, starlit sky. "I remember the festival last fall," she said softly. "Everyone was laughing, dancing... and for a while, I felt like I belonged. I saw you laughing with our neighbors, and it made me feel safe. It was a time when I almost forgot how heavy my past could be."

Joel chuckled, a warm sound that blended with the night. "That was a good day. I remember seeing you light up with joy—like nothing in the world could touch you. I hope you know that even when you feel overwhelmed by your memories, that light is still inside you."

They continued their walk in a comfortable silence, punctuated by moments of soft conversation. "Sometimes," y/n admitted, "I wish I could just forget everything bad and start over. I feel like those nightmares are a part of me that I can't escape."

Joel stopped walking and looked at her earnestly. "We all have parts of our past that we'd rather forget," he said. "But those memories, as painful as they are, also mean that you survived them. They're proof of your strength. And every day, you're building something new here in Jackson—a life filled with hope and love."

A thoughtful silence followed, filled with the distant sounds of nocturnal life. Then, with a hint of determination, y/n added, "Maybe we can try to create a little ritual. Something that helps remind me that I'm safe here, that I'm not defined by those nightmares."

Joel's eyes lit up with a gentle smile. "I'd like that. Let's make a habit of taking these walks, of talking about the good things—no matter how small. And if ever the nightmares come back, we'll sit together until they pass. I'll be your constant, your reminder that you're never alone."

They reached a small clearing where an ancient oak tree stretched its limbs toward the sky, a natural shelter beneath which they could rest. Joel guided y/n to a weathered wooden bench beneath the tree. "Sit with me for a while," he said. "I want to hear more about what you're feeling. There's no judgment here—only understanding."

As they sat together, y/n's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Sometimes I wake up, and for a moment, I'm sure I've stepped back into that nightmare. The past is so vivid that I can't tell if I'm dreaming or awake. It terrifies me."

Joel's hand rested on hers, steady and sure. "I know it's terrifying, love. But remember, those memories do not have the power to hurt you now. They're a part of your history, yes, but they don't control who you are. You are here, in this moment, with me. And together, we can make new memories—ones that are filled with hope, not fear."

y/n leaned her head on Joel's shoulder, letting his warmth seep into the parts of her that were still raw from the night's struggles. "I want to believe that," she whispered. "I really do. I'm just afraid that the darkness will always find a way in."

Joel lifted her chin gently, meeting her eyes. "Look at me, y/n. Every scar, every painful memory, they're all a part of you—and they make you the incredible person you are today. I've seen you face your demons with more courage than you know. And I promise, as long as I'm here, you'll never have to face them alone."

Their conversation wove through the hours of the night as they discussed fears, dreams, and the quiet moments that made Jackson a home. Joel shared stories of his own struggles, of nights spent wrestling with memories and finding solace in the promise of a new day. y/n listened, her voice interjecting with questions and confessions, each word a step toward healing.

"Do you think these nightmares will ever truly end?" y/n asked at one point, her eyes searching the dark as if the answers were hidden in its folds.

Joel's reply was steady and reassuring. "Maybe not completely, but they can become less powerful. With time, as you create more light in your life, those dark moments will fade into the background. And on the nights when they're still there, I'll be right beside you, reminding you of all the good we have."

As the early hints of dawn began to paint the sky with soft pastels, they slowly made their way back to their home. Joel brewed a pot of chamomile tea—its gentle aroma a small promise of calm—and together they sat on the porch as the new day crept in.

"Drink this," Joel said as he handed her a warm cup. "It might help ease the tension tonight. And remember, if you wake up and feel lost again, I'm right here. We'll talk, or we can just hold each other until you find that peace again."

y/n cradled the cup in her hands, a smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Joel. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "You won't have to find out, y/n. I'm here—and I'm not going anywhere."

In that quiet, fragile moment on the porch, as the world slowly stirred awake in Jackson, y/n felt a spark of hope ignite within her. The memories of her past might still whisper in the dark, but with Joel's unwavering presence, each night became a little less daunting, each step toward healing a little more certain.

Together, they faced the promise of a new day—a day where even if the night whispered of old pain, their shared love and strength could quiet even the loudest echoes of the past. And in the soft light of morning, as the horrors of the night receded into distant memories, they knew that no matter what darkness lay ahead, they would always have each other to guide them back into the light.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 9: Off-Limits

Had an idea in mind for this one, then @soupdweller pretty much solidified it for me with this piece of art. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1868

Content warning: non graphic depicitions of death, obsessive behavior if you squint really really hard, reader discresion is advised

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

You wish you were taller. Maybe not super tall, and certainly not eight or nine feet tall, but a couple inches you think would be nice. A couple inches could potentially make you feel a bit less, small, in this situation. 

The Daycare Attendant looms over you, that cartoonish grin and dead eyes certainly not helping your nerve. You swallow. You were not going to let him intimidate you, you were not going to let him intimidate you-

"Friend."

"Sun," Your voice is more squeaky than you'd ever like it to be, you clear your throat, "Can I get past you, please?"

His rays click sharply to one side, "I'm afraid not. This area is off-limits."

"I, understand that, but it's also my job as a guard to check that everything is in order-"

He moves suddenly, bending down so that your faces are now inches apart, he tilts his head, "Off. Limits."

You have it in you to get a little annoyed then. You don't really know the Attendant all that well, and from what you've heard from other staff he's usually pretty friendly and even a bit, oblivious. 

This was not that. 

From the moment you'd met he'd been off-putting, a little creepy, and in a way, hostile to you and everything you did. You almost wondered if it was a work hours vs after hours thing, but whenever anyone else was around he had that chipper persona. It was just with you that there was a problem. 

"What's in there that's such an issue?" You ask, trying to peer around him, ignoring the way his 'pupils' seem to shift and watch you, "Last I checked the Plex doesn't have any big secrets. Not any that I as a guard wouldn't know about at least."

It's hard to tell what's back there, mainly because of the near blinding light coming from the doorway to contrast with the darkened space you're currently standing in. And from what you remember, it was all just storage space. One of the bigger ones to your understanding. Actually, how'd the Attendant even get over here? You don't remember there being another entrance to this location. And furthermore, why is he-

"That," He puts a hand on your shoulder, "Is not," You're shoved backward, "Your concern."

Okay, now you're irritated, "For the last time, this is my job. Last I checked, you're the Daycare Attendant, and I'm the security guard. So, you can either move out of my way, or I make you move."

Sun stands upright again, clasping his hands in front of him, "You can try."

"Why do you even care? Why are you even over here?" You point your finger at him now, "You know, you've been honestly kind of a jerk to me since I started, and I'm kind of sick of it. I've never done anything to you!"

A click. You continue. 

"I have tried to be nothing but kind and considerate, I don't stay in your space too long, I wave when I see you, I compliment your art and yet you've been nothing but cold, impassive, and downright rude."

The Attendant is stock still and frankly, you don't care.

"What did I do to deserve this, huh? What made you decide I was going to be the target of your just, straight vitriol toward me?" You throw your hands up, then slap them against your legs. 

Your breathing is heavy now. But at least you've said your peace. 

It's then that the bot laughs, not the reaction you were expecting. For some reason, it sends a chill down your spine.

He takes a step closer, then another. It gives you an idea as he once more bends down to your level. 

"What you've done?" Several rapid clicks of his rays turning to the right, "You want to know what you've done-"

You quickly sidestep him, darting inside, "Maybe some other time! Let's say after my patrol, how's that?"

He makes a loud sound then, which you take as merely mild frustration. Something that in hindsight, was a mistake on your part. You snickered, served him right. You were just trying to do your job.

The storage room was a lot bigger than you were expecting. Grander. Many aisles of boxes piled to the high ceiling on either side of you, along the backwall, and is that a connecting room behind? Geez, why is this area not patrolled more often? Seems like there's a lot of stuff to grab, regardless of there seeming to just be the one entrance. 

You think you've lost Sun, for now anyway. If he catches up to you again it's not like he can do anything except complain. The thought instantly peeves you. 

You're nearing one of the back corners of this front room now, deciding to radio back to the main office, "Hey, working on the last bit of my route, there a reason we don't check this storage room more routinely?"

"We don't.... manpower.... -eople have... -ssing. Wasn't supposed... -your route. -ou should probably-.... -here." Is the response you receive.

You frown, speaking into the device again, "Hey, you're cutting out super bad, could you repeat that?"

All you get is more garbled static as a response. You shrug it off. Must be a dead zone near this room. Annoying, but that's life.

There's a smell in here, you're realizing. And it's not dust, even though there's quite a lot of that. It's decay. 

And the closer you get to that back corner, the stronger is gets. 

Now, a normal person would say fuck it, and call a custodian to deal with whatever poor animal had gotten in here and died. And maybe on a different night, you would have done that. But for some reason, that wasn't the decision you were going to make for tonight.

You round the corner and find-nothing. Just some more boxes. But god that smell is strong now. You're getting ready to turn around and high tail it out of there, when you notice that there's something sticking out from the corner, between where the boxes on either wall collide. 

You don't need to get a closer look to confirm what it is, but you do. 

You can only stare on in complete and utter disbelief. 

Yup. That is indeed a shoe. Attached to a foot, attached to a dead body-a dead security guard's body-which you're 99% sure is what you were smelling. 

The surprising part of all this was exactly how many dead bodies were stuffed into that corner. All in various states of decay. 

"I warned you."

You jump, whipping around to find Sun staring at you. Somehow, the blank look in his eyes is more unreadable than ever before. You swear there's like, a shimmer to optics. Kind of, purplish. But your eyes are probably playing tricks on you.

Your instant reaction is to pray, but you think it's a little late for that. Your second reaction is to beg. 

Your voice wavers as you speak, hands up defensively, "Pl-please don't, don't, hurt me..."

"Hurt you? Oh no no no, sweet thing. I'd never want to hurt you," Sun tuts, his words have a softness you've never witnessed before, "I'll admit I haven't done the best job of showing it, but I do care."

In your shock of it all, you can just stand there, fear dissipating just slightly while blinking a few times, "Excuse me?"

He goes off on his own little tangent, starting to pace as he speaks more to himself than to you, "Believe me, coming to terms with the idea that you of all people would catch my interest wasn't, easy, but I think I've been dealing with it to the best of my ability," He turns to you, hands together, "And now, you've made this entire process that much simpler!"

"...Simpler how?" You're still processing the dead people thing; you aren't even comprehending the idea that Sun likes you. 

"Well, now we can so spend time catching you up to speed," Sun tilts his head, tone eerily cheering as his eyes lift into crescents, "You didn't think you could leave now, did you?"

You bolt.

You try to remember how you got back here, which ways to turn to get back to the front. Given you're kind of freaking out right now, it's not easy.

Sun's behind you, somewhere. Sure you can hear him; those bells were loud on top of the mechanical clinks and whirls his limbs emit as he follows after you. The problem is that he's eight feet tall and you can only run so damn fast. 

You find the entrance. The door's shut.

"Shit. Shit, come on," You fumble for your keycard, shaking hands swiping it through the card reader. 

"Access denied. Access denied. Access denied."

You hear Sun a few aisles over, "Ah, ah, ah. Leaving so soon? After you worked so hard to get in here?"

You curse under your breath as he continues.

"And really, to not bother to listen after I told you to stay is really, quite, rude," From the sounds of it, he's now where you just were, and seemed to be expecting you to still be trying to get out, having the gull to be annoyed about it, "Well there goes that dramatic reveal."

You don't know where you're running but you realize you're going to need to find a destination soon, because you're going to eventually run out of stamina. And Sun will not. 

A hiding place. You need a hiding place. 

"I put in a lot of effort to keep this from you, Starshine," Sun says to the empty space, "Spare you from this thing, that I've become."

There is nowhere to hide in here. It's just the same repeating rows over and over again. Could you maybe circle back? Start climbing? Just something-

"It's not a willing participation, you know. If you understood how this f̴͉̲̲̳̐̑̈́̍̀eė̴̘̽̋l̴͍̣͎̙͎̉̃ṣ̶̪̀, maybe you'd be a bit more sympathetic. Though I suppose that's a big ask."

You need to quiet your breathing, collect yourself a bit. Find another option.

You swallow, trying to calm down as you rest back against the cardboard. It sort of works. 

Until you become acutely aware of the fact that Sun is now silent. 

You strain your ears, eyes flicking back and forth to either end of the aisle. You're closer to the one on your left than the right, but you wonder if it'd be worth the risk to dash to the other side. 

Unfortunately, you don't get the chance.

You take a step away from the makeshift wall, only able to react after the fact as Sun comes from around the corner, the surprise of seeing him making your trip backwards as you spin to face him. 

He catches you, and you notice that the ribbons which usually wrap around his wrists are missing. He tricked you.

"Caught you friend~" He chuckles lightly at the joke. 

You can only look up at him with fear. His pupils are purple, you're sure of it now. He leans in, rays spinning. 

"Maybe next time you'll listen when I say something is off-limits."

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Since y'all liked reading the notes I write for Confused Spirit, here's the one I wrote for this lmao:

You can read the others here, sorry for being late with this! As you can see, she was a biggin'. Thanks for reading!

[tsumuus]

sometimes the person you fall for isn’t ready to catch you

The weight of your feelings for Shoto Todoroki had always been a silent burden, one you carried with careful deliberation. You’d known him for years, watched him grow from the reserved, conflicted teen in UA into the poised and powerful Pro Hero he was today. Through it all, your friendship remained constant, a steady foundation you both relied on, even when the world around you was chaotic.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. Your heart started to race when he was near, your thoughts lingered on his gentle, thoughtful words, and the space between you felt charged with something unspoken. You weren’t sure when admiration turned into affection or when that affection grew into something deeper, but you were sure of one thing- you had fallen for Shoto Todoroki.

And it was terrifying.

The feelings you harbored were a fragile thing, a delicate balance of hope and fear. You didn’t want to lose what you had with him, the bond you’d nurtured for so long. But the more time you spent with him, the more your heart ached with the need to tell him, to lay it all bare and hope against hope that he might feel the same.

But Shoto Todoroki wasn’t known for catching people. He wasn’t known for diving into emotions or revealing the deep inner workings of his heart. He was quiet, reserved, and careful with his affections. And you were afraid that if you confessed, you’d be left in that silence, caught in the cold of his uncertainty if he didn’t feel the same.

It was late one evening when you found yourself sitting beside him on the rooftop of his agency, the city lights glittering below like a sea of stars. Shoto had always liked it up here, the quiet that contrasted with the chaos of his daily life. It was one of the rare moments when you saw him at ease, his usual composed expression softened into something more contemplative.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His voice was calm, but there was a subtle concern in it that only someone who knew him well would notice.

You forced a smile, trying to push away the thoughts that had been plaguing you all night. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asked, turning his gaze fully on you, the intensity of his mismatched eyes making it even harder to breathe.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. The words were on the tip of your tongue, desperate to escape, but they clung there, weighed down by the fear of what could come next.

“I… I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you began, your voice shaky despite your efforts to keep it steady. You could feel his eyes on you, his focus unwavering, and it made the confession that much harder. “It’s just… I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and I don’t think I can keep it to myself anymore.”

Shoto’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes- surprise, maybe, or concern. “What are you trying to say?”

You swallowed hard, the words finally spilling out in a rush before you could stop yourself. “I like you, Shoto. More than just a friend. I’ve liked you for a long time now, and I just… I needed to tell you.”

Silence. The air between you seemed to freeze, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest that you could barely hear anything else. Shoto’s expression remained calm, almost too calm, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to find the right response.

“yn, I…”

Your heart sank at the hesitation in his voice, at the way he seemed to struggle with his words. Shoto wasn’t one to speak his emotions easily, and you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was trying to find the right words, the right way to let you down gently.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted, his voice soft but heavy with the weight of his uncertainty. “I care about you, yn. You’re important to me, more than you know. But… I’m not sure if I can return those feelings. Not in the way you deserve.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You had known, deep down, that this was a possibility, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. It didn’t stop the ache that spread through you, the hollow feeling of rejection that gnawed at your heart.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, though it was anything but. “I understand.”

Shoto’s eyes softened, and there was a deep sadness in them, a regret that he couldn’t express more clearly. He reached out, his hand hovering just above yours before he pulled back, as if unsure whether he had the right to cross that line.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a sorrow that made your chest tighten. “You mean a lot to me, yn. But I’m still trying to figure things out. I don’t want to rush into something and end up hurting you more in the end.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I appreciate that, Shoto. I do. I just… I just needed to tell you.”

Shoto’s gaze remained on you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t fully decipher. “Please don’t distance yourself,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

You offered him a small, sad smile, trying to push away the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m not going anywhere, Shoto. I promise.”

But as you sat there beside him, the space between you feeling wider than ever, you couldn’t help but wonder if that promise was one you could keep. Because while you were willing to wait, to be patient, you weren’t sure how long you could bear the weight of unrequited feelings, how long you could keep pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

Sometimes, the person you fall for isn’t ready to catch you. And as much as it hurt, you knew that Shoto Todoroki wasn’t ready to catch you. Not yet.

masterlist

a/n i have to wake up in less than 5 hours bc i have senior sunrise, and instead of going to sleep as soon as i finished my hw i sat down and wrote this🤗 yw ig<3333 or not bc this is angsty lol i will make up for it soon

[rafes-slut]

Under the Blue Lights

Pairing: Police officer Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: When the last person you ever expected to pull you over on a late-night drive is none other than Rafe Cameron, a police officer with a commanding presence, you know you're in trouble. After a night of partying, you're feeling the effects of alcohol, and Rafe doesn’t hesitate to take control of the situation.

Warnings:

Explicit language

Public exhibitionism

Power dynamics

Alcohol consumption

Rough handling

----

The flashing red and blue lights in your rearview mirror send a jolt of panic through your already hazy mind. Your grip tightens around the steering wheel as you blink hard, trying to shake off the alcohol-induced fog clouding your thoughts.

Shit.

You weren’t wasted, but you definitely shouldn’t have been driving. And of course, because the universe had it out for you, a cop just had to be lurking nearby.

You sigh, cursing under your breath as you pull over to the side of the empty road. The bass from the club still thumps in your ears, the scent of expensive perfume clinging to your skin. Your dress—short, tight, and made for attention—rides up slightly as you shift in your seat, anxiously tapping your fingers against your thigh.

A shadow moves behind your car, slow and deliberate, before the sound of boots crunching against the gravel fills the silence. The heavy knock on your window makes you jump. With a deep breath, you roll it down, already preparing to turn on the charm in the hopes of getting out of this.

But then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Your stomach drops, and your breath catches in your throat.

You hadn’t even known he was a cop. The last time you saw him, he was the same reckless, cocky Kook who thrived on chaos. And yet here he was, standing in front of you in a dark police uniform that fit his tall, broad frame almost too well, a badge glinting in the dim streetlight.

His sharp blue eyes flicker over you, taking in your barely-there dress, your parted lips, the subtle way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He lingers just a second too long before tilting his head slightly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You swallow hard. “Rafe.”

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smirk. “You been drinking tonight, sweetheart?”

That damn nickname. You should’ve known he’d still be the same smug asshole.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I—”

Rafe leans down, resting one hand against the doorframe, his face entirely too close now. You can smell his cologne—clean, expensive, intoxicating.

“Be honest,” he says, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Or I’ll have to find out myself.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don’t want to admit anything—not to him. Rafe was the last person you wanted to see right now, and definitely the last person you wanted to have this kind of power over you.

He watches you hesitate, his jaw tightening, and you see the shift in his expression. Amusement fades, replaced by something much sharper.

"Alright," he says, standing up straight. His hand moves to the door handle. "Have it your way."

Your heart jumps as he opens the car door, and before you can react, his strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you out of the driver’s seat. The cool night air hits your skin, sending a shiver down your spine—or maybe it’s the way Rafe manhandles you like he’s done this a hundred times before.

"Rafe—"

"Save it," he cuts you off, already spinning you around. His hands press firmly against your back, bending you over the hood of your car. The metal is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat crawling up your body.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as he steps in close behind you, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. One of his hands presses against your lower back, keeping you in place, while the other ghosts along the hem of your short dress.

"You wanna lie to me?" His voice is low, dangerous, right next to your ear. "Fine. But I can smell the tequila on your breath, sweetheart. And now, you're mine to deal with."

You suck in a shaky breath, every nerve in your body on high alert.

"What are you gonna do, officer?" you murmur, tilting your head slightly to glance at him.

Rafe's grip tightens. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.

Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling against the cold metal of the hood as Rafe keeps you pinned in place. His grip on your waist is bruising, fingers digging in like he’s claiming you right then and there.

“You think I give a damn if people see us?” His voice is low, teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “They can keep driving.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as his hands slide up your sides, moving with purpose. His touch is rough, possessive, making it impossible to think straight.

“Rafe—” You barely get his name out before his lips crash against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s messy, consuming, like he’s been waiting for this moment for far too long. His tongue parts your lips, deepening the kiss without hesitation. You moan into his mouth, hands gripping onto his uniform as he presses his body flush against yours.

The distant sound of cars rushing past barely registers. You know people can see, headlights flashing for a brief second before fading into the night. But Rafe doesn’t care. He kisses you like no one else exists, like this is his right, like you belong to him.

His hands move to your thighs, pushing them apart as he leans in even more. You whimper when he tugs you closer to the edge of the hood, his knee pressing between your legs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your lips, nipping at your lower one before pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. His thumb traces over your swollen lips, eyes dark with something dangerous. “All pretty and breathless for me.”

Your fingers tangle in his short hair, tugging him back to you. He groans at the sensation, lips crashing against yours once more, hungrier this time. His hands explore your body shamelessly, gripping, squeezing, leaving no inch untouched.

A horn honks in the distance, but Rafe just smirks against your mouth.

“Let ‘em watch.”

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (02/10)

The Contract

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: there is no turning back now and now you and Aemond set the rules and conditions to start the whole farce.

word count: 4.6k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!🥳

I thought this would be a very nice way to wish happy new year to all of you beautiful people who support me and like what I write, you don't know how much that means to me🥺

thank you for so much support and for so much love, I have loved being here and I definitely plan to stay for longer, seeing how that love evolves and my place here as a writer🥰 so enjoy a lot this new chapter that I really hope you like it a lot❤

many blessings to all of you, my best wishes for your lives in this 2024, I love you all so much!😊❤

enjoy!

It's the first thing you see after turning off the alarm and you curiously enter to read the recent messages from an unknown number, not having the slightest idea of who it might be.

But you let out a long sigh of frustration when you read them and see that it's Aemond, who you don't understand how the fuck he got your number. Of course, it shouldn't have been hard for him, just a few questions and anyone can tell him what he wants to know.

And knowing that you have a long day ahead of you today, you already feel the pressure all over your body when you haven't even left your bed, where you also feel the frustration and all this uncertainty that you thought you had already overcome, but no.

You barely accepted yesterday and suddenly putting the plan into action from one day to the next, it's too much. But without really having a choice, you reluctantly force yourself to get up and start getting ready.

After an hour, you leave your house with the nagging feeling of carrying a weight on your shoulders to school. And all the way there, not even the music in your ears can make your mind calm down for a moment.

Knowing very soon that your whole social life will be a mess and you will no longer be invisible, since after all Aemond was right in that respect, causes you even more uneasiness and also nervousness because you are going to pretend to be the girlfriend of the most popular guy in school.

And once the bus makes its stop, you soon enter the halls of the bustling school. And knowing that a certain silver-haired guy is waiting for you right now, every heavy step you take towards the schoolyard echoes loudly in your ears, increasing your nervousness and anxiety.

You're even tempted to back up and tell him to forget it, but you resist and keep moving forward.

As you walk through the huge doors of the backyard, it's only a matter of time before you make out the figure of Aemond sitting at the same table as yesterday in the distance. Your heart skips a beat and you feel more nervous, but gathering your courage and taking a long breath, you advance towards him, ready but with uncertain steps.

Every step seems heavy, as if you are walking into the unknown and you try to hide the nerves in your gaze, especially when Aemond notices your presence. He watches you and slowly turns to you, a subtle smile on his lips.

Again there is that feeling of telling him to forget it, to find someone else, that you can't do this. But... your mind stops you and screams at you not to be silly, that at the end of it all there will be a reward, a very good reward that getting it by faking a relationship with him, is nothing.

And it's definitely worth it.

So resigned, you reach out to him.

"Hey," he says to you without wiping off his little smile, as you take a seat in front of him and he waits for you to finish settling in, "So you've come."

"Don't bother me," you tell him without humor, definitely contrasting his mood to yours.

"Now what did I do?"

"That," you point to his face, "You're enjoying this, seeing that I haven't backed out."

"Oh, please, I actually thought you wouldn't come and tell me to fuck off after you thought better of it," he justifies himself.

"Yeah? Well, nothing a free admission to your dream college won't do," you say with a slightly sarcastic tone, though implicitly admitting your reasons, "And it's actually not like I like skipping classes, so could we get this started?"

Aemond exhales long, averting his gaze from yours for a moment before returning to watching you.

"You know you'll have to be charming and act like you're completely in love with me in public, right?" he poses, expectantly.

"Yes, I know... in public," you point out to him, "Just now no one knows we're 'dating' genius," you add, underlining the falsity of the situation.

He places a small, amused, smirk on his lips.

"Yet."

He adds with a slightly defiant tone and you roll your eyes.

"Don't get too excited either."

"Are you not?"

"Oh yeah, I can't handle the excitement," you feign in a high-pitched, ironic voice, making exaggerated hand gestures.

Aemond lets out a short but genuine laugh at your gesture. He leans back slightly, his eye revealing a mischievous glint as he watches you.

"Glad to see you're keeping your sense of humor in this," he says with his tone changing slightly to a more relaxed one.

"I don't have much choice, do I?" you reply, accepting his change of mood, but still maintaining a certain emotional distance.

You figure it's just a matter of the two of you getting more into trust, and if you're going to do this with him, you're definitely going to do your part. But for now, this is still a little awkward and unexpected. And the sooner you do this, the better it will be for you.

So you shift your focus and lean forward slightly with a more serious expression on your face.

"So let's get started?"

"Well, making a contract will take up a lot of our time, so I thought it would be easier to just say and agree between us-

"It will be easier this way, to write down and establish the rules and the conditions we want to do during all this, just to have everything clear and not miss anything, Aemond," you interrupt him, taking out a notebook and a pen to start writing.

"Okay, fine," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"So?" you watch him expectantly with the blank sheet of paper in front of you and your pen in hand, "What do you suggest first?"

"Well... first we need to know when this will all end," he begins to say, adopting a relaxed but firm stance, "And I would say that it may end when it is no longer necessary for both of you to continue pretending. But I think it's a better idea for us to last until graduation."

He proposes, looking at you intently, waiting for your reaction and you can't help but be a little surprised to hear that.

"Until graduation?" you repeat and he nods, "But you really want to do this for almost five months?"

"I know it's a long time, but that time can be beneficial for both of us," he explains, "That's enough time to give our relationship credibility and authenticity and it's also enough time to handle any problems that arise."

He says and you nod cautiously, evaluating his words.

"But if you disagree, tell me," he hurries to say.

His calm tone and your reasons contrast with the uncertainty and indecision you feel. And the two of you have barely started.

Five months is such a compromising situation and it generates some concern, because you know you will face so many things you still have no idea about and every day it could become more complicated to maintain the farce.

"I guess it's okay," you cautiously admit, trying to see the big picture, "But I feel like it's still a long time. But also reducing that time might not be enough," you agree.

"Yes but I'm sure we can handle it. And don't worry, if at some point we feel it's too much or we don't have enough reason to keep pretending anymore, we can talk iand end it."

You remain pondering, considering his words and after a few seconds you nod in agreement, and write it down as the first point on the sheet. But this alone is the first piece of a much more complicated puzzle.

1. Duration of relationship: Until graduation.

And Aemond also brings up the next point of the contract, expressing his ideas with quiet but evident assurance.

"Now, second..." he begins, "As for behavior in public, we should genuinely show affection in the hallways, cafeteria, and at any school activity and event. In a relationship people don't take their hands off each other, so we should smile at each other, hug each other, make subtle gestures, hold hands-

"Don't say kissing, please," you interrupt him, pleading, taking him by surprise.

"Of course, Y/N," he tells you instantly, incredulous, "Obviously we'll have to kiss."

As if having to act completely in love with him and be every moment touching him isn't enough. But the idea of kissing seems a bit much to you.

"I agree about showing affection and all that, but that kissing thing might be awkward and... weird," you say, trying to be sincere but not seeming completely closed off to the idea.

Aemond looks at you incredulously.

"So you don't want us to kiss?"

"I don't think it's necessary, honestly."

"Are you crazy? How are we supposed to pretend if we're not going to kiss? No one's going to believe us if we don't kiss and that's what will literally make the whole relationship believable," he insists, visibly concerned.

"Yeah, I get that it might seem necessary, but...at least I don't want to be having to kiss you every single time."

"You don't want to kiss me?" he asks you, visibly surprised, confused and... maybe a little hurt?

You watch him silently for a moment not understanding his reaction and then watch him with a small amused smile.

"I'm not one of your fans, Targaryen."

"Oh come on, everyone wants to kiss me," he says confused and incredulous, proving his point.

"Even the guys?"

"Well... yeah, I don't know, maybe some of them," he says with a shrug.

"Seven Hells," you mutter, averting your gaze for a moment, "I-I really don't want to do that," you say, speaking seriously and then you let out a sigh, "But you're right that no one's going to believe us-

"Obviously. I always have," he is quick to say.

"So my proposal is this... we'll kiss, yes, but only when it's extremely necessary, and when I say extremely necessary I mean extremely necessary."

You watch him intently, keeping yourself willing with your proposal, waiting for his opinion, which judging by his face, he doesn't quite agree with.

"And what would those extremely necessary moments be exactly?" he inquires, attentive and interested, also still looking slightly worried.

"In the cafeteria or in the hallways when everyone is obviously looking at us and we're attracting attention. Just don't abuse it."

Aemond lets out a long breath.

"Well, let's limit them to extremely necessary moments," he finally says resignedly and you quickly note the second point.

2. Behavior in public: Show affection as genuinely as possible in public, such as gestures, hugs, and holding hands. KISSING ONLY WHEN EXTREMELY NECESSARY.

"But then that second point is also going to apply to the parties you'll be going to with me and my lacrosse games you'll be going to."

You quickly raise your gaze to him.

"What?"

"Yes," he nods, "Going to the parties together will also lend credibility to the relationship and obviously we have to be very close to each other. And it's the same in my games, you must go to support and encourage me, like any girlfriend in love with her boyfriend would."

Aemond's words provoke an instant reaction in you, that confusing you and taking you by surprise.

"But I don't go to parties."

"Now you will," he says with a calm expression, reaching out his hand and taking the pen and your notebook.

"But-

He is already writing in a section further down the sheet which he lists as; 'additional conditions'.

Parties.

Lacrosse games.

"Aemond, I'm not a big fan of parties, really," you insist, "You'll have a bad time if you take me with you and I'll probably ruin everything."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you the trick to having a good time and change that mentality you have. Besides I won't take you to every party, just a few," he assures you, "All while keeping up appearances," he hands you back your notebook and pen, "With me you'll never get bored, I promise," he says with a small smile on his lips.

You let out a sigh, placing the notebook back in front of you, still undecided.

"Yes? Well, we'll see about that. I warned you though."

He lets out a soft little laugh.

"Come on Y/N, you can't be that bad."

"I assure you I can be."

"And so what do you do for fun?" he asks you, keeping his smile, curiosity evident in his gaze.

And there it is, the question that totally describes your personality and that in fact you don't like to answer to just anyone, because then they call you boring. But you can't lie to Aemond, he is astute enough and would notice.

So you decide to be honest.

"I like to read," you reply, lowering your gaze and feeling slightly embarrassed, "And I love going to the movies or watching movies and shows at home, either one is totally fine with me. Oh... and... hm... I also like ice skating, although I don't do that as often but... it's something I like too."

And even though it's only a bit of the world of things you like, Aemond listens to you attentively with a soft expression, saying nothing afterwards, as if he's processing every word you've said, while you only feel more embarrassed by the silence.

You know there's nothing wrong with it but it always made you insecure to share your hobbies, mostly because you know that many girls your age enjoy their teenage years going out with friends to parties and getting drunk.

That didn't and doesn't appeal to you now. You have long been more comfortable with the idea of staying home or going out somewhere else instead of going to parties.

It's not as if you don't attend or avoid every social event, yes you can attend and have a good time depending on who you are with and where, but not as often as every weekend.

However, you understand and recognize the logic behind Aemond's suggestion and that is that attending parties, is essential. And just as he is about to finally speak, you do so first.

"I know they are simple things and are not very exciting for most people. I also know they can be very boring but for me... that's what I like," you shyly confess.

"Hm," he says, taking a small moment, watching you softly, only causing you even more embarrassment, "Well, that's not what I was going to say," he says, catching your attention, "Sometimes it is the simple things that mean the most to everyone and, being honest... I find them interesting," he adds, trying to evaporate any awkwardness and embarrassment you might feel.

You raise your gaze, meeting his bright blue eye watching you softly and with his gaze full of genuine understanding, along with that hint of curiosity. And that gets your attention too.

He's not judging you. And even though it's not something he would do or at least hasn't tried to do yet, he's not judging you for it and you see that genuine interest in his gaze.

"Tell you what, for every party you go to with me, I'll read one of your favorite books or a movie or shows you want me to watch," he says, picking up the notebook and pen again.

"What?" you look at him confused, unable to help but smile in bewilderment, "Are you serious?"

"You must set your own conditions too," he states as he writes, "I already dragged you into my world, so now you're dragging me into yours," he looks up at you, "What do you think? Is it a fair exchange or not?"

His proposal takes you by surprise and also confuses you a little, however, the small smile remains on your face.

The genuine expression of openness on his face and the determination with which he wrote definitely makes you feel more comfortable. His willingness to immerse himself in your interests was not something you had agreed upon from the beginning, nor is it something extremely necessary to fake a relationship.

But it's for the simple reason that you both feel comfortable if you're going to pretend for almost five months and it seems like a nice gesture from him to include it, something you honestly didn't expect from him.

And when he gives you back your notebook, you see the new rule under 'additional conditions'.

For every party Y/N goes to with me, I will read a book or watch one of her favorite movies or shows.

"Yes," you nod, "Sounds like a fair deal to me."

Aemond smiles, pleased with your answer and also seeing the expression on your face.

"Great. We'll see if I discover something new I like. And you too..." he points at you with his index finger, "You won't regret it after you have a great time at my parties," he says enthusiastically, with a sort of complicity in his tone.

"Well, we'll see if you manage to impress me."

And right there, the two of you exchange complicit glances, Aemond having that little smile on his lips while you don't understand this strange new alliance the two of you are building.

But even though you didn't expect it, it's definitely to your liking.

"Now, third..." you point to the notebook with your pen, "Reinforcing the second rule, public appearance," you say, observing him, "We must act as a committed and attentive couple to each other at school and to these parties you want us to go to."

Aemond nods determinedly, thoughtfully.

"Yes, commitment at all times," he states seriously.

"So, that also means that neither of us can be with other people for the duration of all this, not even secretly," you add, making the point clear.

"And you want to write that as a rule too? It's obvious that neither of us should-

"I'll write it as the fourth rule, just to be clear about everything as I told you."

"Oh, fine."

3. Public appearance: Act like a real couple in love, be committed and attentive to each other at school and social events.

4. No involvement with other girls/guys: No casual encounters or texting with anyone else for the duration of the fake relationship.

"Oh and also..." says Aemond, reminding, "Since we're at that point, on additional conditions write that we should both upload photos and videos together on our social media. It's another way to lend credibility to our relationship."

"Photos and videos together on our social media," you repeat, looking at the notebook.

And this catches Aemond's attention.

"Don't tell me you don't use your social media," he says beginning to sound alert and concerned.

"No, no, I-I mean, yes," you hasten to say, "It's just... I don't know, I most likely don't use them as often as you do, besided I have very few followers."

"Don't worry, whatever followers you have are fine. Besides, I'm sure they'll increase when I upload my first photo with you."

You roll your eyes with an amused smile.

"Okay, Mr. Popularity."

"And speaking of that, hand me your Instagram and all your networks," he says instantly, grabbing his cell phone from his front pocket, "We better have that all figured out now."

Obviously Aemond's accounts had to be public while you maintain your privacy, with barely thirteen hundred followers while he has almost the entire school following him and probably from other schools as well.

In fact, your numbers compared to his are embarrassing. But you never really had the interest of having more followers on Instagram or more friends on Facebook, Snapchat is the same and apparently that doesn't matter to Aemond.

Upload photos and videos together to our social media.

"And well, I also think another very important thing is to maintain privacy," you suggest, lifting your gaze to watch him and Aemond gives you a confused look.

"Do you really want to write that down too? It's obvious we can't tell anyone-

"Let me enjoy this, Aemond. It's actually fun and I want to write it all down. So act serious," you ask.

He lets out a choked laugh.

"Well, yes, we must be discreet, no one must know that all this is false, only we know the truth and we must keep it that way," he says and you excitedly write it down.

"We mustn't involve our families in this either," you add, watching him intently, "But that will be difficult because your siblings are here," you grimace.

"We can keep up the farse with them for a while too, I'll convince them not to say anything to my mother or the rest of my family. And once everyone here at school is convinced enough, I'll tell the truth only to them," he say sure and confident, solving the problem.

"And you're sure you'll manage to keep them that way?"

"Yeah," he says with a shrug, "They're my siblings. I know how it works with each one."

5. Maintain privacy: Tell absolutely no one about the fake relationship or involve each other's families in it.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot..." Aemond says as he points to what is already written, "You must also go on each year's trip to Dragonstone with me. That's another additional condition of mine."

"What?" you inquire again, surprised and confused.

"Yes, the trip to Dragonstone," he affirms.

Oh God, the trip to Dragonstone.

Dragonstone is an island not far from King's Landing, where there is an ancient castle with a lot of history but has been modernized with the same name and is open to every visitor.

The school makes an annual trip for educational purposes as the castle has relics and structuring from thousands of years ago. You have seen pictures and videos where everything looks really beautiful, ancestral and almost royalty.

In addition the castle offers other activities, such as rides on its huge luxury yachts, surfing, diving and swimming lessons.

You always had the spirit to go but have always known that the trip is anything but educational. You've heard stories that happen with the students, such as getting drunk, partying on the yachts, hot tubs and obviously you've heard stories of who slept with whom.

Even the most reserved get to have fun and it's not something you're interested in. You know you don't fit in that environment, especially since everyone has to share a room and you're sure that if you go, you'll have to share a room with girls with different tastes and perspectives than yours. They probably won't even let you sleep.

"Come on Y/N, you've never been to Dragonstone?" asks Aemond incredulously, noting the grimace on your face for wanting you to go there with him.

"Well, yeah I've wanted to go but... I-I, I don't know, I've heard that instead of learning about the place, everyone goes to having fun, they party, they get drunk and I-I don't...

"And what do you expect us to do in a modern castle on the shore of the beach with yachts and hot tubs?" he inquires again, expectantly, "The trip is planned for the middle of the last month of these five months and you can't let me go alone with the things that go on in that place."

You make your grimace more visible, revealing your clear indecision. And even though you and Aemond have been at odds lately over the matter of tastes, he still places a soft smile in your direction, understanding that you are not like him and prefer to do other things.

"Look, you don't have to go to the parties and drink if you don't want to," he starts to tell you, "But we can at least go to one of the parties on the yachts and then do the activities they offer on site, swimming, diving and all that," he proposes, "We'll take pictures, tour the castle and we'll both be equally satisfied."

You ponder for a moment, considering his proposal. You know you only have to get your father's signature on the permit to be able to go to the island and it's not like you've gone before so... you can do it now.

"Well, I guess that's fine," you nod, "But really promise you won't leave me alone and we'll take the time to do other activities that aren't related to partying on yachts and hot tubs."

"Please, we'll go as a couple, so of course I won't leave you alone. You'll be stuck with me," he assures you, "And I also promise you that we'll do other activities, not just the parties."

"And..." you start to say, in a serious, warning tone, "Also promise you'll pick me up every morning to bring me to school. That's another one of my additional conditions. The bus isn't very comfortable anymore."

He nods, shrugging, completely unconcerned.

"Sure, it's no problem. Besides it will make the relationship more credible," he says softly.

Despite your doubts, you feel a sense of relief at seeing and acknowledging his commitment. And you also feel more confident knowing that you have his support in all of this, even in your conditions. So you write down the two new additional conditions.

Drive Y/N every morning to school.

Dragonstone trip.

At the end you both sign the sheet, looking honestly ridiculous but being funny, then both seal the whole contract by shaking hands.

"So when do we start all this?" you ask him, putting away your notebook and pen.

"I say tomorrow," he gives you a look of understanding, "But we need to talk now during classes in the hallways or in the cafeteria, so that when they see us together tomorrow, it won't be so surprising and will seem more believable."

You give him an unsure look.

"I think it will still be very surprising, Aemond."

"It doesn't matter, we just have to start showing together today, just talking. But tomorrow is when we really start."

And just as he says those words, with that determination, you feel again those nerves in your lower abdomen and that insecurity. But at least you still have all day today to mentally prepare yourself, and you're grateful for that.

"And before I forget this too..." he says again, "I need you to send me all your academic information to work on your college application now," he tells you seriously and you watch him completely attentively, "The five months will go by fast and during that time college applications will start. So it's best to get it all in now."

At this, you feel your heart start to beat fast and you don't know why, you guess because it's a very important issue for you. And more than anything else it's the reason you agreed to do this with him.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," you say softly, "I-I'll email it all to you."

He smiles softly in your direction.

"Very well," he nods at you, "I'll text you my email."

Despite your slight doubts about whatever is going to happen next, the idea of starting a fake relationship leaving you with a knot in your stomach and feeling your emotions mixed, you know this will all be worth a try.

So you pick up your phone and you start to write in an email all your personal and academic information. While at the same time all is said and done and the fake relationship contract is over.

THE CONTRACT

Duration of relationship: Until graduation.

Behavior in public: Show affection as genuinely as possible in public, such as gestures, hugs, and holding hands. KISSING ONLY WHEN EXTREMELY NECESSARY.

Public appearance: Act like a real couple in love, be committed and attentive to each other at school and social events.

No involvement with other girls/guys: No casual encounters or texting with anyone else for the duration of the fake relationship.

Maintain privacy: Tell absolutely no one about the fake relationship or involve each other's families in it.

ADDITIONAL CONDITIONS

Parties.

Lacrosse games.

For every party Y/N goes to with me, I will read a book or watch one of her favorite movies or shows.

Upload photos and videos together to our social media.

Drive Y/N every morning to school.

Dragonstone trip.

general taglist

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter twenty nine

Summary: Adrenaline courses through Cry Baby as she takes on some deep and needed conversation.

Warning: None, I don't think? Other than it being a Bucky-free chapter.

Word Count: 1266

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: I have nothing to say with this one, except MY GIRL HAS A BACKBONE. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

Your feelings were a mixture of emotions when you woke you the morning after the art exhibition. Bucky’s absence and your revelation of your feelings for him weighed heavily despite the success of your show. You began getting ready to leave for the gallery again, hoping the familiar surroundings and schedule would bring some distractions. However, more than anything, you wanted to talk to your brother. 

You took a deep breath, picked up your phone, and sent him a message: “Can you meet me at the gallery? I need my brother.” 

His response was quick, he agreed to meet you there. The gallery was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively celebration from the night before, as you arrived first. The art pieces stood silently, every pen stroke a testament to your hard work and passion. 

A few minutes later, Steve walked in with a concerned expression. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s going on?” 

Emotions swirled within you as you turned to face him. “I’m not over what you did,” you began, the turmoil inside you betraying your voice causing it to tremble. “But, I really need my brother right now.” 

Stepping closer, Steve’s eyes softened. “I’m here for you,” he assured, reaching out and gently squeezing your shoulder with a small smile. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

You hesitated, taking a deep breath as you tried to find the right words. “I’m in love with Bucky.” Your words hung in the air, undeniable and heavy. 

Steve’s jaw clenched, as his face tightened with anger. “What did you just say?” 

“I love Bucky,” you repeated, your voice was firm.

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop him?” he mumbled, anger flaring visibly. “How many times he crossed the line?” 

You stared at him, confusion etched in your face. “What are you talking about?” 

His face could barely contain his fury, his fists clenched at his sides. “Every time I thought he was getting too close, I made sure he knew his place. I did it to protect you.” 

The realization of his words hit you like a freight train. Memories of all those times Bucky would turn up at your apartment with new cuts, new bruises. “You… you were the one beating him all these years?” 

Steve’s eyes widened, and shock filled them as he realized his slip-up. “I was trying to keep you safe,” he said, his voice softening, trembling with anger and regret. “He’s not right for you.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, anger and frustration consuming you. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Steve! You don’t get to control my life like that!” 

“I was trying to protect you!” Steve’s voice raised, his voice straining with emotion. “He’s my best friend, if anyone knows he’s not good for you, it’s me! I’ve seen what he’s capable of.” 

“You’ve seen what he’s capable of because you pushed him to it!” you snapped back at him. “You beat him up every time you thought he was getting close to me? And, do you think that’s okay? You think that’s protecting me?” 

The realization of his actions dawned on him, you had never seen Steve look so taken back. “I… I didn’t mean to…” 

“But you did,” you interrupted, your voice beginning to break. “It’s not your decision to make. I love you, Stevie, but if you want to be a part of my life, you need to stop trying to fucking control it. I’m in love with Bucky, and that is my choice.” 

The silence between you grew heavy, filled with the weight of your words hanging in the air. Steve looked at you, regret and stubbornness warred on his expression. It seemed for a moment like he might argue back, but then he simply nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For everything. I’ll try to let it go. I just… I’ve always just wanted to protect you.” 

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around your brother tightly. “I know. But, you have to trust me to make my own choices. That’s what we do, we trust each other.” 

Steve hugged you back, his grip strong and desperate. “I’ll try. I promise.” 

A weight lifted off your shoulders as you pulled away. The gap between you was far from resolved, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

~

You were left feeling both empowered and vulnerable as the adrenaline from your conversation with Steve coursed through you. You knew what you had to do next, you needed to act on your promises, and you couldn’t keep Peter in the dark any longer. 

As you walked into the cafe you arranged to meet him at, your mind began to race. On the way, you rehearsed what you were going to say, and how you were going to explain your feelings. The adrenaline pushes you forward, giving you the strength you need. 

Just as before, Peter was already seated at the corner table. There was a knowing look in his eyes, making your heart ache, as his expression stayed calm. 

“Peter,” you began, your vice trembling slightly as you sat with him. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

His gaze was gentle and understanding as he looked at you. “I know,” his soft voice cut you off before you could continue. 

Confusion washed over you. “What do you mean?” 

He sighed, a small sad smile playing on his lips. “I know you’re not in love with me. And I know you’ve tried to be, but… I’m not him. I’m not Bucky.”

His words sank in, tears welling in your eyes. “Peter, I’m so sorry. I truly never wanted to hurt you.” 

Reaching across the table, he rested his hand on yours reassuringly. “I know you didn’t. I’ve seen it for a while now, the way you look at him. Your eyes light up when you talk about him… It’s always been him, hasn’t it?” 

The tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded. “It has. But, I didn’t realize until last night.” 

Squeezing your hand gently, Peter continued to speak softly. “I want you to be happy, and I can’t be the one to make you happy if your heart belongs to someone else.” 

You nodded again. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” you whispered, your voice choking with emotion. 

Another reassuring smile was sent your way. “It’s okay. I’ll always care about you, and even if it’s not with me, I want you to be happy.” 

Pulling your hand back, you wiped away your tears. “You deserve to be with someone who is truly in love with you. You’re a good man, Peter, and you’ve been such an important part of my life.” 

“And you mine,” he replied softly. “We’ll always have that.” 

You both stood up to leave, Peter pulled you into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured. 

“You too,” you replied, tightening your hold on him for a moment longer before finally letting go. 

Walking toward the cafe door, you felt a strange mixture of sadness and relief. The adrenaline still lingered, causing you to turn back to Peter. 

“Peter?” you called out, causing him to look up from his coffee cup. “I like Michelle.” His eyes flickered with surprise, a smile forming on his lips after a beat. 

With a final nod toward him, you turned and walked out of the cafe. The sense of closure settles in your heart. As you stepped onto the bustling city sidewalk, you knew you had made the right decision for both you and Peter.

---

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