#and it's not the first time i see someone mention it

[gf2bellamy]

What about cutie first season Spencer Reid who is desperately in love with his coworker and is kinda blind sided when Lila kisses him🥺 He wants to make it really clear that the kiss was one sided but his soon to be girlfriend is jealous jealous🩷

jealousy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader being jealous , mention of lila ( obviously ) a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this :)

When you read in books the phrase “jealousy boiled in her veins,” you never quite understood it. Sure, you’d felt jealousy before, in fleeting moments of insecurity or longing.

But boiling jealousy? That had always seemed like an exaggeration. 

Not until four days ago. 

Though, boiling wasn’t the right word for it. No, what you felt then was explosive jealousy.

A kind of heat so intense it made your skin prickle, your throat tighten, your hands curl into fists at your sides. It was the kind of jealousy that made your stomach churn and your heart pound with something dangerously close to heartbreak. 

Because four days ago, you saw them. 

Spencer and Lila. In the pool. 

The images were burned into your memory, tattooed on the inside of your eyelids like a cruel joke. Every time you closed your eyes, there they were—her arms wrapped around his neck and their faces too close.

You had barely slept since. 

And work? Work was even worse. 

Two days ago, when you walked into the BAU for the first time since that dreadful moment, you told yourself you’d be fine. You could be professional. You could pretend it didn’t bother you. 

But you couldn’t even look at Spencer. 

Every time he stepped near you, all you could see was her in his arms. Every time he spoke, all you could hear was the laughter they shared in that damn pool. You forced yourself to act normal, to keep your voice steady and your posture composed.

But it was so, so hard. 

Elle had noticed. She kept shooting you those pointed glances, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Are you okay? 

Of course you weren’t. 

How could you be when you had been crushing on Spencer for so long, you could barely remember a time when you hadn’t been? How could you be okay when the sight of him with someone else had nearly shattered you? 

Spencer noticed too. Of course he did. 

He wasn’t oblivious—not when it came to you. He saw the way you avoided his gaze, the way your once warm smiles had faded into stiff nods and clipped responses. He saw the way your shoulders tensed when he entered the room, how you kept your distance like even standing next to him was unbearable. 

And it was unbearable. 

He wanted to talk to you, to explain. 

To tell you that what happened was one-sided. That he hadn’t meant for it to happen. That he hadn’t wanted it to happen. That it had been unexpected and overwhelming and, ultimately, meaningless. 

That he was in love with you, not Lila. 

But how could he say that when you wouldn’t even look at him? When every time he tried to get close, you turned away? When the words on the tip of his tongue kept dying in the silence you forced between you? 

Today, when you walked into the bullpen, the first thing you noticed was Derek. He was leaning against Spencer’s desk, a smirk playing on his lips as he held a paper in his hand.

The moment he saw you, he straightened, casually tossing the paper into the trash, his expression softening as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greeted smoothly. 

“Morning,” you replied, offering him a small, tired smile. 

You already knew what he had been holding. The pictures. The ones of Spencer and Lila in the pool. The same ones Derek had undoubtedly been using to tease Spencer with before you arrived. You also knew why Derek immediately threw the magazine away.

Because Derek, just like the rest of the team, knew exactly how you felt about Spencer. 

And how Spencer felt about you. 

Everyone with eyes and ears could tell. The way you gravitated toward each other, how you always seemed to seek each other out, how Spencer’s face lit up when you laughed. It wasn’t just friendship. It had never been just friendship. 

Spencer glanced up from his desk as you passed by, flashing you a hesitant, almost hopeful smile. 

You only nodded, forcing yourself to keep walking. 

You settled into your chair, taking a slow breath as you forced your hands to stay busy, flipping through the files on your desk. You could feel Spencer’s gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to gather the courage to say something. 

Spencer missed you. 

He missed the conversations, the inside jokes, the way you used to nudge his shoulder whenever you walked by. He missed the way your voice softened when you said his name, the way you actually listened to his rambles instead of tuning them out like most people did. 

And he wanted—needed—to explain. 

But every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words tangled in his throat. Because what if he ruined everything? What if trying to explain just made things worse? 

He had been so close before all of this happened.

Just a few days ago, he had been sitting right here, talking to Elle, asking for advice on how to ask you out. He had been nervous, but excited. He had a plan, one he had been going over in his head a hundred times—something simple, something meaningful. He just wanted you to know how much you meant to him. 

But then Lila happened. 

And now, instead of planning a date, he was trying to figure out how to make you look at him again. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Spencer stood abruptly, pushing back his chair with a quiet scrape against the floor. He hesitated for only a second before crossing the room, stopping just beside your desk. 

“Can we talk?” His voice was quieter than usual. 

You didn’t look up right away, your fingers tightening around the file in front of you. A moment passed before you finally let out a slow sigh and nodded. 

“Okay.” 

Spencer felt his heart stutter in relief. 

The two of you walked to the breakroom in silence. 

Spencer closed the door behind him, the soft click sounding much louder in the quiet space. He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. 

“I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply. Then exhaled. Then hesitated again. 

You leaned against the coffee counter, arms crossed, waiting. Your heart pounded a little too fast in your chest. You felt awkward—just a tiny bit. Because Spencer wanting to talk to you meant he had��noticed your behavior. Not that you had been subtle about it. 

But it also meant he had noticed your jealousy. 

And that was almost worse. 

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice quiet, careful. Earnest. 

“I miss you.” 

Your head snapped up and you just stared at him, wide-eyed. 

You didn't expect him to be so direct.

Spencer was blushing, a deep red creeping up his neck, dusting the tips of his ears. He looked like he wanted to disappear, like saying those three words had been the most terrifying thing he had ever done—which, knowing him, it very well might have been. 

But the way he was looking at you, like he was afraid he had already lost you, made something twist painfully in your chest. 

“I—” You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “You… what?” 

Spencer gave a small, nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I miss you,” he repeated, voice softer this time. “And I—I know you’re upset. I know why. And I just… I need you to know that what happened with Lila, it—it wasn’t what it looked like.” 

You pressed your lips together, your fingers gripping the counter behind you. “It looked like you were kissing her,” you muttered, unable to stop the sharp edge in your voice. 

Spencer winced. “She kissed me,” he corrected quickly. “I—I didn’t expect it, and I definitely didn’t want it. I pulled away as soon as I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It wasn’t what I wanted.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. He was shifting anxiously, his hands half-raised like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he could. His brows were drawn together, his lips pressed into a tight line, like he was bracing himself for you to tell him you didn’t care. 

But you did care. That was the problem, wasn’t it? 

You looked down, inhaling deeply before meeting his gaze again. “Then… what do you want, Spencer?” 

His breath hitched. 

For a moment, he said nothing, just looking at you like he was memorizing every detail of your face, like he needed to get this right. Then, finally, he took a small step forward, eyes locked onto yours. 

“You,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped. 

And then it started again, thundering against your ribs, because Spencer Reid had just admitted—out loud—that he wanted you. 

The jealousy that had been burning inside you for days was suddenly replaced by something else entirely. 

Hope. 

“I—what?” Your ability to form sentences had seemingly vanished. Your mouth hung slightly open as you stared at him, heart hammering against your ribs. 

Spencer, for his part, was barely looking at you. His eyes flickered to yours for a second before darting back to the coffee pot behind you, like it was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. 

“Me?” you finally managed to say. That was it. That was all your brain could come up with. Me? 

Spencer nodded, still not quite meeting your gaze. 

Silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid words.

Then, finally, he spoke again. 

“I was—I was trying to figure out how to ask you out,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, more uncertain. “I was talking to Elle about it, actually. Trying to…to make a plan.” His hands twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “And then Lila—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Everything just got messed up.” 

“Really?” you asked, your lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile. 

Spencer finally looked at you again, his expression both relieved and vulnerable all at once. “Yeah,” he breathed out. 

The heaviness in your chest eased, just a little. 

You took a slow step toward him, close enough that you could see the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled slightly like he was stopping himself from reaching for you. 

“So…” You tilted your head, your voice softer now. “How were you going to ask me?” 

Spencer let out a short, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… I had a whole thing planned. Something about books and coffee and, um, statistics on first-date success rates…” He trailed off, his face burning. “It was probably a bad plan.” 

You bit your lip, your smile growing. “I don’t know,” you mused, your heart pounding. “I think I would’ve liked it.” 

Spencer blinked at you, hope flickering across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward this time. It was warm.

You took another step forward, and this time, Spencer didn’t move away. He was still nervous, still hesitant, but he didn’t look away when you reached out and brushed your fingers against his. 

“I still would,” you said quietly. 

Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching against yours before he finally, finally curled them around your hand. His grip was unsure at first—like he was waiting for you to change your mind—but when you didn’t pull away, his shoulders relaxed. 

“Then,” he said, his lips curving ever so slightly, “would you maybe want to—” 

“Yes,” you interrupted, grinning now. 

Spencer smiled, a real, relieved smile, and you felt something settle in your chest—something that had been in turmoil for days. 

[lbjeff]

The Bats noticed Danny poison his drink immediately because the thing he put in it is radioactive and it sent alerts to the Batcave’s system.

At first, they think Danny is an assassin has been hired to kill someone at the party. So, Tim and Damian come to talk with him to cause distraction while Bruce watching from a far, the others at the Batcave do the investigation on his background. But before they could figure out anything, Danny drink his own poisonous glass. So they think this guy may not even know what in his drink.

After drink his glass, Danny notices both Tim and his brother are looking at his glass: What’s wrong?

Tim: Oh, I just find out the color your drink look different from what the gala offer. May I try that?

Danny: Oh, that cause I add my medicine in it. You know, health problems. But it’s not for healthy (living) people

Damian: TT. And where did you get your “medicine”? It looks more like poisonous to me

Tim: Dami! Sorry Danny, but I kind of curious, too

Danny: It’s okey! I used to have an accident when I was 14, after that my heart rate and body temperature kind of slow and cold. So my godfather give me those medicine to keep my temperature normal (those poison make his heart race and raise his temperature, the normal people eat it will die like having a heart attack, no trace left).

Damian: Your godfather really “kind” to you

Danny: Yeah, he kind of an asshole the first time we met but after Dani leaving and Dan’s birth, he’s getting better

Tim: Oh? Dani and Dan, are they your siblings or your godfather’s kid?

Danny: Oh kind of, they are our children

He smiles and drink his glass, doesn’t know how his sentence makes Tim and Damian’s faces paled. Even Bruce, who stand far away but still listening to their conversation, lose the smile on his face for a second. Dick and Jason, who also listen at the cave, trade a worrisome look.

Danny, nearly finish his drink, look at his glass and says: Those drink used to be Dani’s favorite, she usually drink a little secretly whenever I didn’t pay attention. Sadly, she didn’t stay in the living world to try it again (she is traveling at the Ghost Zone)

Before Tim could dig more information, an middle age man comes near them, pull Danny’s hand and giving a toddler into his arm.

Vlad: Where did you go, Danny? Dan is looking for you.

Dan: Mom, Mom! Hug me!

Danny, giving Vlad his glass so he could hold Dan with both hands, look at Tim and Damian: I am making new friends, like you alway say. By the way, there are Tim and his brother, Damian. Tim, Damian, there is my godfather, Vlad. And there is our child, Dan

Vlad nods at them then look at the glass he just takes from Danny: Danny, what I said about drinking your medicine in public? At least not when Dan is around, he may try it like Dani, and he is too small to try anything new

Danny holding Dan, whose eyes is closed and ready to sleep: I know, Vlad. I will be more careful next time. Goodbye Tim, goodbye Damian, as you see, Dan is tired so we may leave the gala now.

Tim: It is okay. Hope I could see you the next charity party next week

Danny: Oh, I not sure I could go but thank for asking

Then he leaves with Vlad and Dan, look like a happy family of the elite

Later at the Batcave

Jason: So, run me through the information about the guy so I could shot him in the eyes

Dick: No, we won’t shot anyone, yet

Bruce: Hmn. Tim, what we can get about the Master’s couple?

Tim: So, apparently, Vlad is Danny’s godfather and his parents’s college friend. They first met when Danny is 14, not long after the accident Danny did mentioned. After his parents move to Europe to do their research and his sister left for study abroad, he is Danny’s guidance

Damian: A guidance that gives his poison for medication and two children?

Tim: Well, due to the birth certificates that I could find on government’s data, Dani was born when Danny was 15, before he live with Vlad. And Dan is few year after, when Danny was 17, after he lived with Vlad for a year

Jason: So we all agree to kill this Vlad guy, right? He sounds creepy

Bruce: Calm down, Jason. And that didn’t explain why Vlad want to kill Danny, after having their children

Tim: I think I know the reason. Danny has a heritage from his far relatives that he refused but that heritage will be given for his kids when their grow up. There are two possibilities. First, the poison was for the conflicts the first time they met but it didn’t work on Danny due to his accident in the past. Then Vlad got obsessed with Danny and now they live together as a family

Damian: TT. Then one of their children drink the poison her dad gives to her mom, died while her mom still has no idea about that? Why he still give Danny “medicine” if they’re good now?

Tim: Well, as far as I know, they didn’t have a marriage certificate, which means they’re just godfather and godson, no more obligation or rights. And if Danny die now, the heritage would be given to his only living child, Dan, who is 4 years old. And due to the law of Amity Town, a rare town that still have some significant rule that could apply for anyone born at it, the parents could be the representative for their under 5 year old child to accept, invest or borrow with no interest with their children’s heirloom.

Jason: So if Danny die, that scumbag could use his heritage through their child?

Tim: Yes. Which mean there may be a year for he to try killing Danny, if he figure out the poison isn’t working

Bruce: Hmn. Tim, are Dani 6 years old now if she didn’t died?

Dick: B, you didn’t mean..?

Damian: that Vlad kill his own daughter when she was old enough to decide what to do with the heritage she may get after her mom died

Tim: That could be possible! According to my investigation, Dani stoped show up in Danny’s album after her six year old birthday party

Dick: Do you think Vlad will do the same with his son if he get old enough?

Jason: Well, it isn’t too late to kill him now

Dick: Calm down Jason. We need more information than that to acting. And killing isn’t the answer.

Tim, look at his phone: Maybe we have less time than we think

Damian: What do you mean Drake?

Tim: Danny just sent a message to invite me and Damian to Dan’s 5 year old birthday party. And he suggested we shouldn’t bring anything sensitive cause he is having a third child, as his quote “Dani regenerate into his belly again”

Dick: So Vlad could kill his son, due to his age and may continue to kill Danny, after his child’s birth?

Damian: TT. That is if the child could be born. Don’t forget he drink poison as medicine for daily basis

Danny can't taste- DCxDP Prompt

The problem with being half dead is that so are your senses. While certain foods are still as tasty as ever they are relegated to food found on offering plates like bread, fruits, cheese and wine. But Danny just wants to eat a good burger and unfortunately, those aren't offered to the dead.

This has led to Tucker and Sam burning food offerings for Danny in the past, but there has been another solution.

Danny just adds copious amounts of extra stuff to his food to satisfy his numbed tastebuds.

20 sugar packages to his coffee, a flood of hot sauce on his burgers and anything else he could get his hands on.

One afternoon after class Danny ended up meeting Tim at the Batburger on campus. There Tim watched in horror as Danny filled a cup of Sprite, added blue raspberry sour Death Ball candies to it, added citric acid, added plutonium 9 hot sauce, and extra sugar. It was the most horrifying baby blue concoction Tim had ever seen. It looked like a normal soda but it was liquid death.

And Tim wanted to try it next.

(A drink that would cause a small Victorian child to disintegrate)

[alsofoundinpeas]

Too Much, Pretty Boy?

Summary: Spencer discovers that he not only has mommy issues but that they run deeper than he previously thought. You discover that you don't mind it one bit.

Requested fic!! 🥳: hey can you do a story with sub!spencerreid and softdom!reader and spencer has a mommy kink? oh and he whines and loves to be praised!

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This is literally pure porn LMFAO whoops. Oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't do this pls pls), creampie, crying during sex (Spencer is pathetic and we love him for it), praise kink, mommy!kink, very brief mention of a safeword but it isn't used, sub!spencer x softdom!reader my beloved :') (Also!! This is a reminder that the pictures used do NOT depict how reader looks at all!! <3)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: So sorry for the brief unplanned hiatus but I am back :') Thank you so much to the anon who requested this! I'm so nervous posting it but I hope you guys like it <3 As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all MWAH!!

Never in his life did Spencer ever see himself developing a mommy kink. It was something he never could grasp the appeal of, having spent way too much time with his head in different psychology books and swearing he didn’t fit the criteria of someone with “mommy issues” (though the only person he was fooling was himself). Then he met you.

You were so kind. So nurturing. You made him feel safe. Loved. Wanted.

The first time it happened came as a complete shock to both of you.

A rough day at work had led you to be a bit more… demanding with your sweet boyfriend. Instead of the slow, tender kisses you’d usually greet him with when he came by your place, you’d all but shoved him onto the couch in your haste to scramble into his lap, eager to feel his lips against yours after everything you’d dealt with that day.

The noise of surprise he’d squeaked against your lips only spurred you on, desperate to hear more of the sweet sounds he could make.

“Sweetheart—“ Spencer mumbled against your lips, a low whine rumbling in his chest as you ground your hips down against his growing erection. His head tipped back to rest against the back of the couch when your lips began to trail down the column of his throat, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. “W-what’s this all about?”

You pulled away from him, leaving only enough space between your bodies to yank your shirt over your head and toss it carelessly to the ground. “Rough day.” Was the only grumbled response he got before your greedy hands continued to rip off every piece of clothing in your way.

The two of you had had sex before, having been together for almost a year. It had always been sweet and gentle, almost a little awkward as Spencer learned how to be intimate with you. You always let Spencer choose the position so he’d feel more comfortable as he explored his newfound sexuality, and he almost always chose missionary.

That night, you rode him into the couch so hard you learned that not only did he whimper like the sweetest whore on the planet (the man would almost bite through his lip before to stay quiet because he thought his noises were embarrassing), but that you much more enjoyed watching his pretty little mouth hang open while he gazed up at you in an almost trance-like state instead of him burying his face in the crook of your shoulder.

His hands, usually timid and shaky, now roamed your body shamelessly as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, groping and squeezing anywhere that he could while whining pitifully. You could tell he was close by the way his body was trembling underneath you, and you were right there with him, clenching around his cock and murmuring into his ear about how good he was making you feel. His hips began to rut up helplessly into yours, triggering both of your orgasms as he dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass and—

“I-I’m cumming, ah—MOMMY!”

You cried out, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you rolled your hips against his to draw out both of your climaxes. Once you’d slowed to a stop, you pulled away with a breathless grin, only to immediately frown upon seeing Spencer’s shocked and shameful expression. Then it processed what he’d just screamed as he came.

“Hey,” you cooed, caressing his face gently as his eyes began to water and he averted his gaze. “Spencer… look at me, baby. It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t!” Spencer exclaimed, trying to sink into the couch and away from you as he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I-I just called you mommy, a-and you probably think I’m some freak loser now—“

“I thought it was hot.”

That had stopped his panicked ranting dead in its tracks, his brows furrowing as he eyed you skeptically, searching for any signs of deceit. Finding none, his shoulders relaxed a little, and he let his hands find your waist again. “Really?” He asked meekly, his face flushed from both embarrassment and exertion.

“Really.”

That night sparked a lengthy, much-needed, and long-overdue conversation that inadvertently changed the entire dynamic of your sex life (in the best way possible).

Which led to where you two were currently.

“Like this, mommy?” Spencer murmured against your skin, crooking his fingers and thrusting them harder.

“Fuck, baby��� yes, just like that—“ you crooned, tightening your grip in his hair as you writhe in his lap. “So good for me, Spence. Such a good boy. God—“

Spencer had come home agitated out of his mind after a long case, stressed and exhausted. All he wanted was for you to take care of him. To make him feel better and forget—at least momentarily—all of the gruesome things he’d had to witness for the past two weeks.

And when the words “Please… I don’t want to think anymore. Just tell me what to do. Make it go away…” slipped from his mouth, you knew you’d be cruel if you didn’t do exactly that.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, a muffled whine vibrating against your skin and causing your breath to hitch. Your knees wobbled from where you were hovering over his lap, riding his slender fingers like your life depended on it. Your impending climax sent ripples of pleasure up your spine and all the way down to your curling toes, causing your moans to grow in both volume and consistency as you panted above him.

“That’s it, baby,” you panted, interrupted by your own obscene moan as his fingers repeatedly brushed against the patch of nerves capable of rendering you brainless. “I’m so close— Fuck!”

All it took to send you toppling over the edge of ecstasy was a few swipes of his thumb over your clit. Spencer pulled away from your chest to watch as your face screwed up in pleasure, a sight that he’d never grow tired of seeing. Your pussy clenched hard around his fingers, the sensation making his cock twitch in his slacks.

Spencer stared in rapt fascination, his hips bucking instinctively under yours as he whimpered, working you through your orgasm until you were grasping his wrist and shoving it away despite his protests. A breathy laugh made its way from your lips at the sight of his frown.

“Be a good boy and be still for me, hm? Can you do that for mommy?”

Spencer stilled immediately, his lips parting as he nodded eagerly. Once he'd stopped squirming, you gently patted his cheek before lifting from his lap with shaky legs. You caught his tie between your fingers and tugged it, the force pulling him from the couch with a soft, almost imperceptible whimper. Smirking, you led him toward the bedroom, the fabric of his tie taut in your grip.

The door opened with a creak, sending a pang of anticipation racing through Spencer's veins as he trailed behind you. His eyes followed you as you let go of his tie, turning to sit on the edge of the bed and motioning to the ground in front of you with a flick of your wrist. He sank to his knees between your spread legs, nuzzling into your touch when your fingers card through his hair.

"You're being so good," you murmured, a soft smile curling on your lips as you gazed down at him. "My pretty boy." Your hand slid from his hair to gently cup his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone as you drank him in.

“Always wanna be good for you,” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your skin as he turned his head to press his face into your inner thigh.

Your eyebrows raised as you chuckled, using your finger to tilt his chin up so he was facing you again. “Yeah?” You crooned, swiping your thumb along his bottom lip. “Show me just how good you can be then.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

The second he was given permission, his mouth was on you. Spencer was ravenous, licking into you as though he’d never experienced your taste before. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping them pried apart as his tongue circled your clit.

“God, you’re so good for me—Spence!”

The vibrations from his needy moans only added to your pleasure, his grip on your thighs the only thing keeping you anchored as he devoured you. He shifted slightly, just enough so that his nose brushed against your clit as he began to thrust his tongue inside of you.

Spencer lived for the praise that he could coax from your precious lips. Nothing was more rewarding than hearing your encouraging words, soft and full of warmth, urging him on.

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him against you as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your thighs trembled in his hold, and your mouth parted in a silent moan as your eyes squeezed shut. Spencer groaned into you, unrelenting in his ministrations as you fell apart, addicted to your taste and the way you moaned his name.

"Baby—"

"One more," he begged against your slick skin. "Please, mommy? You taste so good."

As tempting as it was, you shook your head and gently pulled him away, ignoring his soft protests. Your gaze flicked to his pout, and you raised an eyebrow before motioning for him to lie on the bed. "Really, Spencer?" you asked as you straddled him, your tone teasing but stern. "Are you going to complain? Because we can stop right here, and you can handle your problem alone. Is that what you want?"

Spencer shook his head frantically, a panicked look crossing his face at the thought of stopping. "No! Please, mommy, I'm sorry," he whimpered, looking particularly pathetic underneath you while he pleaded his case. "I'll be good, I swear—"

A high-pitched whine spilled from his lips as you spit into your hand before shuffling down his body, wrapping your hand around his neglected cock. "That's it," you cooed, stroking him in small, teasing motions. "There's my good boy." His hips bucked instinctively into your touch, causing you to pause while you shot a warning glance his way. "Are you going to be still and take what mommy gives you? Or am I going to have to stop?"

"I'll be still!" Spencer cried out, looking down at you with tears in his eyes. "I-I'll be still, please!"

A smirk tugged at your lips before you bent down to press a kiss to his flushed head in response. Your hand began to move again, his pre-cum mixing with your spit creating a lewd slick sound as your pace slowly increased. The hushed whines and moans slipping from Spencer's lips filled the room, and the sight of his nails digging into the sheets to keep himself from moving sent a sharp pang of warmth through you.

Your eyes remained on his face, admiring the relaxed drop of his jaw and the deep flush staining his cheeks. You knew he was close when his moans began to increase in volume and pitch, his chest heaving as his body began to tremble. Shifting forward, your mouth finds his while your hand continues its movements. "That's it, baby," you murmur against his lips, grinning at the whimper he lets out. "Cum for me, sweetheart."

Spencer groaned into your mouth, releasing his grip on the sheets to knead desperately at your breasts. That was all it took for him to gasp against your lips, a low keening sound bubbling in his throat as he spilled over your hand and his tummy. You broke the kiss to watch his face, your hand working him through his climax.

"O-oh—"

Spencer writhed as you continued stroking him slowly, using his cum as lube to aid your movements. His eyes were half-lidded, filled with a mix of confusion and desperation as he looked up at you, but you didn’t stop. His hands fell back to the bed, twitching as you increase your pace once more.

"Shh, sweet boy," you chuckled as he began to whimper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're okay. You can take it, can't you?"

A pathetic whine left his lips as he nodded. A tear slipped down his cheek from the overstimulation, leaving a shiny streak behind on his rosy cheeks. You and Spencer knew that he'd use the safeword if it were too much. But this is exactly what he wanted when he'd come home. He thrived on how you could turn him into nothing more than a tangled mess of limp limbs and tear-filled eyes, drowning in a pleasure so intense it erased every thought except you.

When his moans began to reach noise-complaint decibels, you clamped your free hand over his mouth to muffle them. “I know, baby. I know,” you murmured as he began to cry in earnest now, so overwhelmed with pleasure he couldn’t see straight. “You sound so pretty for me. But I can’t have you waking the neighbors, sweetheart.”

Spencer was close, his body thrashing underneath you as you continued your delicious torture on his sensitive cock. His brows were drawn together, glazed-over eyes locked on your face and kiss-swollen lips parted. He was so devastatingly beautiful like this—wrecked and desperate for release.

When you felt the tell-tale twitching signaling his impending release, an idea came to mind. With one final pump, you release your hold on him, hurriedly straddling his lap and sinking onto him before he can complain.

His eyes widen to an almost comical level before they roll back in his head. His hands fly up to grip your hips, a muffled shout of "Mommy!" against your palm being the only warning you get before his hips rut into you frantically. Seconds later, he's cumming so hard his vision whites out behind his eyelids and his ears ring.

"Good boy, Spence," you breathe, slowing your hips to a stop and petting his hair away from his forehead while he sobs. "You did so good, baby. So, so good." Easing off of him, you caress his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before leaving the room.

Spencer lays trembling in the bed, too weak to protest. His eyes remain closed, his chest heaving with each breath he sucks in. He’s unsure how much time has passed when a warm washcloth glides over his skin. He hums in response, and you know it's the closest thing to a thank you he can offer right now.

After he's cleaned up, you slide back into bed beside him, drawing him close. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I'll wake you for dinner," you murmur, your nails softly tracing patterns on his warm skin to lull him into sleep.

Only then does exhaustion fully claim him, a barely audible "I love you" slipping from his lips before he drifts into sleep, reassured that no matter how harsh and unforgiving his career may be, you’ll always be there to make everything okay.

Continued A/N's: AHHHH!!!! I've never written for a mommy kink before so I hope I did it justice LMAO! Again, thank you to the anon who requested this, it really helped me step out of my comfort zone and I loved that. <3 Reminder that my requests are still open btw ;)

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[merakiui]

unlikely secret admirer sebek who sends you anonymous letters expressing his affections. they’re so sweet and touching that you immediately think the mysterious writer is someone like rook or riddle, what with how polite and charming each note is. it must be someone you know because they’re hand-delivered to ramshackle, packaged so carefully and with so much intention.

although maybe it could be someone you’ve never met. after all, everyone knows of the magicless student who lives in ramshackle with their direbeast companion, grim. that doesn’t exactly narrow down your list of potential admirers. ^^;;;

imagine your surprise when you find out it’s actually someone who wasn’t even a consideration to begin with! to think sebek zigvolt, loud and brash, always turning his nose up and scoffing when humans are concerned, is the one who’s been writing and sending all of these letters. but then it makes sense. the pressed flowers he would include or the notes of how he hopes you’ll think of him when you see a particular flower… it’s all so romantic. <3

i think this trope could also work for a character like ace!! maybe he only starts because you once mentioned how you’ve always dreamed of receiving a love letter from a mysterious admirer and, at the time, he laughed and teased you about it. but then he’s busy writing (and rewriting) countless heartfelt letters in hopes of making you smile, adorning the letters with stickers or other cute things because “you like cute stuff, don’tcha?”

he realizes it’s easy to put his feelings down on the page instead of trying to work them into a spoken confession, and since it’s all anonymous it’s not so scary when you’re reading them in front of him and your other first-year friends, and he’s smiling easily, quietly adoring how happy you look as you try to guess who it might be. you never think it could be him because he just doesn’t seem the type (if only you knew) and also because he quite literally told you to your face it’s so “lame and old-fashioned.”

and yet here he is, looking bashful as ever when you finally confront him about it. “i just thought it’d make you happy,” he admits, awkwardly scratching his neck and avoiding eye contact. he meant every word, though. he wouldn’t lie about that.

[kxsagi]

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐟”

a/n: tried to make it not too angsty since i'm a happy person, but it's when reader finds out she's pregnant post-divorce! slight mentions of "doing it." inspired by @neeeooon's "when they find out they have a kid, pt 2” I LOVE HER WORKS

you and isagi were truly that one couple where you couldn’t tell if they were dating or just best friends. 

strangers would glance at the two of you and wait for some sign of affection to confirm an answer to their thoughts, friends would always admire how the two of you made the cutest couple, and family would always support your relationship through thick and thin. 

over four years of dating inevitably ended up in marriage, a beautiful ceremony celebrated with the most beautiful rings. 

but, oh how marriage was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. 

you’re not too sure what made everything spiral downwards. only after a month of initiating vows, your first ever argument as a married couple occurred, and boy was it heated. more only followed after that, becoming more frequent as time went on, usually ending in nights at a friend’s house or spent alone in your shared house. 

the final straw was when isagi insulted you in an escalating fight. 

“why do you always shut me out?" you asked, voice trembling and eyes narrowed. 

isagi turned away, running a hand through his hair. “i’m trying to think, woman. just give me a minute." 

the word landed like a slap. your breath hitched and your face paled. 

to this day, you can still taste his venom on your tongue and feel the burn on your cheek from that moment. he had never talked to you like that before. sure, he had a dirty mouth, but he had never gone so far as to insult you or call you a name like that. 

without thinking, you signed the divorce papers and forced yourself to show up in court to finalize the divorce. your now ex-husband wasn’t there, but he had his parents speak for him instead. 

just two days later, you’re panicking. 

as if the mental toll wasn’t enough from your recent divorce, there was a positive pregnancy test resting on your bathroom sink counter, staring back at you. with a hand clasped to your mouth, you remembered the last passionate night the two of you shared after another heated argument, ending with him releasing inside of you, despite knowing you were ovulating. 

holding back the sobs was unsuccessful as you pondered about what to do. 

𐙚

over two years later, you’re carrying your 18-month old boy on your hip as you attend to chores around the house when you hear your doorbell ringing. rushing to see who this unexpected visitor may be, thinking it may be your mother coming for a surprise visit, you’re shocked to see isagi’s best friend, bachira. 

��hey, long time no see! i feel like i haven’t seen you since your wedding,” he laughs, as bubbly as ever. 

quickly turning to try and hide your baby boy, you nervously laugh. “oh hey bachira, how are you doing?” 

bachira dodges the question, noticing who you’re holding. “to be honest, i haven’t talked to isagi in over a year because we’ve both been so busy with our soccer careers. but i at least thought he would tell me he had a kid.” 

you play dumb. “isagi? this isn’t –” you stop yourself short, knowing there was no point in lying when your baby boy was an exact copy of his father, even with the tiny hair sprout. 

“uh huh… that’s definitely believable. i’m assuming isagi doesn’t know about this either?” 

not long after that, you gave up in defeat, inviting bachira in as you explained everything: the arguments, divorce, and pregnancy. your baby boy absolutely loved bachira, and bachira loved him. the two grew close rather quickly. 

so when your doorbell rang the next day, you expected to see bachira at the door yet again. a smile was already on your face as you held your baby to your hip like glue, happy that someone other than your family and girlfriends was going to spend time with him. 

but your eyes widen when you not only see bachira, but also isagi. 

your ex-husband is staring at you in shock, jaw clenched, staring back and forth at you and his son. he had no idea that this entire time you were parenting alone. “is he mine? no – that’s just a stupid question. he is mine.” 

bachira took your baby from you, walking over to the living room to leave the two of you alone to talk. 

“when… when did you find out you were pregnant?” 

“two days after our divorce.” 

isagi runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “so if you were pregnant for nine months then… he’s 18-months now?” 

you nod slowly, heart rate breaking records as you stand in front of the man you once loved. at the time, you didn’t know what decision to make, whether to keep the baby, contact his father, or just raise him alone. 

“i know we ended off on bad terms, but you didn’t wanna tell me?” isagi glares. “what the hell?!” 

“what was i supposed to do?! you didn’t even show up to the court room!” you yell, your volume causing the man to flinch. "how do you think i felt?!"

“how could i?! i still –” isagi groans, stopping himself from saying something without thinking again. 

realizing the situation, you take a deep breath, exhaling with your hands on your hips. 

your ex-husband takes the hint and clears his throat. “well... you’re living in the same house.” 

“because your parents spoke for you in court and said that you would give me the house. and… thank you for paying it off. i know that’s not easy,” you quietly say, so soft that isagi could barely hear you. 

“it’s… no problem…” he sighs. 

a long stretch of awkward silence stands between the two of you, two gazes looking everywhere but each other. 

bachira comes back, “i heard silence and took it as a sign that you’ve talked some stuff out?” 

while that was far from the truth, you nodded, ready to talk to your ex-husband more later, but for now, he deserved to see his son. 

taking your baby boy from his uncle bachira’s arms, you look up at eyes you once loved. eyes you fell in love with. and now eyes that make you feel heavy regret and guilt more than anything else. 

“do you want to hold him?” 

isagi is breathless, caught off guard by the question, but he reaches his large hands out. “yes…” 

the moment his son is in his arms and looks up at him with those copy of eyes, isagi feels like he’s changed. 

he puts himself in your shoes, wondering how hard it must have been for you to support yourself when he was the breadwinner of the family. also how lonely you must have felt, and suddenly, he feels guilty and regretful all at once. 

the two of you created this beautiful human, this new life. 

“18 months old…” 

isagi manages to smile, nuzzling his nose against his now smiling son’s own. “i already missed one birthday. i’m not missing another one again.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: LMK IF YOU WANT A PT. 2 BC I’M WILLING TO MAKE ONE FOR THIS!!!

(header image credits go to @reinyy-days here on tumblr! HER ART IS AMAZING THIS IS MY FAVORITE ISAGI FANART EVER)

[moldycheezeit]

Prologue

Before You read I'm letting you know again this is the first time I've ever written fan fiction so if it sucks I'm sorry. :(  This does have swearing and mentions of death and blood. Also I think I'm just going to make batsis just a mix of Nami and Uraraka b/c idk how to incorporate Mitsuri into her. And if you watch mha or one piece I'm sorry if I don't make batsis accurate to both characters, even though I've watched both shows I feel like I'll mess it up somehow.

By the time you were born Bruce Wayne and his wife, your mother, had adopted Richard Grayson also known as the first robin or Dick. Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time and about to pop. But when the birth happened about a month later something went wrong, she lost too much blood and did make it. Overcome with grief Bruce nor Dick could look at you, because they couldn’t see a daughter/sister all they would see was the thing that killed somebody whom they loved. 

This caused Alfred to be the one who had named you because no one else would, so Alfred picked the name (y/n). He can remember how much your mom loved the name. But let's interrupt the sadness if you had to talk about your run in with your so called “family” it would be like this…

Dick would talk to you but it’s not like he enjoyed or wanted to so he made excuse after excuse to get out of talking with you. Like how he’d said “ I’m sorry (y/n) but Damian asked me to help him study you know how it is.” you knew he really meant training with Damian. another lie he'd say was “oh I’m busy at the moment i'll catch you next time.” which was never.

Jason was a great brother. keyword was, when he first joined he loved to hang out with you even if you couldn’t do much because you were a toddler. When he died no one told you well Alfred tried to explain that Jason would never come back but all it did was confuse you and made you start looking all around the manor for him hoping he would appear. When he did return you were 10 and wow was he an ass. When you tried to talk or bond with him like you used to he’d yell things like “go the fuck away” or “stop being such a whiny princess” God that man got irritated easily.

Tim, well you didn’t really talk to him. I mean you tried to, he seemed to like similar things to you, like building and inventing gadgets. But all he did when you tried to talk to him was just look at you with disgust in his eyes. Well screw him too. 

Now Damian what to say about this demon you're related to. The first time you met him was when you were 16, you were 2 years older than him. And kinda excited to meet someone other than Bruce you're related to by blood. God how blind you were. Damian had walked into the library while trying to find his way around the Wayne manor.

“Oh hello I’m (y/n) you must be Damian, Alfred had said you were to arrive some time today.” you had happily said to him. But he took one look at you and had the impression of who you were. “Tch.” Was all that was said but you knew instantly he thought you were some weak defenseless bimbo.

Bruce, god how you hate being related to this man. As you could tell he practically seemed to blame you for your mothers death. Like how is it your fault, you couldn't control if she was going to live or die. Anyways the man seemed to not care for what you do and where you are. The media doesn't even know about you so why bother acting like he cares. But why do you care about what he thinks you can practically have done everything on your own. Some father he is.

Lastly Alfred. He's the man that practically raised you. He was there for you when you were younger but the older you got the more you pulled away from him. You love him but anytime you bad mouth any of you “family” he instantly defends them.  You also have to remember he serves the whole family, not just you.

YIPPIE I FINALLY FINISHED IT (≧∇≦) hopefully you guys liked it. Well thats it for rn buy :)

Taglist: @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz

[hereforuconnwbb]

Unexpected Halt - CHAPTER 3

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

~paige plays for uconn and azzi plays for stanford~

word count: 6.5k

warning: suggestive

hey yall heres chap 3 ! lemme know what u guys think of this chapter and what else u guys would like to see !!

also a side note i forgot to mention when i first started writing is that i dont write smut 🥴 but would write build ups and all that but yes just wanted to put that out there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The past few weeks had been… different.

At first, it had just been the occasional text. A good luck before a game, a did you land okay? after a flight. Normal things. Casual things.

But then the texts got longer. More frequent.

Late-night calls became routine—what started as quick check-ins turned into hours of talking about everything and nothing, voices growing softer as exhaustion crept in, neither one wanting to hang up first.

Paige found herself waiting for Azzi’s name to pop up on her screen, heart jumping just a little every time it did.

Azzi, on the other hand, had completely abandoned the idea of pretending she wasn’t always hoping for Paige’s name to appear in her notifications.

It wasn’t just that they talked. It was how they talked. The way they let each other in, the way they never ran out of things to say. The way silence between them never felt awkward, only comfortable.

And even though they hadn’t seen each other in person since that day, neither of them could deny it—

Something was happening between them.

Something that neither of them had put a name to yet, but neither of them wanted to stop.

—------------

Paige didn’t even bother hiding her grin as she read the message on her phone.

Azzi: sooo technically you never answered my question last night

Paige: hmm? what question?

Azzi: don’t act like you don’t know.

Azzi: do u miss me or not?

Paige bit her lip, pretending to think before typing her response.

Paige: idk tbh… kinda hard to miss someone when u talk to them 24/7

Azzi: paige.

Paige: ok fine maybe just a little

Azzi: just a little? wow.

Paige: ok ok a lot whatever

“Dude. You’re literally the worst at hiding your feelings.”

Paige jumped, locking her phone as KK plopped down beside her on the couch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige said, far too quickly.

KK snorted. “Oh, come on. You’ve been texting her all morning.”

Paige sighed, running a hand over her face. “I hate that you’re observant.”

KK smirked. “So. You gonna finally admit you’re down bad or…?”

Paige shot her a glare, but KK just wiggled her eyebrows.

“…Okay. Maybe I miss her.”

KK gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh, growth.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the small smile on her face never left

—------------

Azzi wasn’t trying to stare at her phone.

But when it lit up with another message, she barely heard a word of what Caroline was saying.

Caroline sighed. “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Caroline just looked at her.

Azzi groaned. “I was listening.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Okay. Then what did I just say?”

Azzi opened her mouth—then shut it when she realized she had no idea.

Caroline smirked. “Exactly.”

Azzi slumped back in her chair. “…Okay, fine. I might’ve been a little distracted.”

Caroline laughed. “Yeah, no kidding. I swear, you and Paige are, like, the sappiest long-distance situationship I’ve ever witnessed.”

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please never say that again.”

Caroline grinned. “Okay, okay. But for real—when are you seeing her again?”

Azzi paused, thumb hovering over her phone.

“…I don’t know,” she admitted.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “You guys haven’t talked about it?”

Azzi hesitated. “Not really. We kind of just… talk. Every night. About anything and everything.”

Caroline gave her a look. “And yet somehow not about when you’ll see each other next?”

Azzi sighed. “It’s just—” She bit her lip. “I guess I don’t want to rush it.”

Caroline softened. “That makes sense.”

Azzi nodded, glancing at her phone again.

Paige: be honest, how much do u miss me?

Azzi smiled.

Azzi: ...maybe just a little.

Paige: wow crazy i was thinking the same thing

Azzi shook her head, biting back a grin.

Maybe they hadn’t figured out the when yet, but one thing was for sure—

She really couldn’t wait to see her again.

—------------

Azzi hated games like this.

The ones where every mistake clung to her skin, heavy and suffocating. The ones where no matter how hard she tried, it never felt like enough.

She had wanted this win—badly. Maybe that was the worst part. Knowing how much she wanted it and still walking away empty-handed.

The locker room had been quiet. Coach had spoken, but Azzi barely processed the words. Her teammates had tried to lift each other up, but all she could do was sit there, staring at the floor, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

She showered quickly, letting the water scald her skin, as if that could wash away the frustration bubbling under the surface.

By the time she was back in her sweats, hood pulled over her head, she had one goal: make it to her hotel room without talking to anyone.

She kept her head down through the lobby, barely noticing the scattered groups of players from other teams lingering near the elevators. Her chest tightened at the laughter and easy conversations she caught in passing.

That could’ve been us.

Once she finally reached her room, she shut the door behind her, exhaling slowly. The silence settled around her, thick and unmoving.

She kicked off her slides, sat on the edge of the bed, and—for the first time all night—glanced at her phone.

Her stomach twisted.

17 notifications.

All from Paige.

She hesitated before unlocking the screen.

Paige: damn tough game out there.

Paige: hello?

Missed call from Paige

Paige: yo, you good?

Paige: Az?

Missed call from Paige

Paige: game was rough ik but answer me smh

2 Missed calls from Paige

Paige: lowkey stressing me out here

2 Missed calls from Paige

Paige: just let me know ur alive damn

Missed call from Paige

Paige: AZZI.

Missed call from Paige

Paige: istg if you don’t answer in the next 5 min i’m facetiming you

Azzi swallowed. She hadn’t meant to ignore her. She just… hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone.

But Paige wasn’t just anyone.

Before she could overthink it, she opened their chat.

Azzi: sorry.

Azzi: im alive.

Paige: about damn time

Paige: u okay?

Azzi hesitated. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She could brush it off, say she was fine, pretend like this game wasn’t eating her alive.

Instead—

Azzi: not really.

Paige’s reply was instant.

Paige: call me?

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, exhaled, and pressed the button.

Paige picked up after the first ring.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer than before. “There you are.”

Azzi swallowed. “…Yeah.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Paige said. “But I’m here. Just so you know.”

Azzi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

And finally, finally, she let herself lean into it.

The moment Azzi let herself relax, the exhaustion hit her all at once. She sank back against the headboard, gripping the phone a little tighter.

Paige stayed quiet, giving her time to breathe. The steady sound of her breathing on the other end of the line was grounding, a reminder that she wasn’t alone, no matter how much tonight made her feel like she was.

“I just—” Azzi finally started, then exhaled. “It sucked.”

Paige hummed in understanding. “Yeah.”

Azzi shut her eyes. “I felt off the whole game. Like I was a step behind, no matter what I did.”

“Azzi, you’re one of the hardest-working people I know,” Paige said. “One game isn’t gonna change that.”

Azzi swallowed. The words were comforting, but they didn’t shake the weight in her chest. “I know, but—”

“But it doesn’t feel that way right now,” Paige finished for her.

Azzi exhaled a small laugh, humorless but appreciative. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence before Paige spoke again, her voice softer now. “I watched.”

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

Paige had been watching her games for a while now, but something about hearing it out loud made her heart squeeze.

“You did?” she asked, voice quieter than before.

“Of course,” Paige said like it was obvious. “And I saw everything you’re mad at yourself for. The missed shots, the turnovers.” A slight pause. “But I also saw you fight through it. You didn’t quit. You still hit that pull-up late in the fourth, still got that steal when they were pressing. It wasn’t perfect, but you kept going. That’s what matters.”

Azzi’s throat tightened.

She tilted her head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, letting Paige’s words settle into the spaces self-doubt had tried to fill.

“I just—” Azzi hesitated, then admitted, “I hate feeling like I let everyone down.”

Paige was quiet for a second, then said, “Okay, I’m gonna say something, and I need you to really hear me.”

Azzi let out a small, tired laugh. “That serious, huh?”

“Yes,” Paige said. “Listen to me. You didn’t let anyone down. One game doesn’t define you. You know that.”

Azzi’s fingers curled into the blanket. She did know that. But sometimes, knowing wasn’t enough.

She heard Paige sigh on the other end. “I get it, though,” she admitted. “The whole feeling like you have to be perfect thing.”

Azzi blinked. “You do?”

Paige let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Uh, yeah. You ever met me?”

That pulled an actual laugh from Azzi, small but real. “Fair point.”

“Look,” Paige continued, “I could sit here all night and tell you how amazing you are, but I know that’s not gonna make this feeling go away. So, instead, I’m gonna ask: what do you need right now?”

Azzi hesitated.

What did she need?

She wasn’t sure. The loss still stung, but the tightness in her chest had loosened just a little.

She wasn’t okay yet, but she didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore.

“…Can we just stay on the phone?” Azzi finally asked.

Paige smiled through the line. “Yeah, Az. We can do that.”

Azzi exhaled, finally letting the tension drain from her shoulders.

She curled into her pillow, closing her eyes as Paige started talking about something random—probably trying to distract her.

And as the night stretched on, Azzi let herself get lost in the sound of her voice.

She shifted onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The exhaustion was still there, but sleep wouldn’t come. Not yet.

Paige was still on the other end of the call, her breathing steady, unhurried. It was comforting, the way she stayed—even when Azzi didn’t know what to say, even when she felt like nothing could pull her out of the mess in her own head.

“You still with me?” Paige asked after a beat, voice softer now.

Azzi nodded before realizing Paige couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

A pause. “Wanna FaceTime?” Paige’s voice was casual, but there was something underneath it—like she wasn’t sure if Azzi would say yes.

Azzi hesitated. The thought of Paige seeing her like this, all quiet and worn down, made her stomach twist. But at the same time, there was a part of her that wanted it.

Wanted to see her.

“…Yeah,” she said finally.

Paige didn’t hesitate. Seconds later, Azzi’s phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. She inhaled once before accepting.

And then there she was.

Paige was lying on her side, her head resting against her arm, hair a little messy from running her hand through it too many times. Her expression softened the second their eyes met through the screen.

“Hey,” Paige murmured.

Azzi swallowed. “Hey.”

Neither of them spoke for a second. The silence wasn’t awkward, just… charged.

Paige’s gaze flickered over Azzi’s face, like she was searching for something. “You okay?”

Azzi let out a quiet breath. “I will be.”

Paige smiled, just a little. “That’s all I need to hear.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Paige shifted, propping herself up on her elbow. “So,” she said, a teasing edge creeping into her tone. “How many edits of me have you watched tonight?”

Azzi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I knew you were gonna bring that up.”

Paige grinned. “I had to. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Your favorite thing?”

“Yup.” Paige’s expression was entirely too smug. “You, Azzi Fudd, secretly watching thirst edits of me.”

Azzi groaned again, rolling onto her side. “I regret ever telling you that.”

“No you don’t.” Paige’s voice was warm, teasing, but then it softened just slightly. “But seriously… I’m glad you told me. I like knowing the little things about you.”

Azzi felt her heart skip.

Paige’s gaze held hers, the teasing edge fading into something gentler. More sincere.

Azzi swallowed, suddenly feeling too warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige grinned. “And yet, you love talking to me.”

Azzi sighed, rolling onto her back again. “Unfortunately.”

Paige let out a soft laugh. “Wanna know something?”

Azzi turned her head slightly. “What?”

“I was gonna text you tonight even if you hadn’t answered.” Paige exhaled through her nose. “Just��� to check in.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

She didn’t respond right away, just let the warmth of that truth settle in her ribs.

“Paige?” she murmured after a moment.

Paige hummed in question.

“…Thanks for staying up with me.”

Paige’s lips curled into something softer, smaller. “Always.”

Azzi pressed her lips together, glancing away for a second before meeting Paige’s gaze again.

It was quiet for a while after that. Neither of them spoke, but neither of them hung up, either.

And even though Azzi had felt lost just an hour ago, she wasn’t anymore.

Because Paige was still here.

Azzi shifted on her bed, adjusting the angle of her phone as she settled onto her side. Paige was still on the other end of the FaceTime call, lying on her stomach now, chin propped up on her forearm.

The glow from her screen made her eyes look softer, warmer. It was the kind of thing Azzi shouldn’t be noticing—but she did anyway.

Paige was watching her.

She always did.

“You’re staring,” Azzi murmured, voice quieter than she intended.

Paige didn’t even try to deny it. “Maybe.”

Azzi felt her pulse pick up.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It lingered, like something unspoken was sitting between them, waiting to tip over.

Paige was still watching her, her gaze slow and unhurried as it traced over Azzi’s face.

Azzi swallowed. “What?”

Paige’s lips twitched, like she was debating saying something. “You look cute.”

Azzi blinked, caught completely off guard.

“I—” Her brain short-circuited for a second, her fingers tightening around her phone. “Paige.”

Paige grinned at her reaction. “What?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” Paige defended, but her voice had that teasing lilt that made Azzi suspect otherwise.

Still.

There was something in her eyes, something that made Azzi’s stomach flip—like maybe she wasn’t just teasing. Like maybe she meant it.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. “You’re impossible.”

Paige smirked. “And yet, you keep answering my calls.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it.

She couldn’t.

Not when Paige was looking at her like that.

Another pause.

Then Paige shifted again, adjusting the phone so she was lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling before turning back to Azzi.

“I wish I was there,” she murmured.

Azzi’s breath caught.

She didn’t know why that sentence hit different than all the other things Paige had said tonight. Maybe it was the way her voice had dropped slightly, or the way she meant it.

“…Yeah?” Azzi found herself asking.

Paige hummed. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s fingers curled into her sheets.

She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Because part of her wished the same thing.

She had spent the whole night feeling frustrated, disappointed, like nothing could pull her out of it. And yet here she was, feeling okay just because Paige was on the other side of the screen.

Azzi pressed her lips together, her pulse a little too loud in her ears.

Paige watched her, waiting, like she was giving her the space to say something.

Azzi hesitated—then took a breath.

“…I wish you were, too.”

The shift was slow—so slow it was almost unnoticeable.

But then Paige stretched, arms reaching above her head, hoodie riding up just enough to expose the toned lines of her stomach.

Azzi froze.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as her gaze betrayed her, flickering down for just a second too long before she forced herself to look away.

Paige smirked. She saw that.

“You okay over there?” Paige teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Azzi swallowed hard, shifting against her pillows. “Yeah. Fine.”

Paige hummed, rolling onto her side now, head propped up on her hand. Her hoodie was still askew, still exposing just enough to be distracting.

“You sure?” Paige pressed, lips twitching.

Azzi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “I hate you.”

Paige chuckled, fingers toying absently with the hem of her hoodie. “No, you don’t.”

Azzi refused to look at her, because if she did, she knew Paige’s gaze would already be locked onto hers, teasing, taunting—daring her to admit exactly what she was thinking.

She should end the call.

She should.

But Paige was still watching her, waiting, her smirk fading into something deeper, something more dangerous.

Azzi’s pulse skipped.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Paige murmured, her voice lower now.

Azzi wet her lips, hesitating.

She shouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

“…I don’t think you wanna know.”

Paige’s eyes flickered. The challenge was clear.

She shifted again, stretching just slightly, her hoodie inching up even more before she finally let it settle back down.

Azzi clenched her jaw, dragging her gaze away.

Paige definitely noticed. Her smirk deepened.

“Try me.”

Azzi exhaled, closing her eyes for a second. She could still see Paige behind her eyelids, still picture the way she was lying there, teasing, tempting, waiting.

“…You’re doing this on purpose,” Azzi muttered.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

Azzi inhaled sharply. “You know what.”

Paige’s fingers trailed lazily along her exposed skin before she let her hoodie fall back into place.

Azzi felt hot.

Paige’s voice dropped an octave. “…Maybe.”

The word sent something sharp and electric straight down Azzi’s spine.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Paige exhaled, rolling onto her back again, her fingers tapping idly against her stomach. “You should go to bed.”

Azzi almost laughed. “You’re the one keeping me up.”

Paige grinned. “I tend to have that effect.”

Azzi shook her head, but her stomach was still tight, her pulse still racing.

Neither of them hung up.

Neither of them wanted to.

And maybe that was the real problem.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was thick—charged, almost dangerous.

Azzi shifted against her pillows, gripping her phone a little tighter. She was trying to focus on anything else, but Paige wasn’t making it easy.

Not when she was lying there like that, fingers still resting against the exposed skin on her stomach, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she was waiting for Azzi to break.

Paige sighed dramatically, stretching again, her hoodie riding up even higher this time. The defined lines of her stomach flexed for just a moment before the fabric settled back down.

Azzi swallowed hard.

Paige definitely noticed.

The corner of her lips curled. “Something wrong?”

Azzi’s jaw tensed. “You’re so annoying.”

Paige smirked, rolling onto her side again, head propped up on her palm. “Am I?”

Azzi inhaled sharply, willing herself to look anywhere else. “Yes.”

Paige’s voice dropped just slightly. “Then why haven’t you hung up?”

Azzi’s pulse stuttered.

She couldn’t answer that.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem of her hoodie. “That’s what I thought.”

Azzi exhaled, shaking her head. “You love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

Paige hummed, stretching again just for the hell of it. “Not as much as I love getting you flustered.”

Azzi knew she should end the call.

She should.

But her fingers stayed still.

And Paige kept pushing.

“Bet you’re all warm right now,” Paige mused, eyes flickering over Azzi’s face. “All worked up over nothing.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened. “Shut up.”

Paige grinned. “Make me.”

Azzi clenched her jaw.

Paige’s fingers traced absently over her stomach again. “Didn’t think so.”

Azzi inhaled through her nose. “You really need to go to sleep.”

Paige exhaled dramatically. “You really need to stop pretending you don’t like this.”

Azzi froze.

Paige saw it.

Her smirk softened, but her eyes? Darker now.

“…Tell me I’m wrong.”

Azzi couldn’t.

Her throat went dry, her entire body way too hot under the weight of Paige’s stare.

The silence stretched, thick with something neither of them wanted to name.

Then Paige exhaled, softer this time.

“…Once again, I wish I was there.”

Azzi’s fingers curled against her sheets.

She hesitated.

She shouldn’t say it.

She really shouldn’t.

But her voice betrayed her anyway.

“…Same P.”

Azzi wasn’t sure who was breathing harder, her or Paige, but she felt the shift, felt the weight of Paige’s words settling over her skin.

"Once again, I wish I was there."

Her fingers curled into her sheets, her heart thudding in her chest.

She shouldn’t have said it.

She shouldn’t have admitted she wanted Paige there too.

But she had.

And now there was no taking it back.

Paige’s eyes flickered through the screen, searching, waiting, her fingers still resting just under the hem of her hoodie, teasing—taunting.

Azzi swallowed hard.

“You’re quiet,” Paige murmured, her voice lower now, softer, but no less dangerous.

Azzi wet her lips. “So are you.”

Paige smirked, shifting onto her back again, the motion making her hoodie ride up just a little more, exposing another inch of skin.

Azzi felt the heat creep up her neck.

Paige noticed.

“Bet you’d be touching me if I was there,” Paige mused, her voice dripping with amusement.

Azzi’s stomach tightened.

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Wouldn’t you?”

Azzi exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Paige only grinned, fingers tracing along her own stomach in slow, lazy patterns. “You didn’t say no.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her body too warm, her thoughts too loud.

This was dangerous.

Paige was dangerous.

And the worst part?

Azzi liked it.

“Why are you even like this?” Azzi muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige chuckled, her smirk softening just slightly. “Only with you.”

Azzi swore she felt that deep in her chest.

Her breath hitched.

Paige saw. The teasing faded—just a little.

Because this wasn’t just a game.

This was something else.

Something more.

Paige inhaled, slow, deliberate. “…Wish I could see you right now.”

Azzi’s fingers twitched against her blanket. “You are seeing me.”

Paige shook her head, her smirk turning into something softer. “Not like that.”

Azzi’s pulse skipped.

Paige didn’t elaborate.

She didn’t have to.

Because Azzi knew.

And suddenly, the space between them—the distance—felt unbearable.

Paige’s fingers were still absently tracing over the hem of her hoodie, her voice dropping just enough to make Azzi’s stomach flip.

“If I was there…” she started, voice slow, deliberate, watching Azzi carefully. “I wouldn’t just be looking at you through a screen.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige noticed.

“I’d be right next to you,” Paige continued, stretching lazily before shifting onto her side again, head propped up on her hand. “Close enough to touch.”

Azzi’s fingers curled even tighter against her blanket.

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Close enough to hear every little breath you take.”

Azzi swore her whole body tensed.

Paige’s voice softened, but the weight of it still pressed down on her. “I’d be able to feel how warm you get when I’m near.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened.

Paige let the silence stretch, eyes flickering over Azzi’s face like she was committing everything to memory.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“I’d have you right where I want you.”

Azzi inhaled sharply, her heart hammering in her chest.

Paige saw the way her lips parted, saw the way her fingers gripped at her blanket, and God, she loved it.

“What’s wrong?” Paige murmured, feigning innocence. “Cat got your tongue?”

Azzi clenched her jaw. “You’re—”

Paige raised a brow. “I’m what?”

Azzi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “You know what.”

Paige grinned, shifting again, her hoodie riding up even more. “Say it.”

Azzi glared.

Paige’s voice dropped even lower. “Or do I have to come there and make you?”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

And Paige?

Paige was thriving.

“Bet you’d let me,” Paige mused, dragging a lazy finger along her exposed stomach. “Bet you’d want me to.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut for a second, way too aware of how warm her face felt, how warm her whole body felt.

Paige chuckled. “You’re not saying no.”

Azzi’s voice barely worked. “Paige.”

Paige smirked, loving the way her name sounded like that—desperate, pleading, like Azzi was barely holding it together.

“Yeah, baby?” she whispered.

Azzi’s breath caught.

And Paige knew she had her.

Azzi’s pulse was pounding, but if Paige thought she could keep all the control, she had another thing coming.

Azzi inhaled slowly, steadying herself before tilting her head, her eyes trailing down Paige’s sprawled-out frame. The hoodie bunched up, teasing a strip of toned stomach. The way she lounged there, completely unbothered, so damn confident.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Azzi let her voice drop, smooth and sultry. Intentional. “You talk a lot, Bueckers.” Her fingers skimmed along the thin strap of her tank top, dragging slowly. “But I don’t think you could actually handle me.”

Paige froze.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Azzi saw her fluster. It was subtle—the slight hitch in her breath, the way her fingers twitched against her stomach.

Azzi smirked. “What’s wrong?” She leaned in slightly, letting the strap slip just a little off her shoulder. “Cat got your tongue?”

Paige’s jaw clenched, her pupils blown.

Then she exhaled, slow and measured. “Azzi.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It was a warning.

Azzi only smiled, eyes dark. “Yes, baby?”

Paige swore. Low. Under her breath.

Then she moved, shifting up onto her elbow, hoodie slipping back down like she was finally regaining control.

Azzi wasn’t done.

She dragged a finger absently over her collarbone, tracing patterns along her skin, watching as Paige’s eyes followed the movement—hungry, locked in. “What’s the matter?” she mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, but it was strained, the sound tight.

Azzi loved it.

“You,” Paige exhaled, shaking her head. “Are so damn dangerous.”

Azzi licked her lips, leaning back. “You like it.”

Paige dragged a hand down her face, inhaling sharply. “I should not be watching you do that right now.”

Azzi arched a brow, her smirk widening. “Oh? And what should you be doing, then?”

Paige’s eyes flickered over her face, her lips, lower.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“Getting on a flight to come see you.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige saw it.

And just like that, the heat between them boiled over.

Azzi leaned back against her pillows, letting the strap of her tank top slide further down her shoulder, the fabric barely hanging on. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers played with the hem, teasing, dragging it up just slightly, revealing more of her toned stomach before letting it fall again. Paige’s eyes followed every movement, dark and hungry.

Azzi smirked. Easy.

“You’re quiet, Bueckers.” Her voice was smooth, slow—intentional. She let her fingers trail over her collarbone, brushing against the delicate skin like she wasn’t aware of the effect it had.Paige exhaled sharply, shifting where she lay, her hoodie now feeling way too hot for her own good.

“You think you’re funny,” Paige muttered, her voice slightly strained.

Azzi tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “I think you like watching.”

Paige’s jaw clenched, her fingers gripping the edge of her hoodie like she was physically stopping herself from doing something.

Azzi bit her lip. Oh, this was fun.

She exhaled, stretching her arms above her head, letting her tank top rise just enough to expose more of her stomach, the muscles there flexing slightly with the motion.

Paige swore under her breath.

Azzi hummed in satisfaction. “Something wrong?” she mused, her voice laced with amusement.

Paige dragged a hand down her face, inhaling deeply. “You’re a menace,” she muttered.

Azzi laughed softly, dragging her fingers down her own stomach, barely skimming the skin before settling just above the waistband of her shorts. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Paige’s eyes darkened.

“You’re lucky I’m not there right now,” she murmured, voice dropping low, controlled—dangerous.

Azzi’s stomach tightened.

She swallowed, but refused to let Paige win so easily. “Oh?” She dragged the strap of her tank top down further, her bare shoulder now fully exposed. “And what would you do if you were?”

Paige didn’t answer at first.

She stared.

Long, intense, like she was imagining it. Like she was holding herself back.

Then she exhaled, voice gravelly, thick with something heavier.

“I’d make you regret teasing me like this.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige saw it.

And that smirk—dangerous, cocky—spread across her lips.

Azzi was in trouble.

Her fingers stilled against her stomach, her breath catching at the heat in Paige’s voice. She swallowed, shifting slightly against the pillows, suddenly very aware of how much Paige was watching her.

But she wasn’t about to back down.

Her lips curled into something playful, challenging. “Oh yeah?” she murmured, voice just above a whisper, letting her fingers drift just a little lower, teasing the waistband of her shorts. “How, exactly?”

Paige exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

Azzi smirked, tilting her head, running a slow hand up her exposed shoulder, tracing her own skin lightly—almost like she was imagining Paige’s hands instead.

“I mean,” she continued, dragging out her words, “I’m just lying here, all alone…” She let the sentence linger, her smirk growing as Paige shifted on her bed, visibly tense. “And you’re all the way over there.” She sighed dramatically. “Seems like a waste.”

Paige sat up a little, leaning toward the camera now, her gaze locked onto Azzi’s every move.

“You’re pushing it, Fudd,” Paige muttered, voice thick, dark.

Azzi loved this. She ran a hand through her hair, letting it fall slightly messier over her shoulder. “Oh, I know,” she whispered, fingers playing with the strap of her top again.

Paige groaned, rubbing a hand down her face like she was physically restraining herself. “You really wanna know what I’d do?” she muttered, voice edged with something dangerous.

Azzi swallowed, pulse pounding.

She nodded slowly.

Paige’s smirk returned—deadly.

“I’d start by pulling that little top right off of you,” Paige murmured, her voice low, controlled. “Since you clearly don’t know what to do with it.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Her fingers twitched at the hem of her shirt, a warmth spreading through her body she couldn’t ignore.

Paige saw it.

She grinned.

“Then,” Paige continued, “I’d pin you to that bed and make you pay for teasing me all night.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened, heat pooling low. She shifted against the pillows, her breathing suddenly uneven.

Paige laughed, slow and knowing.

“Oh, now you’re quiet?” Paige teased, voice dripping with amusement. “Where’d all that confidence go?”

Azzi glared, but it had no heat.

Paige chuckled again, watching her, taking in every little reaction, thriving off it. “I’d have you under me in seconds, Fudd,” she murmured, eyes hooded. “And you know it.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath, pulse hammering against her ribs.

She hated that Paige was winning.

So she took a breath, composed herself, and flipped the script.

She dragged a slow finger down her own stomach, teasing just beneath the waistband of her shorts. “That’s cute, Bueckers,” she purred, voice smooth, playful. “But I think you’re the one struggling here.”

Paige went silent.

Azzi smirked, victorious.

Then Paige leaned in, eyes dark, voice dropping into something that sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Azzi’s breath caught, her teasing smirk faltering for just a second.

Paige’s lips curled.

Azzi’s breath was uneven, her fingers still lightly brushing over her stomach as Paige’s words settled in the air between them. The tension was thick, suffocating, stretching between them like an invisible pull that neither of them wanted to break.

Paige’s gaze was locked onto her, eyes dark and filled with something that made Azzi’s stomach twist. She wasn’t just playing around anymore—there was something real in the way she was looking at her, like she was imagining everything she wanted to do if she were there.

Azzi swallowed, forcing herself to keep control. She shifted slightly, letting her tank top slip further down her shoulder, just enough to tease, just enough to make Paige’s eyes flicker downward before dragging back up.

Paige exhaled slowly. Controlled. Barely.

“You’re dangerous,” Paige muttered, voice rough, thick.

Azzi smirked, her fingers ghosting over the strap of her top again. “You like it.”

Paige laughed, but it wasn’t light—it was dark, amused, edged with something that sent a spark straight through Azzi’s body.

“I do,” Paige admitted, leaning forward slightly. “A little too much.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened.

She shifted again, fingers lightly toying with the fabric of her shorts. “So, what are you gonna do about it?” she murmured, voice smooth, teasing.

Paige stilled.

Azzi swore she saw something flicker in her expression, something like restraint breaking, like she was right there, one second away from saying something that would completely wreck her.

And then—

BANG BANG BANG!

Azzi flinched, her entire body tensing as a loud knock slammed against her door.

“Azzi, are you awake?”

Caroline.

Azzi’s eyes widened.

She scrambled upright, yanking her tank top strap back onto her shoulder as if Caroline could somehow see her through the door.

Paige burst out laughing.

Azzi glared at the screen. “Shut up,” she hissed, her face burning.

Paige was grinning, smug, clearly thriving off the fact that Azzi had been just as affected. “Go on, Fudd,” she teased, voice still thick with amusement. “Your girl’s waiting.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, groaning under her breath before clearing her throat. “Yeah, I’m up,” she called toward the door, trying to sound normal.

“Oh alright,” Caroline replied. “We have an early lift in the morning, don’t stay up too late.”

Azzi clenched her jaw, nodding even though Caroline couldn’t see her. “Got it.”

Paige smirked through the screen. “Guess that’s my cue,” she murmured, voice still carrying a teasing lilt.

Azzi exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re so annoying.”

Paige just grinned. “You love it.”

Azzi didn’t respond.

Because she did.

Azzi sighed, running a hand down her face as she waited, listening for Caroline’s footsteps to fade away.

Paige, of course, was thriving off the whole situation, still smirking like she’d just won some unspoken battle. “Damn, Fudd,” she teased, tilting her head. “You looked real guilty just now.”

Azzi glared, though the heat in her cheeks refused to fade. “Because you were saying things you shouldn’t be saying,” she shot back, voice still a little breathless.

Paige leaned in slightly, her voice dropping again, teasing, but still carrying that edge that made Azzi shiver. “I wasn’t saying anything untrue, though.”

Azzi hated how fast her stomach flipped.

She rolled her eyes instead, trying to ignore the way her entire body still felt warm, charged from everything that had just happened.

“Anyway,” Azzi muttered, shifting under the covers and finally trying to relax, “I should sleep before someone else ruins my life.”

Paige chuckled, softer this time. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you off the hook.”

Azzi quirked a brow. “You’ll let me off the hook?”

Paige grinned. “Yeah, you were struggling there at the end.”

Azzi scoffed, opening her mouth to argue—

But then Paige yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her hoodie riding up just enough to expose her toned stomach.

Azzi froze.

It was so unfair.

Paige, completely unaware, sighed as she settled back against her pillows, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Alright, Fudd,” she murmured, her voice softer now, heavier with exhaustion. “Get some sleep.”

Azzi swallowed, forcing herself to breathe and not stare at Paige’s abs like an idiot.

“Yeah,” she said, shifting under her covers, trying to focus on literally anything else. “You too.”

Paige smiled, soft, warm, the kind that made something ache in Azzi’s chest.

“Night, Az.”

Azzi hesitated, then smiled back. “Night, P.”

The call ended.

Azzi stared at the blank screen for a second, still feeling the lingering warmth of Paige’s voice, of everything they’d just said, almost said, wanted to say.

She exhaled, pressing her phone to her chest.

Yeah.

She was screwed.

Azzi lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, phone still pressed to her chest.

Her heart was still beating too fast, her skin still warm from—all of it. From the way Paige had looked at her, from the things she had said, from the way the air between them had shifted so suddenly.

One second, she was curled up, stressed, overwhelmed, the weight of the game pressing down on her. And then Paige had been there, steady, comforting, pulling her back up like she always did.

But then—

Azzi swallowed.

Then something changed.

It wasn’t just comfort anymore. It wasn’t just reassurance.

It was Paige looking at her like that.

It was her teasing back, pushing to see how far they’d go.

It was Paige’s voice, dipping lower, her words leaving heat in their wake.

Azzi curled into her pillow, exhaling sharply.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore. She didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t just that.

And that terrified her.

—------------

Paige on the other hand tossed her phone onto the nightstand and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. 

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the way her stomach was still twisting.

She hadn’t planned for that to happen. She’d called Azzi to comfort her. To check in. To make sure she wasn’t spiraling after the game.

Not to—

Paige groaned, rubbing a hand down her face.

Azzi had been so cute at first, all quiet and unsure, curled up under the covers. And Paige had been ready to just be there for her, to be soft, to say whatever Azzi needed to hear.

But then Azzi had teased back.

And it had flipped something in Paige’s brain, something she hadn’t been able to shut off.

Azzi, pushing her buttons. Azzi, letting her tank top slip just a little lower. Azzi, toying with her, testing her, waiting to see how far Paige would go.

Paige let out a shaky breath.

She had been so close to saying something reckless. To taking it too far.

And the worst part?

She wanted to.

She wanted more.

She had no idea where they were headed, but whatever this thing between them was?

It wasn’t slowing down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[adieutristana]

arcane women or just sevika and vi with a emotionally sensitive reader please

of course! thank you for the request <3 doing just sevika and vi for simplicity’s sake!

summary; headcanons of sevika and vi with an emotionally sensitive girlfriend.

characters included; vi, sevika

tags/warnings; fluff, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, hurt/comfort

vi;

✧.* to an extent, vi sees herself in you. she's always been a kindhearted person, described as having a good heart. she cares, she loves, and it hurts her to see others suffering. but the harsh environment of the lanes and stillwater caused her to repress that attitude.

✧.* so to see someone like you, who is so unabashedly herself, is incredible. vi has adjusted to the hardened streets of zaun, and learned that showing emotion- at least in front of others, is a weakness. but not anymore.

✧.* she’d probably be taken off guard by you at first. she’s not used to meeting people like you, who are open and honest and secure in their feelings. who are sensitive. it’s something she’d be afraid to be, but she thinks it’s a sign of bravery when she sees it in you.

✧.* she picks up on things. the last thing that vi wants to do is accidentally overstep or do something that’ll upset you- it doesn’t matter how big or small. if she finds you upset because she didn’t put a clean mug back in the cupboard, she’ll take a mental note. if the way she worded something cut a bit deep, she’ll do better next time.

✧.* as well as that, she values the communication! she recognizes after a while of knowing you how emotional you can get, so she wants to hear directly from you what gets you in that state, so she can do everything in her power to avoid it.

✧.* but there's times where she can't avoid it, and you're crying over something as simple as a spilled cup of coffee- you've already got a lot going on, and this is just too much.

✧.* "hey, hey- it's just coffee," she'd murmur, her voice soft and reassuring. vi would rub soothing circles into your lower back. while she's internally panicked, she won't let you see that. "we'll get it cleaned up, and then i'll make you another cup. it's alright, babe, i promise."

✧.* i think through helping you through things, she'd also learn to cope better with her own sensitivities- taking her own advice, in a way. vi's grown used to drowning her emotions in a bottle of whiskey, but she's able to see how much talking you through things has helped. holding you when something hits a little too close to home. distracting you when you're upset with something she just knows will make you laugh.

✧.* i think she would use humor to distract you, a lot. vi's jokes are usually pretty corny and, well, not the most funny- but that's just part of her charm, isn't it? you can't help but laugh anyways.

✧.* "hey- that wasn't that bad! and besides, it made you laugh, so it worked!" she'd protest, an expression of mock-offense on her face. "please, that was horrible. but i do feel a little better, so..."

✧.* if anyone dares call you sensitive as an insult, vi's on their case and telling them off- you know she would. other zaunites may look down on it, sure, but she sees it as a strength. something that makes you brave, even.

sevika;

✧.* i think at first, sevika would definitely be taken aback, and she wouldn't know entirely what to make of you. she's the definition of a hardened woman, brash and unassuming. to anyone who doesn't know better, unfeeling.

✧.* but it isn't a bad thing, it's just that sevika isn't used to seeing someone sensitive and open about it. in the lanes of zaun, especially the line of work she's in, showing any kind of emotion is a weakness. she shut that part of herself off a long time ago in an effort to survive.

✧.* and after a while, sevika’s found that she thinks you’re one of the strongest people she’s ever met. zaun is a city where any emotion or sensitivity is weakness, but you’ve never let that get to you. you’re not afraid to be sensitive, and that takes a hell of a lot more courage than most of what people in zaun do.

✧.* she’ll do absolutely everything in her power to keep you happy though, of course she will. sensitivities can’t be exactly pinned down, you just are emotionally sensitive- that’s all there is to it. but sevika is observant if nothing else, and she’s able to pick up on things that upset you more often than not.

✧.* and though she stays stoic through it, seeing you upset truly breaks her heart. she wishes she could shield you from anything that would ever pose a threat to you or your happiness.

✧.* “hey, dove- why are you crying? what happened? c’mon, talk to me.” she’d murmur, rubbing a soothing hand on your side. “it’s stupid, ‘vika, don’t worry about it-“ “no. it’s not stupid. clearly it was important enough to make you upset, so tell me.”

✧.* usually uses physical affection and distractions to comfort you. sevika’s never been the best with words, as much as she wishes she was in times like these. she’ll press light kisses to your temples and take your hands in hers. she’s not used to this kind of tenderness, but she’ll do it for you in a heartbeat.

✧.* there are times where it’s unavoidable. maybe you’d might get upset over her tone- she’d never be anything but kind to you, yet sometimes she doesn’t say the right words and her tone might come off as rude. and hearing that hurts you, although you don’t want to believe she’d purposely do that.

✧.* “babe, i’m sorry, you know i wouldn’t talk to you like that-” “then why did you?” you’d mutter, your voice soft and nearly breaking. it tears sevika apart. “i didn’t mean to. my tone, just… i have a hard time controlling it, but i’ll try. i love you, i do.” while taking you into her arms and into the crook of her neck.

✧.* trust me when i say that sevika would turn the planet on its axis if it meant she got to see you happy. and anyone who dares talk about your sensitivity like it’s a bad thing- they’re taken care of, to say the least.

[slutforvoldy]

“ INVISIBLE STRING. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader reminisces about her deep, enduring love with lando through an old photo album.

word count: 1k

warnings: no use of y/n, a lot of taylor swift references, mentions god (just in case someone is an atheist)

pairing: husband!lando norris x wife!reader

a/n: a little fun fact, this was my school work back in 2023 since my religion teacher told us to create a fanfic, but instead of leaving it in my google docs, i decided to make some little changes and post it for funsies. anyways, enjoy !!!

IT WAS MIDNIGHT. A hint of salt lingered in the air, carried by the cold, gloomy breeze as gray clouds washed over Monaco in the month of August. The city was silent, the neighbors deep in slumber, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets was the only sound accompanying the dim glow of the streetlights. It felt as if the whole world was asleep—except for her.

She could not sleep while her husband, Lando, peacefully snored beside her. She lay and watched her husband as he slowly breathed with his eyes closed. She looked at him in awe as she saw the soft, relaxed look on his face. She slightly brushed the hair on her husband’s face. She smiled faintly. It’s been a long time since she's seen the peaceful look on his face. She knew that Lando had been quite stressed these past few weeks due to his work, which had been greatly affecting her. She was trying really hard to understand her husband. To clear her thoughts, she decided to go downstairs to pass the time, hoping that it would make her sleepy. 

She carefully removed the duvet to avoid disturbing her husband’s slumber. She placed her feet on the cold tile floor and shivered at the feeling. She walked toward the closet to wear a jacket that Lando owned. Cold nights were unbearable, but at least they gave her an excuse to wrap herself in something that smelled like him. The familiar scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with his natural musk filled her lungs, bringing a faint smile to her lips. The jacket was enough to keep her warm. She tilted the doorknob, looking back at her husband to get a glimpse of his sleeping frame before walking out of the bedroom and going downstairs. 

Rubbing her tired face, she finally made it downstairs. She walked around the house, seeing all the picture frames from years ago with Lando—there was one with a photo that was taken on Lando's first grand prix win in Miami. They looked so in love and carefree, celebrating his triumph with pure, unfiltered joy. Looking away from the photo frames, she then stumbled upon a bookshelf full of photo albums and books. She playfully brushed her hand along the spines of the photo albums, one by one, at the ends of her fingers, and decided to choose one out of several photo albums. 

It was a familiar brown leather-bound photo album. It is old and bleached; it looks like it hasn’t been touched in many years. She slowly grazed her hand along the vintage and stained photo album, seeing how it left traces of her marks because of the thick dust that covered the entirety of the book. She then opened the photo album, and she smiled at the sight.

It was her favorite photo album. It was filled with photos of her in her childhood, like growing up with her parents, in the field of her favorite flowers, pictures with the other drivers, and birthday photos. There were also many pictures of her and Lando during their teen years: Lando teaching her how to drive a car, her wearing Lando’s helmets, and more.

As she was flipping through the pages of the photo album, one photo slipped out. She looked down, confused, at the photo that had just fallen; she couldn’t remember the time when she placed a photo between the pages of the photo album, and it had also been a long time since she had opened this photo album. She bent down and flipped the photo. It was a picture of her and Lando’s wedding. She reminisced at the moment. 

She couldn't believe how young they looked and how much time had passed. She smiled as she remembered that day like it was yesterday. The sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. She could still feel the warmth of Lando’s hand in hers as they exchanged their vows. She observed how happy they were. Lando was carrying her in princess style. The veil was falling over her head; there was cake frosting on Lando's face. Their eyes are both gleaming with happiness; they are both smiling and laughing candidly, and everything looks positive.

She suddenly remembered the time when they exchanged laughter, how they kissed in town and downtown bars, how they drunkenly danced under the street lights in the middle of the night, and how he lingered around her like a tattoo kiss. Despite Lando's wrongs and mistakes he made in the past, she believed and still saw the best in him. He managed to tend to all of her wounds. Lando drew stars around her scars, kissing every single scar on her body and making her feel loved. 

She remembered the man she loved through their wedding photo. The best and happiest day of her life. The day that changed her whole life, wherein they became two souls in one. She remembered how she could feel her heart racing when she looked at him at the end of the aisle; she saw the same soft look and vulnerability he had on his face earlier. She could smell the flowers from the bouquet. The soft piano is playing in the background. She remembered how they vowed everlasting love and to always cherish each other, surviving through thick and thin, for better or worse the situation, they will always have each other no matter what it takes until death does them part. She could feel the love and excitement radiating from both of them as they exchanged their vows.

Tears started building up in her eyes, thinking about how her marriage with Lando transformed them into the better and stronger people they are now. She felt grateful for her life and for the love she shared with Lando. She knew that they had something special. That night, she went to bed with a smile on her face, feeling grateful for the memories and the love that she and Lando shared. She knew that they had come a long way, but she also knew that their love would continue to grow stronger with each passing day.

After twenty years of marriage, she thought about how she was one lucky woman, having been able to bind her soul with her first love. It feels like God purposely let a single thread of gold tie her to him. An invisible string.

[burreauxoxo]

make some noise - joe burrow

husband!joe x fem!reader

summary: you had beat childhood cancer but just as you begin to live your adult life worry-free, you get the news that a different type of cancer was found. all of the memories you had of the hundreds of hospital visits as a kid came flooding back. you knew what you wanted and even if it scared joe, there was no going the other direction.

warnings: mentions of cancer, nausea/vomiting, hospitalization, swearing, blood

word count: 7.7k

note: this was kind of hard to write and just continued to make me sad but i still managed to finish it. hope you like it!

it all started during the last game of the regular season. the cincinnati bengals were looking at a promising playoff stretch and you knew you wanted to be next to joe throughout it all.

though lately, you haven’t been feeling the best. bouts of nausea, persistent fatigue, the urge to run to the bathroom to empty the contents in your stomach. your friend had suggested that maybe you were pregnant but you knew this was something different.

the sickness that wasn’t just in the morning and the blood that came up last night told you otherwise. you wished this was a pregnancy, but it was a lot more complicated than that.

you made it through the game without too much to worry about. some heartburn but nothing to complain about. eventually, you met joe who was quick to engulf you into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you.” you say into his chest and shoulder area. “thank you.” he replies and kisses the top of your head.

the two of you hung around for a bit, chatting with a few others before you called it a night. the drive home was pretty quiet, your nauseous feeling keeping you from sparking conversation. on multiple occasions, you wanted to ask joe to pull over but you managed to keep it down until you got home.

hurrying into the house, joe grew worried at your sudden fast actions. you flew up the stairs and into the bathroom, where you planted yourself in front of the toilet. no more than a few second pass before joe is right behind you, holding your hair back and rubbing gentle circles to ease your tense feeling.

he takes a peek at your face to make sure you still had your color. but that’s when he notices something alarming.

“baby, there’s blood in there.” he says. worry fills his voice as he begins to pull his phone out. “i’m calling nine-one-one.”

“no! no, i’m fine.” you push before he makes anymore moves.

“no, you’re puking blood! that’s not fine.” joe says and reaches into one of the bathroom organizers for a wash cloth. running it under cold water, wringing it out, then handing it to you was all he could do.

he wanted to contact someone. an advice nurse, your primary doctor, maybe even the team doctor; just to see what he should do. while running downstairs to get you some cold water, he thought about it.

the persistent nausea. the vomiting. the loss of appetite. all of the naps you take. your comment that you were having a hard time swallowing.

it made him dizzy.

he recalls all of the times you reflected on being cancer-free from the battle you faced as a little girl. but could it happen again? could it really be happening now?

“baby, i think you should meet with your doctor as soon as possible.” joe says and hands you the glass of water. he strokes the top of your head, causing a wave of relaxation to flood your body.

“i already have an appointment. tomorrow at noon.” you say and his eyes widen.

“what do you think is going on?” joe asks curiously.

“i don’t really want to talk about it.” was all you could say and all he needed to hear.

the emotions soon became apparent and strong. his wife might have cancer? it took everything inside of joe not to fall back onto someone and start panicking. he knew that was the last thing you wanted and he would do whatever it took to make sure you were taken care of.

~

“well mrs. burrow, your results weren’t completely clear. after i first seen you a week or so back, i took all of your symptoms into consideration and after confirming through many tests and scans, i regret to inform you that we found that cancer is present.”

your head hung low as the specialist spoke. joe was zoned in on every word she spoke and was ready to jump right into any treatments or trials that they offered if it meant he would get you back to feeling yourself.

“with the type of cancer that she has, is there a good possibility of her coming out of it? or is this something we need to take one day at a time?” joe asks.

“in her situation, with the type of cancer, the numbers can vary. if a patient is diagnosed right off the bat with cancer just in the stomach, there is a seventy-five percent survival rate. in her case, it has already made it to her surrounding lymph nodes.”

“and that would bring the percentage up or down? and by how much?” joe continues to ask.

“unfortunately, it brings it down to thirty-five. now, we have a fairly new trial and it calls for newly diagnosed patients which is your first step for qualifications. if you are open to giving it a go, i can transfer you to their care to assist in giving you the care you need.”

“um, what would happen if i were to just… let it take its course?” you ask and joe turns in your direction.

“it all depends on your own experience with how you handle things. some patients decide that their body isn’t going to last long on all of the medications and would rather try at-home remedies instead to start. some even take it to the last second and they pass at home. both options are individually painful… choose what is best for you.” the doctor smiles lightly.

“what is the expectancy between the two?” you ask.

“patients left untreated can go roughly a year, with treatments such as chemo or radiation, they may just come out with the thirty-five percent or in other cases, roughly ten months would result in other outcomes.”

“can i have some time to think?” you ask.

“absolutely. shoot me a message through the online portal to make your follow up appointment. please take care and know that no matter what happens, everything will be just fine.” she says and pulls you in for a hug.

you felt drained. you wanted to go home, lay in yours and joe’s shared bed, and take a nice long nap in his arms.

“tell me you’re going to give the trials a shot?” joe asks as soon as you get into the car.

“joey, chemo and radiation gave me so much trauma as a child, i can’t do it again.” you admit.

“but you have to choose to live, you are going to make it, i know you will.” joe says, growing emotional.

“i would rather have almost a year lived as free as possible with you, than miserable treatments fulfilling our free time and taking all the life out of me.” you say, taking joe’s hand into yours.

you could tell joe was trying to process your words. his eyes wandered around your facial features. from the eyes he fell in love with, to the nose he runs his finger down when you are having a hard time sleeping, to the lips he loves to kiss.

“it just wouldn’t be worth it.” you add.

“okay. if that’s what you want then… i’ll be right by your side.” joe agrees and gives you a sad smile.

it wasn’t what you wanted though. you really wanted to live worry-free. you wanted to be by your husbands side until the two of you got old. you wanted to enjoy your marriage, let alone enjoy the honeymoon phase you guys were barely able to get through.

you wanted to have kids with joe, watch him sprout his first permanent grey hair, watch your children graduate from school, watch wrinkles appear on each others face, enter retirement and travel the world.

but your time was cut short. every touch of your hands, every kiss, every word spoken… was to be treasured.

you didn’t want this whole situation tearing joe down at all, though you knew telling him not to worry was easier said than done.

he hated having to leave you during his first away game after the news. it was a couple months after deciding home remedies and no hospital stays was your treatment plan.

with a plain diet and no colored liquids such as sodas and unnatural juices, your trips to the bathroom slowed down and you were able to sit on the couch and enjoy a snack as you watched your husband play the game; even though it was just through the tv.

when it came to joe coming home, he took the quickest flight out of the city he was in and made no extra stops until he seen you. once he knew you didn’t need anything from the outside world, he was planted by your side.

you didn’t let him slow down practice wise though. as time went by, he dreaded his alarm in the morning but you graced him with some words of encouragement when you also were awoken by the blaring sound. you woke him right up and put him in a good mood.

he would gather his equipment and make it to the facility, not paying attention to the time because doing that always makes time go slower.

when the training staff would announce that it was time to wrap it up, joe got that spurt of energy. the same spurt of energy kids feel when they realize the school day is almost over.

joe would share some meaningful conversations on the way back to change and grab his stuff. ja’marr was always telling him to make sure you’re resting and doing the right things to prolong your time. he would often come visit to tell you the same thing anyways.

other guys on the team felt for you and joe, but ja’marr was at a different level. he was the mutual friend that got you two together in college. he knows you both as individuals just as much as he knows you two as a couple.

it hurt him just as much when he heard the news. this was like losing a family member with the length and level of connection you two had built over the years. he wanted to visit with you more often but he knew that during the season, there wasn’t a lot of time anyways. so he left whatever time the team got, to joe.

~

it was now december and you had gotten your news in february. time was ticking faster than ever and your body was trying to tell you the same.

there was no more leaving the house unless it’s to a hospital; which was fairly often because your doctor was keeping track of your current state. there was no more over-exerting movements during the day. your pride and dignity was slowly slipping away.

you couldn’t stand to do the dishes anymore, you called for help in the shower, you can barely cook simple meals, and your emotions were higher than normal.

the media always labeled you as “the housewife every woman dreams to be.” at a point, it seemed a bit offensive to joe because he seen the comment as he only married you to have a woman at home. but in reality, that’s what you were.

you weren’t working at the time you guys got married. so you were the one to have the meals prepped and plated at the time of each meal, you did laundry most of the time, you cleaned, and you took care of your husband.

the difference was the fact that joe never got upset when he came home and it didn't smell like something was cooking or the sound of something clinking in the dryer wasn't occupying the silence. he wanted you to have nights off more often; more than you liked at least. he always said that a night off meant more time for the two of you but you didn't surrender yourself to the couch before the dishes from the day before were clean and joe had all the laundry he needed done was complete.

but you didn’t see it as a bad thing if joe didn’t see it as one. you were happy and proud to take care of joe. if he got a cold from playing in the cold weather, you’d nurse him back to good health by the time he needed to be at practice next. you made sure the stains were out of his clothes and his dietary guidelines were met.

but the illness was coming between you and your duties. you knew it as soon as joe offered to hire a personal chef for the two of you.

“it’s not a bad thing, baby! you need to eat substantial food too!”

when he came home from playing that night and you had dinner made and plated but you were passed out on the couch, he regretted that comment. because now you were going to push yourself too hard. that was the last thing he wanted you to do.

except, you don’t even have the energy to push yourself now.

every morning, joe takes your blankets and pillows and helps you down to the couch in the living room. due to your lack of hospital treatment, you weren't given the option to have a hospital bed to set up in the living room. the couch was just as comfortable though, if not better.

joe offered to buy a bed frame and to get you any type of mattress you wanted, but you declared that it would be a waste as you weren’t going to be here much longer to use it. joe shook his head at your statement.

“even if you get a weeks use out of it, it’s worth it. not even a week, a day! as long as you’re comfortable.”

you protested but when you came downstairs after a nap to see a bed frame with wheels under it and a mattress that looked like a cloud on top, you knew he meant every word.

he seen you were in pain going up and down the stairs so he knew this was going to help more than you thought.

the mattress had the ability to move up and down so you could sit up without having to over-exert yourself. the occasional adjust felt great on your back or even your neck.

~

it’s january. the bengals and chiefs have come to a match-up, yet again, to see who will make it to the super bowl. joe was on edge for the duration of the game and he didn’t want any messing around until they secured their spot.

right now, the bengals are up by thirteen and there is four minutes left of the game. it’s now or never that their defense holds their spot on the field to prevent any other plays going through.

you were currently at home, your best friend sitting by your side. joe tucked you into your bed out in the living room this morning before he left for the game. they were the number one seed so throughout the playoffs, they scored home field advantage.

your best friend sat next to you on one of the kitchen stools, with a notebook and pen in her hand. you asked if she’d be able to write whatever you had said down for some letters. you were too weak to write a full sentence and this was such a big help.

tears were shed, breaks were taken. but you had gotten letters for your family, ja’marr, and joe done. you were able to tell your best friend every word you wanted to tell her in person. again, tears were shed and she even climbed into bed with you until you fell asleep and she wanted to give you more room.

while you napped, she folded each letter and put them in individually labeled envelopes for each person. you instructed her to put them in your nightstand; which was exactly what she did.

to have more time pass, she watched the game that was playing on the tv. there was one minute left and the bengals had the ball. the chiefs were out of timeouts and since there was less than a minute and a half left, this called for the victory formation.

both teams take their place and joe lines up with the center. give or take a few seconds, the center snaps the ball back, giving it to joe, who drops to his knee and the team floods him with excitement.

due to his extreme accuracy and only four incomplete passes throughout this game, he was to be celebrated. joe stayed on his knee for some time. his teammates stood over him, some even kneeling down around him. joe had the ball in his hands as he tilted his head down to rest his forehead on it. only he knows what was said in that moment.

after getting up, he shares a brief moment with patrick mahomes, something you encouraged him to do.

“hey honey… your husband is going to the super bowl.” your best friend whispers to you as you start to stir.

“hmm?” you manage to say.

“joe… they just won the game. the bengals are going to the super bowl.” she whispers again.

“you’re kidding.” you wake up and tilt your head enough to see the tv screen.

lo and behold, the team is gathered together and confetti is falling.

“the cincinnati bengals are headed to the super bowl! they will take on the san francisco forty-niners, which hasn't been seen in a super bowl since nineteen eighty-nine!” the announcer says.

you look away with a tear in your eye. this was the game you wanted to see and joe has been waiting for. you began to hope you had enough strength to make it. but with it being multiple weeks away, you weren’t sure.

~

joe quietly made his way into the house, seeing your best friend sitting on the couch watching highlights from the game as you sat up and drank a smoothie.

“hi, my love. it’s so good to see you awake.” joe quietly says as he leans over to give you a kiss.

“why aren’t you out celebrating?” you ask.

“i am. i’m celebrating with you guys. ja’marr will be over later to come check on you.” joe says and runs his hand over your head in a soothing manor.

“i’m so proud of you.” you say as you reach to grab joe’s hand. he gives your hand a light squeeze as he brings it to his lips.

the night was spent quietly recapping joe’s thoughts throughout the game. ja’marr did make it over and he came bearing frozen yogurt for everyone that was there. they decided that staying up an hour or two later than normal to watch a movie and eat frozen yogurt with you was a form of celebration.

the celebration turned into a sleep over. joe climbed into your bed with you as ja’marr and your best friend took the couch. it was big enough for the both of them to lay out completely so they had no problem.

there was one time you had to get up and do your thing in the bathroom. the rush of sugar probably didn’t do you any good.

you being out of your spot woke joe up. he stirred for a second before hearing your slow footsteps coming closer.

“am i being a bed-hog?” he jokes.

“always.” you joke and you both quietly laugh.

you crawl back into the bed, curling up as close as possible to joe. you tucked your arms close to your chest, scooting even closer to him. he drapes his arm over you as he turns to his side.

he runs his fingers up and down your back after lifting your t-shirt some. he felt you shiver, a small smile creeping up on his face.

“feelin’ okay?” he asks.

“yeah… okay as okay gets.” you whisper.

“everything is going to be just fine. i promise.” he whispers into your forehead before leaving a kiss on it.

“joe… i’m scared.” you quietly admit and he stops what he’s doing.

he tilts his head down so he can look at your face.

“why are you scared, baby?” he asks.

he knew why but he wanted to hear your reasoning. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared out of his mind. aside from silly flings with other girls, he’s never known anyone else but you. it’s always been you.

“i don’t want to leave this life behind.” you say and he starts to mess with your hair.

“i don’t want to say goodbye to you guys. i want to live every day with you and all of our friends. i want to wake up to you every day, i want to make more memories with you.” you continue on.

“you are going to live every day doing just that. we are going to be right by your side every chance we get and we are going to make many more memories, i promise.”

“yeah but… it’s creeping up on a year. i might not even see next week. i want to see you win the super bowl. i want to see everything.”

“you’re going to. we are going to go out there and win that game. we won’t be too far away, new york is right there.”

“i wanted to be there with you.” you admit.

“sometimes life happens my love. i already told myself that this game is for you.” he admits.

“i don’t want anything to be for me. i don’t want to die, i shouldn’t be dying right now.” you say and start to cry.

“shh, everything is going to be okay.” joe whispers.

he was able to calm you down until you fell asleep.

it was early in the morning when ja’marr shook joe awake to signal you needing help in the bathroom. without a question, joe flies out of bed.

before he turned down the hallway and into the bathroom, he had gotten you a glass of ice water.

“joey… it’s all blood.” you cry.

“oh, baby.” he says and leans down to pull your hair back. he rubs soothing circles into your back as you cried.

ja’marr comes to the doorway to make sure everything was okay.

“shit man, i think she should go in. that’s not a good sign to be throwing up all that blood.” ja’marr says and you stay quiet.

“you want to go in?” joe asks, still rubbing your back.

“i guess.” you say, defeated.

in your head, you knew this was probably the last time you’d be home while you’re coherent enough. you gave the living room one more look before sitting down.

while joe grabbed a few things, you slowly made your way up the stairs with some help from ja'marr. you stood in the door way to your bedroom and gave it all one more look. you walked over and felt your original bed sheets. you looked in the closet and seen all the clothes you had made so many memories in, including your wedding dress. you ran your hand down the white fabric and sighed. you looked out the sliding door to the balcony and took in the view; just one more time.

eventually, ja'marr helps you back downstairs.

“should we stay here or head out? we can do some work around here.” ja’marr asks.

“you guys can go. i’ll keep in touch with what’s going on.” joe suggests. deep down, ja’marr knew what he was going to do.

joe took the quickest route to the hospital but still drove at a safe speed. when it came to checking you in, he wheeled you inside in a wheelchair and explained your situation so you didn’t have to waste your energy talking to the nurse.

they brought you back immediately for not only comfort but privacy reasons.

“due to how busy we are, we might need a minute to gather things and keep the other patients rolling. we just wanted to get you comfortable in the meantime in case the wait is longer than you can handle out there.”

both of you appreciated the nurses kindness and made sure to express it verbally.

while you two got settled into the room, ja’marr and your friend stayed behind at the house, getting some work done.

there were some stacks of dishes that needed to be done, as well as laundry. your best friend changed the sheets on your bed in the living room. ja’marr vacuumed and wiped some items down for bacteria clearance.

time went by slowly but it was still keeping you here. any second you were gifted, the people around you thanked any lord above for it.

~

you were declining at a fast rate. joe has expressed that he wasn’t sure if he was able to go through this alone. the blood never stopped as the pain was only worsening. the nurses distributed some strong pain medication that had you knocked out. you had been transferred to the normal side of the hospital rather than staying in the emergency department.

in the mean time, joe had called your family and his both. he was a mess but he knew what needed to be done. the box of tissues that sat next to his wildly uncomfortable hospital chair, slowly but surely dwindling. the thought of the chair being uncomfortable was a quick and useless thought. he knew you were in more discomfort than he was and you were in the bed. soon enough, the chair was comfortable; just right as long as he was next to you.

one of the nurses came in and wanted to check on you. she called for some assistance when she realized that the pain medicine was only knocking you down more.

“we are going to slow down on the morphine as her heart isn’t tolerating it the way we wanted it to.” the nurse says.

“she won’t be in more pain, will she?” joe asks.

“at this point, i don’t think so. if she is, i don’t think she will be able to express it.”

“is… is she going to die? like… soon?” joe manages to ask.

“based on her current state of health, i wouldn’t say soon as in within the hour but maybe a day or two. i am so sorry, mr. burrow.” the nurse says, empathetic smile rising to her face.

it was time to crack down. joe never left your side, he called the people he knew you loved to come say their goodbyes. the bags under joe’s eyes only grew bigger as time went by.

it had been three days in the hospital and you had only woken up twice; once during the first night to roll over some and again when joe had told you that it was okay to let go.

he was running his fingers over your head and whispering beautiful words to your peaceful face. he had one of your hands in his other hand and he knew when your grip loosened with each squeeze, it was time to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.

“i’m going to win that game for you. ja’marr is going to give his speech you wanted him to do at your funeral. your family will be back as soon as they can be, they told you to hang on.” he whispered.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid my eyes on and i will never forget your illustrious and eternal soul.” he says,

the more words he spoke, the more the pain was evident. he was scared to do life alone. like he’s expressed, all he’s ever known was you. how could he do anything without you.

but reality really hit him when he was sitting out in the waiting room, trying to catch his breath with ja’marr by his side. his face was red and he had a few crumpled up tissues in his hand. ja'marr had been crying as well, dreading what the future was about to throw at them.

“she’s not going to make it to see us play… we just got married a year ago, how is that long enough? she deserves more time.” joe says, head in his hands.

he’s gotten maybe a couple hours of sleep in the last two days. the picture of the blood that made its appearance in any way it could, glued to the back of his eyelids in a way that won’t escape him. you were suffering and he couldn’t help you.

“mr. burrow, we did all we could.” a nurse says, turning the corner with a mask and gloves on.

joe shoots up to stand on his feet.

“what? i was just in there! not even five minutes ago.” joe says as he shoves his way through to your room.

there you were, still as still could be.

ja’marr stood next to joe as they both took in the heartbreaking sight. the blood pressure cuff was erroring out and the heart monitor was at a steady beep. your oxygen level was dropping to nothing and they both knew this was the last bit of life they would ever see in you.

“oh god.” joe says and turns around, huffing out a breath of air that he felt was trapped in his lungs.

this was it. this was the end of beginning.

~

the service and celebration of life were done. the cremation process had begun. ja’marr spoke in front of everyone at your service and joe hasn’t touched a single thing that belonged to you in the house. everything was going to stay the same unless a move was planned. all of your clothes, your decorations, your bedding; it was all staying in its given place.

he had your wedding ring planted in its box on his nightstand. but it was soon shoved in his bag that he was taking with him to new york for the super bowl. he searched in various places for a specific necklace you considered lucky but soon took off as soon as you received the cancer diagnosis. he looked in your jewelry box, he looked in the bathroom, the only place left to check was your nightstand.

in a hurry, he tugs the drawer open, moving a couple pieces of paper over to see what was under them. he found the necklace but what else he found, shocked him.

on top of the necklace, sat a few envelopes that were all addressed to different people. one to him, one to ja’marr, one to your family and a couple more for the other members of it that you had mentioned, one to the team as a whole. he knew he’d have to actually find their address and mail them or send them out to be delivered by your family members.

joe immediately sits on the edge of the bed and rips open his envelope.

“dear joe,

when life gives people twists and turns, they are usually the most unexpected events that they never thought would happen to them. no matter how bad my twists and turns were, i am so grateful to have had you waiting for me once the path straightened out.

though my last twist never came to an end, you held my hand when i felt like i was all alone to remind me that i never was.

i want to thank you for gifting me the most beautiful, peaceful yet eventful, exciting, and blissful years of my life. i wouldn’t have wanted to do these last few years with anyone else.

i am so sorry that i had to leave you behind so early. in a way, i am grateful i went first because there is no way i’d be able to do life without you. you were my rock and i look forward to being yours in spirit form.

just remember, i am no longer in pain. i am no longer wondering when it will all end.

the other day, you had just left for a game and the house was quiet. i thought of you as i climbed out of bed. i thought of how quiet it was as it rained and it was just me and my thoughts. it made me realize how you were going to be once my time comes and it made my heart hurt.

i don’t want you drowning in the silence to a point of no return. i want you to get out there and make some noise. find the noise if you need to. if it is silent in a moment where silence shouldn’t fill the atmosphere, i will come turn the tv on. i don’t want you in silence if it shouldn’t be silent. so don't be scared if you hear music start playing or the sudden sound of spongebob laughing... it is just me.

i could spend forever talking while this is being written but at the moment, you are playing for a spot in the super bowl. if you made it to the super bowl, i want you to play your heart out for not just me, but for everyone. i want you to win that game like it was your last and everything you’ve ever done comes down to it.

you’re a winner in my heart no matter the outcome. just know that i will always be proud of you for getting up and trying again. you’ve always been great at it.

i know our dreams were endless. i know our love would always be tested. i know our expectations for the future were bright. don’t let anything change it.

i want you to know that you need to live life to the fullest. do not let this or the past slow you down. i want you to sit back and realize that being here is a gift and as much as i know you do appreciate how your life has changed for the better… make it even better.

your worth is everything in my eyes and my heart… let that sink in. run with that thought and never look back. make mistakes. realize things aren’t going how they should. find something new you like. watch movies you thought you hated. talk to people you think look cool or redeem yourself to someone you messed up with. these things make you who you are but your mistakes do not define your worth. you are worth everything.

i want to say that i love you, i loved you, and i will never stop loving you.

thank you for being everything to me. you are the person that i was made to meet and i thank you for listening to ja’marr when he said you needed to meet me. you’ve always been a great listener.

i love you, joe. go out and live that special life of yours. go win that game! and never forget me, i will always be your biggest guardian angel.”

~

day of the super bowl

there was a time and a place to be nervous. to joe, this was the last place he should be nervous.

he carried every single word you spoke and every word of yours that he read and reminded himself that being nervous or stressed out was unacceptable.

joe carried a game face all day. ja’marr knew this was the last place he wanted to mess around in. they were playing a solid team in the super bowl who in the end, had a batter record against them.

joe spoke a very minimal amount of words and everyone took their sign to let it be just like that. if they wanted him at his peak performance ability, then they need to let it slide.

coach taylor got his two words in and that was all joe needed.

he ran out onto that field like he was the main character of a film that all of america was anticipating. the crowd cheered, people had signs, then there was the occasional ‘boooo’ from the other side. joe took all of it in, ready to play this game like it was his last.

each play, each drive, each complete pass, they all came from joe like it was nothing. with the halftime performance being a mere two minutes away, the forty-niners have only snagged three points while the bengals have seventeen.

they weren’t in the clear, the niners were known to come back in the second half. everyone seen what they did to the lions in the nfc championship that one year.

taking the field once more, joe has yet to release the tension in his body that kept him in his form. the release was far ahead of him as he was just as ready for the second half as he was the first.

he spoke words to you in his head. he held back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill at any given moment. ja’marr has said his share of support with very minimal response from joe, but he took no offense.

“burrow is at his peak with this game being played at an absolute high. his performance numbers for a post-season game have never been this high and we might be able to thank someone for this.

just a matter of weeks ago, burrow lost his wife. though they weren’t married for long, their relationship was lengthy and their time spent together, was spent with care.

since being in new york for this game, he opened a donation location for cancer research.

‘i won’t let my wife be defined by the battle she put up against cancer, she was much more than that. many others around me feel the same towards the evil illness and that is why it is one of my missions to assist in finding a cure. all donations made will be matched by me and will be given to the cancer research foundation as well as my personal donation to the grief center which helps families cope with loss. nobody’s pain deserves to be ignored, no matter the source.’

if anyone is interested in donating, the link will be available here on your very screen.”

the viewers heard just a portion of his mission and the story behind it from the announcers.

there was a commercial dedicated to donating and everything. joe was serious, just as serious as cancer was. he was done seeing it appear stronger than the innocent people who are suffering under its power and succumbing to their pain. though his wife wasn’t the only one to fight, he wanted it to end. the pain he felt did not deserve to be shared.

these very thoughts and the plans he represented kept him standing until the end of the game. until he sunk to his knees in an emotional release when it is declared that the bengals have won their first super bowl in nfl history.

ja’marr is the first one to land next to joe. they both release their emotions in an emotional hug with each other as they sat on the field.

“this was all she wanted for us.. and you both made it happen.” ja’marr says, hands gripping his shoulder pads.

“holy shit man, i can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now.” tee says as he squats down to his teammates level.

“you don’t even want to know.” joe says with a laugh.

soon enough, they stand up and watch coach taylor get absolutely demolished by a wave of blue gatorade. super bowl champion shirts were being thrown around the team as they were gradually replacing the view of their jerseys. it was a surprise when joe looks over at trey to see he was holding one specifically for joe.

joe unravels his shirt to see that the sleeve has a periwinkle ribbon woven into it. this made his heart hurt and long for a hug just like all the other guys were receiving.

“had this specially made for you. i know i’ve been pretty distant in this whole process of you grieving but know that you don’t go unnoticed.” trey says, pulling joe in for a hug.

joe sniffles yet again, waiting for the sadness to end and for the adrenaline to take over. he knew you wouldn’t want him to be this sad on a day like this. he toughens up, slips the shirt on, and smiles.

“there it is! there’s that smile!” trey says and the two of them laugh.

eventually, joe is pulled over by someone who is wanting to interview him. he didn’t feel like he was too full of words but he knew he needed to try.

“joe burrow… what a game you had today! i want to start with saying i am personally so sorry for your loss, she was a phenomenal person and you are just as phenomenal for honoring her the way that you do.”

“trust me, i am nothing compared to how great she was.” joe squeezes out.

“you officially broke tom brady’s record that he made in oh-five. you finished with a passer rating of one hundred and one point five. you threw for four hundred and twenty-seven yards with four touchdowns and only one interception. nobody has seen anyone play that well since the previous record made by brady. how does that feel?”

“well, it’s feels surreal. i never would have guessed that would be the outcome coming into this season or this game alone. i can thank my teammates for setting me up for such success.” joe jokes.

“we see this personalized shirt you have gifted to you by trey hendrickson. we want to give you your time to speak on the matter, are there any words?”

“of course. i want to thank trey personally for this, this will be treasured. the ribbon here holds as a symbol for stomach cancer awareness. if anyone is unaware, i recently lost my wife to stomach cancer and without her, i wouldn’t be here today.”

joe continues to explain his reasoning behind opening up a location for donations. but it was time to find out the super bowl mvp.

joe relished in the moment for a little while longer. he stood there all alone with confetti still falling, watching each piece claim its own path in the air and landing in its own place.

with the team starting to load onto the stage that was quickly built for the occasion, joe snapped out of it.

it was a given who would receive super bowl mvp but the moment was more special than someone would imagine.

“i would love to accept this award but i would also love to share it with everyone on the team. everyone who has a number on their jersey, everyone who coached us and coordinated us here, down to the ones who supply our water… this is all for you. my hard work couldn’t be done without you.” joe says as he looks around and the crowd cheers for his every word.

as coach taylor takes the microphone, joe looks around. he reads a few signs, pointing to a few. one read, “when you have nobody else to look through in a crowd, look up to see the crowd has been extended!”

the rest of the celebration on the field felt silent. everything around joe seemed quiet as he was in his own little world, talking to you in his head.

“i did it. all for you.”

“everything i do is for you.”

“we won, we finally won.”

the words shared with you never came to an end.

even on the ride home.

he held onto the idea of coming home to see you. he held onto the dream he had the other night of going on a victory vacation with you. he held onto a lot.

but what he didn’t hold onto was the crowd at the after party. his after party was waiting at home.

ja’marr said not to get too sad and that he’d be over after a bit. joe was never one for crowds and especially when he’s full of emotions, the only thing to cure him was his home.

“honey, i’m home.” joe announces.

when he said nothing was going to change, he meant it. he switched the lights on, he dropped his bag at the end of the stairs, and he made it up to the bedroom.

when he is met with an empty room, he realized just how sad this was. that was when it hit him.

“find the noise if you need to.”

he pulls out his phone and asks ja’marr what his set plans were for the night. he texted back that he was stopping in at a party one of their teammates were throwing at a club and that he’d be over after.

“i actually want to go out tonight.” joe texts ja’marr.

“serious? i’ll send you my location and i’ll wait for when you get here.”

and that was it.

joe knew what he was previously going to do. he was going to drown in the silence and fall into a depressed slump. but once again, you wouldn’t want that. so, he found the noise. now he’s going to make some of his own.

just as you wanted him to.

fyi… i cried a time or two while writing this because battling cancer is real and i truly wish it wasn’t. any medical condition has its pain and all of them are valid but truly… f*ck cancer.

[ghouljams]

I'm genuinely curious as to how Konig was ruined for you but please don't feel pressured to answer if it's something too uncomfortable to talk about!

I've gone through it before but I'll go through it again because I think it's a good lesson in fandom manners and behavior.

The basic gist of it is that I had been on a downward decline of enjoying Konig and then I got multiple racist messages about Gaz and replacing him with Konig. Now, maybe those messages were jokes, but some of them were violent, and personally I think if you're comfortable making racist jokes, you're a racist, and I don't give racists the time of day let alone the benefit of the doubt.

But again, even before I got those messages (which was also during the Mica situation) the Austrian had been falling out of my favor. Which was due almost entirely to his fans and the way they treated me. I would get messages about how I was mischaracterizing him (as if he has a character in the first place). I would get messages that were just shouting at me to update or I would get multiple asks that just said "MORE KONIG" which was just... rude?? like it's just rude.

It felt like no matter what I posted the only response I would get from Konig fans was "give me more." Every one-shot would have multiple "part 2?" comments on it and even when I mentioned it was a one-shot people would get mad at me. I made a joke response to someone who asked about a part too that was like "he sexes us so good that we explode" and the person called me a bitch. I mean if genuinely had begun to feel like every Konig fan that I interacted with was a rude teenager that didn't see me as a person but rather a content machine that didn't respond to commands. I had people ON MY ONESHOTS(and first chapters!!!) asking if anyone was going to pick up MY FIC and write something for it. Are you fucking kidding me? Who does that??

And I know that not all Konig fans are like this, but part of fandom is making sure that everyone knows the rules, like don't try to sell authors works to other people, and don't comment for a part 2 if you're then also going to tell me the part 2 wasn't good.

I had a lot of fun writing for Konig, and I still see a lot of art that I love, but I don't feel comfortable posting about him or writing for him anymore. In my brain the only things I associate him with these days are the racist anons I got and the dogpiling. I'm a human person, and he's not even a real character, he's a character skin.

[spideyjimin]

Adieu mon amour | jjk

⤷ adieu mon amour, french for goodbye my love

—  pairing: jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: angst 

—  summary: jungkook released two days ago a song about saying goodbye to a loved one.

—  words: 894

—  warnings: crying, mention of dead, heartbreak, and grief

—  author’s note: sooo this extremely sad drabble was written a while ago, but i never felt confident to post it. but a french artist released a song called “adieu mon amour”, and somehow, i felt like i could post this. i lost two dear people not a long time ago and writing this helped me putting into words my grief. this is not perfect and might contain mistakes, but i don’t want this to be perfect because pain isn’t.

MASTERLIST

The crowd fills the concert hall with the soft glow of their phone lights. Jungkook sits at the piano, his fingers resting on the keys as he performs the song he just released. It’s a heartbreaking ballad. A ballad that tells the story of two people that never got their happy ending. A ballad that tells his story with you.

A week ago, he found out that you passed away. The pain he felt that moment was something he never felt before. It’s the kind of pain that eats you alive. His heart aches so much and sometimes he feels like he’d be able to rip it out from his chest. This pain is simply overwhelming.

Three days ago, he assisted to your funeral with an aching heart, shaky legs, swollen eyes, and tears streaming down his face. He never imagined saying goodbye to his first love. He never imagined you’d no longer be a part of his life at 27. He never imagined a life without you.

His sweet voice sings the first notes of the song, his mind brought back to the many memories he cherishes. He closes his eyes and let your smile irritate his world one more time. A smile he’ll never see again. Without realizing it, tears run down his face, but he doesn’t hold them back.

After your funeral, he received a letter. A letter you wrote right before dying. A letter he never imagined receiving. It’s a love letter you wrote months ago, one where you told him just how much you love him. In the entire page, you kept telling him how lucky you felt to have him by your side all these years. And you also kept mentioning how proud you were of him.

He never leaves without the letter. He carries it with him everywhere. It’s all he has left of you. Your final words, the love you left behind, something to hold onto in a world without you. It’s a symbolic way to carry you with him as you are no longer here. The mere thought that you won’t be home when he finishes his show breaks his heart in ways he can even express.

His voice breaks. Then he hears you. ‘I love you.’ The words cut through him. His heart bleeds, and he doesn’t know if he can finish the song. His manager told him earlier that he didn’t need to sing the song if it was too hard for him, but Jungkook wanted it. Jungkook wanted to do it for you. For the only woman he ever loved.

Even though there’s a knot in his throat, he keeps singing. He wants to finish the song for you. For the love of his life. For the only person that ever made his heart truly beat. It seems like it’s the only thing he can do right now. For you, he can find the strength to finish this song.

He never imagined himself writing and singing this type of song. He never imagined writing a song about losing someone, and that’s the most heartbreaking thing. But music is the one of the few things that keeps him going. If he stops for a second, he just falls apart. He could have taken a break, put this world tour on hold, but for his own sanity, he can’t. And he knows that the second the show ends, he’ll just cry his heart out.

‘How is he supposed to live without you?’ is the question that constantly echoes in his mind. Time seems to move so slow without you by his side, and he doesn’t know if he can bear all of this any longer. There’s only been a week, and he still has a lifetime to live.

But there’s the little Arya. Your daughter. She’s the reason why Jungkook keeps going. She’s the reason why he bears this pain. She’s only four and doesn’t deserve to lose her mother. She doesn’t deserve any of this, just like Jungkook.

Jungkook opens his eyes and finally looks at the crowd. The view is breathtaking. This is so beautiful. On top of it, he’s surprised to notice that some fans already know the lyrics to the song he released two days ago.

The other heartbreaking thing is the fact that nobody knows what and who this song refers to. Nobody knows it’s about losing a loved one. Nobody will ever know Jungkook just lost you and how much he loved you. People don’t even know about Arya because he always protected you and will forever do it.

“I hear your laughter everywhere,” he sings. “In my souvenirs of you.”

From wherever you are, he hopes you can hear his words and see this crowd, his fans. If you were still here, you would most probably shed a tear. Whenever there was a sad song, the beauty of the moment would made you cry. It was something he loved about you.

The last harmonies of the song echo in the room. Jungkook is already sad to finish this song. He doesn’t want it. He wants this song to last forever, but he knows he can’t. He engraves in his soul this painfully beautiful moment, and he knows he’ll hold it dearly in his heart.

And he finally says the last words of the song.

“Goodbye my love.”

[ghostofwriting]

In London: come back, be here

Rafe x Reader

warnings: mentions of cheating

Word Count: 6,416

In London: Series Masterlist

Note: This is part of the In London universe, and it can be read standalone. I strongly recommend reading them in order of release (you can find that in the masterlist)

Summary: Rafe's actions after she leaves Kildare.

Rafe sat hunched over his phone, his fingers trembling as he repeatedly hit the dial button. His heart raced with every unanswered ring, every text left unread. He had been blowing up her phone for hours, his calls and messages growing more frantic with each passing minute. He'd tried everything—texts begging for her to talk to him, voicemails soaked in regret—but still, no response.

Desperation gnaws at him as he moves on to her mom, calling her in the middle of the night, sounding more like a man on the edge than someone who had once been her daughter’s boyfriend. “Do you know where she is? Please, I just need to know she’s okay.” Her mother’s voice on the other end was calm but firm. “I don’t know, Rafe. She’s not here, you need to stop calling me.”

But Rafe didn’t want to hear that. He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready to accept it. He wasn’t ready to admit that she was gone, that she had walked away from him for good. The weight of his own betrayal crushed him, each memory of the lies, the mistakes, and Kiara sinking deeper into his chest. He had cheated on her. He had broken her trust in the worst way possible, and now, she was gone, and he couldn’t undo any of it.

The truth echoed louder than his panic. She wouldn’t forgive him. Not this time.

His chest tightens, and a bitter laugh escapes his lips, though it lacks any humor. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the harsh reality set in. Rafe throws his phone down onto the bed, his hands clutching at his hair as he sinks into the dark silence of his room. He missed her so damn much.

His heart ached in a way he hadn’t known was possible. The space she used to fill in his life was now a gaping hole, one that he had created. He knew it, and there was no running from it. No matter how many times he tried to reach out, no matter how many calls he made, nothing would bring her back. He had pushed her away, and now she was gone.

Tears well up in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to cry. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. The only person he wanted to talk to, to hold, was the one person he could never have again.

Rafe collapsed back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving with each breath as the weight of his actions finally, fully, crashed down on him. She was gone. And it was his fault.

+++

Days blurred into one another as Rafe spiraled. The emptiness inside him became unbearable, so he sought anything to numb the pain, anything to stop the relentless ache that gnawed at his insides. At first, it was just a drink or two to take the edge off. But soon, it wasn’t enough. The alcohol didn’t dull the sting, it didn't silence the screaming thoughts in his head. It only fueled them.

He finds himself drinking more and more, drowning himself in whiskey until his vision blurs and his mind fogs over. He’d been here before. When his dad had put too much pressure on him to take over the company, when he felt like he wasn’t enough and his dad would never love him like a dad should love their son. When she had made him feel like he would never be good enough for her. When she told him that his dad’s love was not the end all be all and that he had people who loved him for who he was. He couldn’t see it then. He was blinded by the hurt of his father, of his shortcomings, of her sharp tongue when he was already down. Drugs had taken the edge off. Drugs had also lowered his inhibitions so much that he ended up in bed with Kiara, 

It’s not long before he starts reaching for pills again, molly, oxy, whatever he can get his hands on. Barry refuses to give him any cocaine and he doesn’t want to go out of his way to find another dealer so he settles for anything that would give him that brief escape. 

The high was fleeting, but in those moments, he didn’t feel the crushing weight of his own regret. He didn’t feel the agony of her absence, the constant reminder of his betrayal.

He starts partying, staying out late, surrounded by people who don’t care about him, who don’t know the real him. It didn’t  matter. All that mattered was the numbness, the temporary relief from the gnawing pain in his chest. The people he hangs out with don’t know any better so they  encourage him, laugh with him, feed into the destructive cycle. They don’t know what is really going on, they just saw a guy who was letting loose, having fun.

But when the alcohol hits its peak, when the drugs blurr his thoughts even more, Rafe’s mask begins to slip. The walls he’d built around his vulnerability came crashing down, and his desperation, his grief, poured out in ways he couldn’t control.

One night, after hours of drinking, Rafe stumbles into the kitchen, barely able to stand. He leaned against the counter, his breath heavy, his body unsteady. His friends are still partying in the other room, laughing, not noticing the storm brewing inside him. He pulls out his phone,  scrolling through the contacts until he finds her name. His thumb hovers over the call button, but before he can press it, his phone slips from his hand, crashing to the floor.

“Call her,” he mumbles, his voice slurring. He turns to the stranger in the room with him, his eyes wide with panic. “Please, someone… call her for me.”

The stranger looks at him like he has two heads “uh what?” Rafe sinks to his knees trying to grab his phone from under a cabinet. The stranger gives the drunk man an uncomfortable glance and looks towards the person entering the kitchen. 

“Rafe.” Barry says, trying to hoist him up by his armpits.

 Barry had been watching him, he didn't know what to say or how to help. Rafe had never been like this before. His pain was raw, and it was too much for the group to handle. They tried to get him to sit down, to stop drinking, but Rafe couldn’t hear them. All he could hear was the silence from her side of the phone, the echo of her absence.

“Please…” he whispered again, his voice barely audible now. His eyes were glassy, pleading. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her. I’ll fix it, I swear, just—just make her come back. Please.”

Sarah has been quietly observing from the doorway. She has been worried about him for weeks now, ever since he’d started disappearing for days at a time, since the drinking and drugs began to take over. She knew something was wrong, but she had no idea how bad it had gotten.

She stepped forward, her heart aching at the sight of her brother, broken and lost in a way she’s never seen before. “Rafe…” she said softly, trying to get his attention. “You need to stop, okay? You’re not okay. You’re going down a bad path.”

Rafe looked at her, his eyes blurry with tears and alcohol. “I don’t care anymore, Sarah. I fucked up. I ruined everything. I need her back. I can’t breathe without her.”

The desperation in his voice cracks Sarah’s heart. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to fix this. She had always looked up to her older brother, the version he had been when she was still here, but now… now he seemed like a stranger, lost in his own self-destruction.

“Please, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling. “Stop doing this to yourself. She’s not coming back, not like this. You have to deal with what you did. You can’t keep hiding from it.”

Rafe’s face twits in pain. “I don’t know how, Sarah. I don’t know how to live without her. I don’t know what to do.”

Tears well up in Sarah’s eyes as she reaches out to him, but he pulls away, stumbling back to the couch, his head buried in his hands.

“Don’t leave me,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “Please, just don’t leave me.”

The words hung in the air, and Sarah felt the weight of them crash down on her. Her brother, the one who had always been so strong, the one who had always protected her, was now broken beyond repair. And she didn’t know how to fix him.

She had to do something. But what? She can’t watch him self-destruct, but she doesn’t know how to pull him out of this darkness. All she can do is stay by his side, even as he pushes everyone away, even as he continues to spiral further.

+++

Rafe's grief had consumed him, and all he could do was keep chasing the high, hoping for a moment of numbness, a fleeting escape from the reality that she was gone, that she wasn’t coming back,  and that he had destroyed everything.

His desperation had grown so all-consuming that nothing else mattered, nothing except the faint, impossible hope that she would somehow hear him. The numbness from the alcohol and pills was starting to wear off, but the pain in his chest never subsided. Every morning felt like waking up in a nightmare, each day blending into the next, a haze of drunken nights and clouded judgment. He didn’t care anymore. He just couldn’t bear the silence, the empty spaces that she once filled in his life.

He knew he was sinking lower and lower, but that doesn’t  matter either. All that matters is finding a way to get her to talk to him, to forgive him. To make everything right again. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t possible.

The first time it happened was at a party, a random night that blurs together with all the others. He had been drinking heavily, trying to drown out the thought of her. But it doesn’t work. He sits with Kelce and Barry, laughing with them like everything’s fine, like he hasn’t just spent the entire afternoon staring at her name on his phone, willing it to light up with a message from her.

"Hey," Rafe slurred, looking over at Kelce, who was texting someone on his phone. "Give me your phone."

Kelce barely looked up, too drunk to notice the desperation in Rafe’s voice. "What? Why?"

"Just—just give me your damn phone," Rafe insists, his tone harder than he intended, making it clear that this isn’t a suggestion.

Kelce, unfazed by the anger in Rafe’s voice, handed it over with a casual shrug. "Fine, whatever. Don’t break it or whatever."

Rafe doesn’t waste a second. His hands are shaking as he unlocks the phone, the screen blurring with the alcohol-induced haze in his vision. He scrolls through the contacts with a feverish urgency, finding her name and hovering over it. His thumb hesitates over the call button, just for a moment, but that moment feels like an eternity. Then, without thinking, he presses it.

The phone rings. And rings.

His heart pounds in his chest as each ring seems to echo louder in his mind, each one a cruel reminder of how far gone he is, how hopeless this all feels. His thumb hovers over the screen, ready to hang up if she doesn’t answer, but he can’t bring himself to do it. What if, somehow, this time she picks up? What if this was the moment when everything changes?

But no. The call goes to voicemail, as it always does. Rafe curses under his breath, throwing Kelce’s phone down onto the table as if he’d just been slapped.

"Fuck!" he shouts, the frustration spilling out of him. "Why won’t she just talk to me?"

Kelce, now realizing how badly things had gotten, gives him a sidelong glance. "Dude, maybe you should just… lay off it for a bit. You’ve been at this for weeks now. It’s not helping, man."

Rafe doesn’t care. doesn’t care about Kelce’s advice, doesn’t care about anything other than getting her back. He snatches up Barry’s phone next, his movements erratic, frantic. Barry is too caught up in the music to notice what Rafe is doing until it’s too late.

"Rafe, what the hell are you doing?" Barry asks, glancing at him with a confused frown.

Ignoring him, Rafe is already calling her number. His thumb feels heavy, but he can’t stop. Every time the call goes unanswered, every time he hears the voicemail greeting, a part of him dies inside.

"Come on, sweetheart," he whispers into the phone, as if she could hear him. "Please, just pick up."

But she never does.

When the call ends, Rafe slumps back against the couch, his chest heaving as if the air was being sucked from the room. He’d been doing this every day, every single day, but it never got easier. The pain only deepened.

"Rafe, you need to stop this," Barry said, his voice quieter now, tinged with concern. "You’re killing yourself, man."

But Rafe can’t stop. Every time he picks up someone else’s phone and calls, he holds on to that shred of hope—that maybe, just maybe, she’s just waiting for him to reach out one more time. Maybe she’s watching her phone, waiting for his message, longing to hear his voice like he’s longing to hear hers.

It was irrational. He knew it. But that doesn’t make it any less real.

As the days passed, the calls kept coming. Sometimes it was Kelce’s phone, sometimes it was Barry’s, sometimes even Sarah’s phone, though she had started keeping her own distance from him. Rafe doesn’t care. If there’s even the slightest chance that she would answer, he had to take it. He can’t bear the thought of never hearing her voice again.

Meanwhile, Sarah was getting increasingly worried. She can see her brother falling apart in ways she can’t help fix. She’d come into the room to find him sprawled out, drunk and high, his hands shaking as he fumbled with someone else’s phone, desperately dialing the number he  knows by heart. His eyes are bloodshot, his face gaunt, as if the weight of his guilt was crushing him.

One night, Sarah had found Rafe sitting on the edge of his bed, his head buried in his hands. The room was littered with empty bottles, and the air was thick with the smell of whiskey and stale smoke.

"Rafe," she said softly, trying to get through to him. "You have to stop. This isn’t you. This… this isn’t how you fix things."

He hadn’t responded. His body trembled with exhaustion, and his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "I just need to hear her. Just one more time. Please, Sarah. Please…"

Sarah sank down beside him, her own tears threatening to spill. "I know you miss her. But you can’t keep doing this. You have to face what you did. You can’t fix it by drowning yourself in this... this mess."

Rafe looked at her with hollow eyes. "I ruined everything, Sarah. I lost her. I cheated. She’ll never forgive me."

Sarah shook her head, her heart breaking for him. "You don’t know that. But you’ll never find out if you keep destroying yourself like this."

Rafe hadn’t said anything else to her. He had just stared at the phone in his hand, his fingers had traced the screen as though somehome, that small gesture would get her to call back.  

+++

Rafe doesn’t know how to stop. He doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken. All he has now is hope—no matter how irrational—that one of these calls, one of these desperate pleas, might bring her back. 

His mind races as he sits on the couch, he grips his phone, the screen now dimmed and lifeless in his hand. The empty bottles on the coffee table seemed to mock him, their contents long gone, leaving only the lingering stench of whiskey and regret. The sounds of the party were muffled in the background, but Rafe can’t hear them anymore. All he can hear is the deafening silence from the other end of the phone, the void that had swallowed her up, and the ache that tore through him every moment she wasn’t there.

A conversation with Topper changes everything. It hits him like a ton of bricks. 

Topper had been quiet for a while, his own guilt simmering just below the surface, but tonight, he seemed off. He kept glancing over at Rafe, as if debating something, and Rafe knew his friend had something to say. He’d been drinking, but the sudden shift in Topper’s demeanor made his gut tighten.

“Rafe,” Topper finally muttered, his voice low. “I need to tell you something.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked up from the phone in his hand. His pulse quickened. “What?”

Topper hesitates, his brow furrowing in discomfort. “Sarah and Sofia… they know where she is.”

Rafe’s heart stops. The words hit him in the chest, like a punch he wasn’t ready for. His vision blurred as a wave of panic washes over him. “What the fuck do you mean, they know where she is?” he demands, rising from the couch and taking a step toward Topper, his voice shaking with frustration and disbelief.

Topper backs up slightly, holding his hands up in defense. “I don’t know how, man, but they do. Sarah told me. Sofia and her keep in touch. 

Rafe’s breath comes in short, desperate gasps. He feels a knot of betrayal twist in his stomach. "And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?" His voice rises, the anger seeping in with the desperation. "You know how badly I need to find her, Topper. Why the hell didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Topper winces, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t think it was my place. Sarah made me promise... she said we should respect what she wants. She doesn’t want you to know where she is.”

The room suddenly feels cold, as if the walls are closing in on him. Rafe staggers back, staring at Topper as if he’d just betrayed him in the worst possible way. He had done everything to try to get her back, everything to fix the mess he’d made, but now, his own sister, his own flesh and blood, was protecting her, keeping secrets from him, just like everyone else.

Rafe doesn’t know what to say. He has to talk to Sarah and get her to tell him where his girl is. Where she’s staying, where he can find her. He has to convince Sarah that he deserves to know.

Topper watches him as if he can read his mind. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He doesn’t have to. Rafe can see it in the way his eyes shift uncomfortably. "You need to let it go, Rafe. I know you're hurting, but she’s made her choice. And you… you need to accept it."

Rafe laughs bitterly, the sound of it harsh and broken. "Accept it?" He paces the room in a blur, his mind spinning. "You’re telling me to accept that she’s gone, that she won’t even talk to me because of what I did? That she’s hiding from me, and you—" He stops and turns on Topper, his voice rising, "—you knew, and you didn’t even tell me?"

"I don’t know where she is," Topper says quietly, but firmly. "I just found out that they do but they didn’t tell me anything. They promised her”

Rafe’s chest tightens as his fists clench, the words crashing against him like a tidal wave. The promises. The secrets. He had betrayed her in the worst way possible, and now it felt like everyone around him was betraying him, too. His mind races, his heart hammers, and it isn’t long before the panic begins to rise again.

"Where is she?" Rafe asks through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper.

Topper shakes his head slowly. "I don’t know, man. I swear. You need to talk to Sarah if you want answers, but she won’t give you anything. She promised and she’s not gonna break it."

Rafe’s vision narrows, and a wave of cold fury surges through him. He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe that after everything, his own sister was keeping this from him. Keeping the love of his life from him as he suffered. 

"You think you’re helping her, don’t you?" Rafe spits, his voice trembling with anger and pain. 

"You think you’re protecting her from me-” he chokes over his words “like this is your retribution- like if- if she were to find out you were helping her she’ll forgive you. Well, you’re wrong.” Rafe spits “she will never forgive you. You are just as dead to her as I am.”

“You have no idea what I’d do just to talk to her, to apologize. To tell her that I’m sorry. But you all won’t let me. You’re all just… just standing there, watching me fall apart."

Topper flinches at the rawness in Rafe’s voice, but he doesn’t back down. "I’m sorry, man, but it’s not about what you want anymore. She’s made her choice. She’s not coming back unless she’s ready to."

The words hit Rafe harder than anything else. She’s not coming back.

He turns away from Topper, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He feels a storm brewing inside of him, the storm of all the guilt, the loneliness, the anger he had been carrying for weeks. The people around him who were supposed to care—his friends, his sister, the ones who had always been there—were now keeping him at arm’s length, blocking him from the one person he still needed most.

With a cold, angry look, Rafe grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “I don’t care about promises. I don’t care what you think is right anymore. I’ll find out where she is. And when I do, I’m going to make her listen to me. No one is going to stop me."

Topper doesn’t try to stop him this time. Instead, he just stares after Rafe, his face drawn with concern. He can see that the guy standing in front of him isn’t the same Rafe he was a month ago. This Rafe was broken beyond repair, desperate in a way that made his heart ache.

But there was nothing anyone could do anymore. Rafe was too far gone.

+++

Rafe paces back and forth in the quiet living room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The knot of guilt and frustration twists in his stomach, but there is something else there, too—anger. Anger that had been building since she left, since he had made that unforgivable mistake. And now, Sarah’s hiding her from him.

"Sarah," Rafe's voice is low, controlled, but underneath the surface, the tension is palpable. "You know where she is."

Sarah, sits on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, looks up at him with a mixture of pity and caution. She has never seen Rafe like this before, desperate, broken, unhinged. She shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I’m not going to tell you, Rafe. She left for a reason. She’s trying to move on."

Rafe's eyes narrow, his frustration spiking. "She left because of me. I need to fix it, Sarah. You have to understand that." He takes a step closer, his hands resting on the back of a nearby chair, gripping it as if he needs something solid to hold onto. "I know I messed up. But I can't live with this, without knowing where she is. Please, tell me. Help me make things right."

Sarah’s face softens, but her resolve doesn’t waver. She had seen her brother's remorse, had heard his pleas, but she also knew how hurt Yn was, how deep the wounds ran. Telling him where she was, would only lead to more pain.

"Rafe," she said quietly, her eyes not leaving his, "if you really want to fix things, you need to give her space. Let her come to you when she’s ready. Pushing her won’t change anything."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. Sarah has always been the one who tried to see the bigger picture, and in this case, she might have been right. But the ache inside him was too strong to ignore, and he could feel time slipping away. If he didn’t act now, he might lose her forever.

“I can’t just wait,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “I can’t live with myself if I don’t try.”

Sarah looks at him, her heart aching for both of them, but she stands her ground. "Then you have to let her go. It’s the only way you’ll ever have a chance to get her back."

Rafe stands in silence for a long moment, his shoulders tense with the weight of the conversation. Finally, he nods, though the defeat in his posture was clear.

"Fine," he said, turning to leave the room. "But I’m not giving up on her. Not yet."

+++

Rafe walks into the rental house of some touron. It’s alive with noise, laughter, music, and the clinking of bottles. 

But Rafe doesn’t care about any of that. He's only here because Sofia is here. He’s been trying to track her down for days. She had been dodging his phone calls and texts, probably because Sarah warned her that he knew they knew. 

He stares at Sofia as she sits across the room on the couch, laughing with a group of friends. He hasn’t thought this plan through. He’s desperate, he’s high, and he’ll do anything to contact Yn.

Sofia’s phone rests causally on her lap. He had been waiting for this moment all night. His frustrations had reached a boiling point, and he needed to do something. Sofia knew where she was, which meant that they still talked to some extent. 

He moved swiftly, weaving through the crowd, careful not to attract Sofia’s attention before he had a chance to snatch her phone. He reaches Sofia, leans in, and before anyone can react, grabs her phone from her lap. He continues walking swiftly through the crowd, no hesitation. He hears Sofia’s protests as he darts upstairs and into a room.

He’s lucky to have known Sofia for almost his entire life, he unlocks her phone without an issue, thankful that her password continues to be the same. It takes him a moment to find yn’s number. Maybe they aren’t talking as much as he thinks they are. 

His heart pounds so loudly he can barely hear his own breath. He takes one last look around the empty room, bracing himself, before pressing the dial button.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

And then, finally, it clicks.

“Hello?” her voice comes through, and it sends a shiver down his spine, He’s missed her. It sounds like she’s out, there’s wind, car horns, and people. 

His throat tightens. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out at first. Hearing her voice again after everything, it’s  more than he can handle in that moment. He had screwed up so badly, and now, here she was, answering after everything he had done. 

“Sof?” She asks curiously. She thinks it’s Sofia. Of course she does. 

"Yn," he croaks, his voice raw, desperate. "It’s me. Please, just—just hear me out."

The silence on the other end of the line is heavy, suffocating. Rafe can feel her hesitation, the distance she had built between them. His heart races, and he takes a deep breath, pushing forward.

"Please, I need to talk to you. I—I know I don’t deserve it, but I can’t lose you, sweetheart. I’m such an idiot. I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I’m begging you, just—just give me a chance to make it right."

There’s a long pause before her voice finally breaks the silence, and when she speaks, it’s like every word comes with a weight that crushes Rafe’s chest.

"You need to stop calling me" her tone is sharp, edged with pain. "You can beg all you want, Rafe, but it doesn’t change anything. You’ve already hurt me too much. I can’t keep doing this with you."

Rafe’s stomach churns. He had known this moment was coming, but hearing her say it out loud still felt like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," he whispers, his voice breaking. "But I’m asking for a chance, just one chance to prove to you that I can be better. That I can make up for what I did."

Her sigh echoes through the line, full of disappointment. "You don’t get it,"  her voice hardened. "I don’t want your apology. I don’t need your promises. I don’t want anything from you. You had your chance, Rafe. And you blew it."

Each word is a needle, piercing through the remnants of hope he had clung to. Rafe's chest tightens, but he refuses to give up. He presses on, voice shaking..

"Please. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry for what I did. I can’t live with myself knowing I hurt you like this. Please, don’t shut me out."

Her voice softens for a fraction of a second, but it quickly hardens again, like a wall she had built between them.

"I don’t care how much you love me, Rafe. You broke me. I can’t go back to someone who would do that to me. Not even for you. I won’t forgive you. I won’t forget what you did. I’m done."

The finality in her words hit him like a slap. He could hear it in her voice, the resolve, the exhaustion, the pain she had carried for so long.

"No," Rafe whispered, his voice cracking, his heart shattering again. "Please…baby, please don’t say that. I can’t lose you. Come back, come back and be here with me."

There’s a long, painful silence. He thinks she might hang up, that this would be the end. But instead, her voice comes through one last time, softer but resolute.

"Goodbye, Rafe," she said quietly, her voice breaking ever so slightly. "Please don’t call me again."

The line goes dead, and Rafe stands there, staring at the phone in his hand, his whole world crumbling around him. He had known it was over, but hearing her say it—he couldn’t even breathe. The finality of it, the weight of it, crushed him in a way he never thought possible.

He had begged, he had pleaded, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Rafe stands there, his heart still pounding in his chest, the phone burning a hole through his hand.  He barely registers as the door opens and Sofia Storms over, her eyes flashing with fury. 

“What the hell, Rafe?” she snaps, yanking her phone out of his hands. Her fingers tremble from anger. "You can’t just take my phone and call her like that. Are you out of your mind?"

Yes, probably. 

Rafe barely registers the sting of her words, his mind still stuck on the finality of Yn’s goodbye. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts. "Sofia," he pleads, his voice hoarse, "you know where she is. Please, I need to find her. Tell me where she is."

Sofia’s expression hardens, and she steps back, holding her phone close to her chest. The anger in her eyes, replaced with a deeper, almost sorrowful kind of disappointment.

“No,” she says firmly, her tone unwavering. “I’m not telling you. I won’t be the one to lead you to her.”

Rafe’s heart drops. "Please, Sofia. I can’t lose her. I’ve already lost so much. I—" His voice catches in his throat as he searches for the right words, anything to convince her.

Sofia shook her head, her eyes narrowing with resolve. "You don’t get it, do you? Even if I told you where she is, it wouldn’t matter." Her voice softened, but there was a quiet certainty there. "You wouldn’t find her in the way you think you will."

Rafe took a step forward, his desperation growing. “I don’t care! I just need to talk to her, to apologize. Please, Sofia, you don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” she interrupts, her voice cold but with a tinge of sadness. “You don’t get that Yn isn’t the same person anymore. And neither are you." Her eyes flicked to the phone in her hands, the device now a symbol of everything he had broken. “You think you can show up and fix it with a few words? With begging her to come back? You’ve changed, Rafe. And so has she."

His nails dig into his palms as he tries to ground himself. "I know I messed up. I ruined everything. But I can’t let her go. I love her, Sofia. I can’t just let her slip away without at least trying."

Sofia’s gaze softens, but her resolve doesn’t waver. "You love her? Then respect her, Rafe. Respect her space. If you really loved her, you wouldn’t be here, making things worse, acting like she owes you a chance." She lets out a sharp breath, almost as if she were trying to hold back tears. “You’re not the person she needs right now. And if you ever want a chance to make things right, you have to fix yourself first. Because this version of you? The one who’s so consumed by guilt and anger that he’ll stop at nothing to get her back? She won’t want anything to do with him.”

Rafe freezes, the weight of her words sinking in, like bricks falling one by one on his chest. "But I can’t change what happened," he whispers. "I can’t change the way I hurt her."

Sofia’s eyes softened, but her voice remained firm. “You’re right. You can’t change the past. But you can stop making it worse. If you really want her to come back, stop chasing after her. Start being the person she deserves—someone who respects her decision, even if it’s not what you want. If you can do that, maybe, just maybe, she’ll see a version of you worth coming back to.”

Rafe stands there, rooted to the spot, the pain of her words sinking deeper than anything he had ever felt. He had been so focused on finding Yn, so desperate to fix things, that he hadn’t seen the bigger picture.

Sofia turns away from him, but not before one last look over her shoulder. "Just stay out of her life okay? You’re not the only one suffering.”

Rafe watches as she disappears back into the party, the sounds of the music and laughter drowning out his thoughts. For the first time, he wasn’t sure what the next step was.

+++

It was just past midnight when Rafe finds himself mindlessly scrolling through social media, trying to numb the ache in his chest. His thoughts, his emotions, are a jumbled mess after everything with Yn, and he can’t seem to escape it. His thumb scrolls lazily across the screen as he passes post after post, most of them meaningless distractions. But then he freezes.

A post from Ruthie. Topper’s ex.

The picture shows her and a girl he doesn’t recognize, both beaming into the camera from some trendy bar. The caption read: "NC girls reunited." The location on the post reads “London, England.”

Ruthie hadn’t been around for long. She had realized that Topper wasn’t who she wanted to be with and left. For the short amount of time that she was around though, Yn had made her feel welcome. She had told him that she felt bad that Topper would invite her places and then leave her with a bunch of strangers. 

When Ruthie moved to Charleston, he remembers Yn still keeping in touch. Maybe, just maybe, Ruthie knew where yn had gone. 

Could it be?

 He clicked on the profile of the girl tagged in Ruthie’s post. Amber. He scanned through her feed, his eyes darting from picture to picture. Amber was also from NC, she didn’t have anything that would say she knew yn. 

He opens up her first post which was a carousel. He scrolls through and  doesn't see much until one picture makes his blood run cold. 

There they were, Amber and Ruthie, standing side by side in a bathroom mirror, the kind of candid shot you’d post without thinking. The lighting wasn’t great, but what made his stomach churn, what made his heart stop, was the jacket.

The jacket.

He would recognize it anywhere. The leather, the slight distressing on the sleeves, the stitching that she had insisted on showing him. The one he had looked for day in and day out because she couldn’t stop talking about it. He had given her that jacket for their anniversary two years ago. 

The one she’d wanted so badly.

It was only half in the frame, the bottom half peeking out from behind Amber, but it was enough.

Rafe’s breath catches in his throat. He leans in closer to the screen, his hands trembling slightly as he reads the caption: "Uni bathroom, Ruthie, ms future lawyer, and a dream."

His mind spins. Why would Yn be with them? Why would she be in London?

His thoughts collided with the memory of calling Yn the other night, at 2 AM, when it had sounded like she was in a busy place, a bustling one.A city that was awake. A different timezone. It was like his mind was piecing together a puzzle he hadn't even realized existed.

London. Ruthie and Amber.

The jacket.

It clicked.

Without thinking, he grabs his phone off the table, his heart pounds in his chest.

“Guess I’m going to London,” he mutters to himself, the weight of the decision sinking in.

He isn’t sure what he’s hoping to find, doesn't know how to find her in such a big city, he doesn’t even know where to start. But one thing’s clear: He can’t sit here wondering any longer.

He has to see her.

[bellfilmz]

Rafe Cameron x reader

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Season1!rafe x shy!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which rafe and reader are partnered for a school project and reader is convinced it’s a sick joke.

𝐎𝐫

In which rafe Cameron has a crush on his smart shy partner and sees this as a chance to pursue her.

—

⸻

The moment your name was called alongside Rafe Cameron’s, your stomach dropped.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your desk as the teacher continued assigning partners, but the words barely registered. Instead, your thoughts spiraled. Rafe Cameron? The Rafe Cameron? The golden boy of the academy? The one who could get away with skipping class but still ace his exams, the one who walked the halls like he owned them, always surrounded by a group of equally privileged friends?

Yeah. You were doomed.

Stealing a glance at him, you saw that infamous lazy smirk on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to combust. It wasn’t that you didn’t do well in school—you did. But talking to someone like Rafe, working with someone like Rafe? That was a different challenge entirely.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you were already gathering your books, hoping to escape the awkward interaction for now. But a shadow fell over your desk, and you looked up to find Rafe standing there, hands in the pockets of his crisp uniform slacks.

“So, partner,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Guess that means we gotta work together, huh?”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “Y-Yeah.”

He grinned, like he found your nerves amusing. “You free after school? We can start then.”

You hesitated. “Uh, the library?”

Rafe chuckled. “You really think I study in the library?”

You frowned, unsure if he was making fun of you. “It’s quiet. It makes sense.”

He watched you for a beat, then shrugged. “Alright, library it is.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving you more confused than before.

⸻

By the time you got to the library that afternoon, your heart was hammering. You’d spent the last few hours overthinking every possible scenario—what if he didn’t show up? What if he did show up, but he expected you to do all the work? What if this was some kind of elaborate prank?

But then, to your surprise, Rafe actually walked in, scanning the room before spotting you at a corner table.

“Damn,” he said as he sat down, dropping his bag onto the chair beside him. “Didn’t think you’d actually wait for me.”

You blinked. “You—what?”

He smirked. “Thought you’d ditch. Y’know, avoid me or something.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just opened your notebook. “We should probably start,” you mumbled.

For the first few minutes, you worked in silence. You were hyperaware of his presence, the way he leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers like this was all some big joke. But then, something unexpected happened.

Rafe… actually helped.

And not just in the half-hearted, ‘I’ll pretend to read this while you do all the work’ way you expected. He asked questions, offered ideas, even listened when you spoke.

It threw you off completely.

“So,” he said after a while, glancing over at you. “You’re, like, crazy smart, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed. “I—um—I guess?”

His lips quirked. “Kinda cute.”

Your head snapped up. “W-What?”

He just grinned, like he hadn’t said anything, and turned back to his notes. Meanwhile, your brain short-circuited.

⸻

Over the next few days, you kept waiting for the joke, for the moment when Rafe would laugh in your face and reveal that he’d just been messing with you. But he didn’t.

Instead, he kept showing up for your study sessions. Kept sitting a little too close, leaning in when he talked, like he wanted your full attention.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then little things started happening—like the time he pulled out the chair next to him, motioning for you to sit before anyone else could. Or when he casually mentioned things about you that you didn’t remember telling him, like how you always chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.

“You’re staring,” he said one afternoon, catching you mid-thought.

You nearly dropped your book. “I—I wasn’t!”

Rafe laughed, tapping his pencil against the table. “You totally were.”

You felt heat rush to your face. “I just—It’s just weird,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

His brows lifted. “Weird?”

You hesitated. “You being nice to me.”

His smirk faltered, just slightly, before he leaned in. “Why’s that weird?”

You fiddled with the corner of your notebook. “I don’t know. You don’t… have to, I guess.”

Rafe studied you, then let out a breathy chuckle. “You really think I’d waste my time messing with you?”

You stiffened. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a voice called his name from across the library.

“Cameron, let’s go!”

You turned to see Topper and Kelce lingering near the entrance, both smirking knowingly.

Rafe sighed. “Guess that’s my cue.” He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, partner.”

As he walked off, you heard Topper snicker. “Dude, what is this? Are you studying now?”

Kelce laughed. “Nah, man, Rafe’s just got a thing for the quiet ones.”

Your stomach twisted as Rafe shoved them both, muttering something under his breath.

A thing for the quiet ones? That had to be a joke. Right?

⸻

That night, as you reread your notes, your phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: Hey, partner. Don’t stay up too late studying. Can’t have you tired for our session tomorrow.

You stared at the message, your heart picking up speed.

Then, another text came through.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: It’s Rafe, btw.

You hesitated before responding.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: How did you get my number?

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞: I have my ways.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to respond. Before you could decide, another message popped up.

Rafe: Sweet dreams, smart girl.

Your breath caught.

Staring at the screen, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t a prank at all.

⸻

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝.

[erodasfishtacos]

F*cking Sellout - NFL!H Part II

prompt: the morning in the hospital trudges up a lot of good and bad memories.

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: angst, brief mention of nausea/throwing up

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first ten to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

-> NFL collection <-

Harry is awoken to his phone vibrating in his pocket.

For a moment, he is completely disoriented and doesn’t have a clue where he is.

He had been in a deep sleep, when his eyes crack open and he sees that it’s a hospital bed, the first thought is that he had injured himself during the game and was now getting treatment.

It has happened quite a few times over his career, where the on-site trainers couldn’t mend his injury, and he had to go get evaluated at the hospital but never to where he didn't remember the journey there.

But there’s a heavy warmth on his chest, blinking down, it’s fucking jarring to see his high school sweetheart laying across him like she owns him - like nothing has changed in three long years.

There’s a familiarity, that’s not even that right word because it’s stronger than that, to their bodies because they’d been together for eight years.

They had been each other’s first everything from kiss to heartbreak and those were memories that would never be forgotten.

As he stared down at her, he couldn’t get over how pretty she was.

The bruising on her face was absolutely gnarly but it didn’t do anything to hide what was underneath all of it.

A beauty that he would never get over, and through the eight years, he never got used to being with someone who looked like her.

But more importantly, who was as smart, kind, empathic, and downright funny.

Harry had been on PR dates, actual dates, and slept with a few models.

A lot of it was boredom, most of it was, and he didn’t like who he was when he had these random hookups.

He’d been in a serious relationship up until his senior year of college.

He had never cheated or been unfaithful in anyway which meant going into the NFL was a new experience in so many different ways.

The way he projected up as one of the best football players in the league had people drawn to him like he had some magnetic pull.

It was like that in high school and college, but it was easy to dodge any advances from interested individuals because YN was constantly at his side, they didn’t have time or the privacy with him to even get close enough to flirt.

++

Harry was desperately searching for YN in the group of sweaty, drunk college students in the backyard of the frat.

It was a massive party where the boys had strung up cheap fairy lights in rows, set up cornhole boards, and multiple tables for a beer bong championship (Harry always won).

If YN was clung to Harry’s side like a koala, then it was vice versa.

Teammates had made comments in the past, ‘isn’t annoying that she never leaves your side during the parties? Never have any room to breathe.’

He loved the lack of air, the suffocation, if that meant he was constantly accompanied by her.

Never through all the years of their relationship had he ever wanted distance, he never felt overwhelmed or smothered by her - she had always been his safe person.

But the teammates also didn’t see the flipside of that.

When YN wasn't by his side at parties, he was seeking her out, and saddling up to whatever conversation that she was in if he felt like he could without intruding like a prick of a boyfriend.

They didn’t see that when she had gone off to talk to someone else for too long, Harry would find her with a pout and mumble, “Missed you.”

Despite whom Harry was, the face of the football team, the winner of the Heisman trophy, and getting scouted by NFL teams since he was in high school - he had severe social anxiety.

All the attention was fear-inducing for him, he hid it well for interviews but off-the-field, he hated the large crowds, the random people that wanted to hug and talk to him, and the amount of social interaction that he had to have on the day-to-day.

It was constantly a lot for him to process, YN helped, she was always his safe point that he could come back to when his anxiety started to elevate, and she knew every single time how to make it better.

Harry was starting to get the quickening heart rate, the party was loud, everyone was exceptionally drunk, and it was hot outside - enough that the curls peeking out from under his backwards snapback were starting to wilt onto the nape of his neck.

His management team had pretty much forced him into the frat without choice, stating that it would be absurd for the face of the football team to not have a spot in the most desired fraternity on campus, and crushing his dreams of sharing an off-campus apartment with YN.

She was understanding, supportive but he wasn’t blind to the sacrifices she’s made for their relationship since they were fifteen.

Harry much preferred YN’s quiet, single suite that shared a kitchen with three other individual suites.

All of her suitemates were nice, school-oriented girls who were in their own committed relationships.

YN was never one to be involved in drama, she was always rooting for everyone around her, supportive and kind which made a lot of people flock to her, come to her for advice, a shoulder to cry on.

Harry and YN would curl up on her tiny twin mattress, limbs twisted, and he’d still rather be there than his queen size at the frat.

His anxiety was starting to raise which was a sure sign that he was ready to leave the party if YN was.

He had a huge game in two days, no matter how natural of an athlete he was, he still had these near debilitating nerves before each and everyone of them.

It was a blessing and a curse to be ‘the face of the football team’.

As the captain, the MVP, he got all the kudos, awards, and accolades that others could only dream about getting.

He also had the weight of the team riding on his performance.

It always seemed to fall back on him when they lost a game, a flock of pointed questions at the post-game interview that shifted blame to his performance rather than his teammates, and as the captain, he took responsibility.

The music was pounding, vibrating in his ears, and did he mention it was hot?

It was almost impossible for him to make a clear line towards the backdoor of the house without being bombarded by someone slapping him on the back or wanting to talk about the upcoming game for fifteen minutes.

Where was YN?

She had squeezed his hip as he was talking to a friend, telling him that her best friend, Kai, just texted her that she had arrived at the party after her work shift, and she was going to go find her.

There's a large wrap porch that he had a feeling they were on, nobody conjugated out there except to smoke a cigarette or have a private conversation where they didn’t have to be screaming in each other’s faces to hear what they were saying.

There was a rickety wooden porch swing, chains rusted and has probably been hung there since the nineties that YN liked to sit on, curl up like a cat and lay across Harry’s lap when the weather was cool but not chilled yet, the sun warming her.

And his hunch was right.

When he steps onto the porch through the front door, YN and Kai look over with a knowing expression.

There’s nothing but love and concern in her voice when she says, “Ready to go, baby?”

Harry never wants YN to miss out on opportunities to have fun if she had wanted to stay and that made him a little anxious too - that he was constantly ruining her time because he’d rather leave and be alone with her in the dorm.

“I can wait,” Harry assures her, waving to Kai, “I..just when you are, I wanted to let you know. I’ll be ready.”

“We were just bullshitting. I better go find Jackson before he passes out in someone else's backyard again,” Kai cracks a smile, her and Harry got along well, and Harry enjoyed spending time with her boyfriend, Jackson, who was on the team as well.

Kai disappears inside with a pat to his shoulder, mumbling about how muggy the house felt from all of the bodies in such a small, poorly ventilated space.

“Where are you?” YN asks softly as she stands from the swing, walking right into his arms and letting him bury his face in her hair.

“Six,” Harry responds with a sigh, “The game and all these people. It’s just starting to overwhelm me.”

It was a question YN asked a few times a day, if not more, asking where he was - she was checking in on his level of anxiety.

Then she responded accordingly.

“Let’s get you back to mine, yeah?” YN slips her hand under the back of his shirt, sliding upwards and rubbing his tensed muscles, “Get your anxiety down. Have a good night sleep.”

“My anxiety is already starting to lessen,” Harry replies mulishly as he pushes into her touch, the pressure she was putting on his muscles was heavenly, she knew exactly where to press, “It always does when I’m with you. S’just being away from you.”

“I know, it’s a good thing we’ll never be apart, huh?” YN smiles as she thumbs at his spine, there was so much love in every single touch, every time, and he didn’t realize how much he took it for granted until he was alone in bed, cursing everything in existence when all he wants is that contact again.

++

Harry tries not to disturb YN, she definitely was going to need a lot of rest with her injuries and trying to recover.

He manages to slip his phone from his pocket, sliding it up to his ear with a barely audible whisper, “Hello?”

“Styles, Coach Greene wants you on a private jet in an hour. He wants us to get to Dallas to have a strat meeting before practice starts with you. He really feels like you're the key to getting them through. You’re really the only member on the team that he’s not doubting. I already have the jet set up, send me your address so I can get a driver to pick you up,” Harry’s manager, George tells him, he can hear rustling in the background because George would now have to be on that flight too.

“I -” Harry’s eyes darted down to YN, who was sleeping peacefully on him, and this is the thing he has missed for the past three years.

The thing that he had grieved, still hasn’t completely healed from, and if he had been anywhere close to healing - now that wound was ripped open, raw, and oozing.

Possibly even more painful than the first time.

“I’m not supposed to fly out to Dallas until tomorrow,” Harry tells George with frustration, he had quite literally promised YN that he would be here, and he wanted to be here more than anything else, “I…I have shit planned.”

It wasn’t an option, Harry doesn’t even know why he’s arguing.

He’s under a contractual obligation, he really couldn’t say ‘no’ because his life was assumed to be football twenty-four hours during the season, and this wasn’t something that he could blow-off or turn down.

Coach Greene wasn’t asking.

If he refused, not only would it result in a fine for breach of contract but his coaches would surely have consequences for him - extra training hours, extra workouts, the list is endless.

“Harry,” George sighs, he was most likely rubbing the bridge of his nose under his thick-rimmed glasses, “Greene was pretty upset with some of the linemen’s performance yesterday, I don’t think now is the time to push his limits. You know?”

“I’ll send you the address,” Harry relents before hanging up, he was devastated and he didn’t know how he was going to leave her again, after promising her that he’d stay because that’s the main reason she broke it off in the first place was because of too many broken promises.

++ a few weeks before the breakup ++

Harry lets himself into YN’s dorm room after his late-night practice that the coach had called last minute after a few players had gotten in trouble for drinking off campus.

YN was sitting on her bed, still in a pretty flowing dress, makeup done but there were steraks of her mascara that weres starting to stain her cheeks.

She had her phone to her ear, eyes blinking up at Harry as she sniffles, clears her throat, and rasps croakly, “I’ll call you back later, Kai. Yeah, yeah, I know. Yeah. Bye.”

Harry drops his duffle, frown on his face because seeing her upset was the worst thing that he could imagine, “What happened?”

YN swallows harshly, putting down her phone, and her voice is still soft, calm as it always is, “I…I feel like I do so much for you, Harry. Which I want to do, I love supporting you, your career, anything you need. Lately you…It feels very one-sided recently.”

Harry’s stomach starts to churn, hearing her talk like this was horrible, and the worst part was that he knew he had been slacking.

The journey of getting into the NFL had been extensive, stressful, and all-consuming. 

He couldn’t remember to take a shower somedays which led to a lot of different things falling to the wayside.

The biggest thing was the love of his fucking life.

“Did I forget something?” Harry asks with a dry throat, he already knew the answer.

YN chuckles without smiling, “Why do you act like it’s a surprise? You don’t remember anything anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry’s heart was pounding, rushingi nto his ears like he just ran a play, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Can you even remember what tonight was?” YN asks as she smooths out a pleat of her dress, trying to stop tears from falling.

He couldn’t.

Harry feels like the biggest piece of shit when he admits, “No, I don’t. I’m sure if you give me a minute-”

“The Young Photographers of America dinner ceremony, where I was nominated for an award?” YN can’t control the tear that slips down her cheek, she couldn’t even look at him.

Harry remembers now the excitement that she had when she found out that her professors had put her up for the award.

“Nut, I-”

YN waves her arm limply to her desk, “I won.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry feels tears stinging, god, he can’t stop messing up, “I’m so-”

“Just…don’t,” YN shakes her head, voice dull and disconnected, “I don’t want to hear it. If you were proud of me you would have been there to support me like every other nominee who had their partner there. I was alone with an empty seat and a place card with your name on it.”

YN had told him that if he didn’t make it to her final’s art gallery, it wasn’t going to be a good thing for their relationship.

It was the first time she’d really ever had an ultimatum, she never had to before, and she thought it would work.

And Harry forgot.

++

“Mm, time s’it?” YN slurs sleepily, wincing as soon as she tries to sit up, “Ow. My head.”

“Whoa, be careful, nut,” Harry calms, dread seeping into every fiber of his being, “You have a pretty gnarly concussion.”

“It’s really painful,” YN groans as she relaxes again, wriggling her body even close to his, and it hurts.

It fucking hurts because he can’t make things right.

“The lights are going to stay off, blinds closed to help. Try to keep your eyes closed as much as possible for now,” Harry reminds her, he wants to cuddle her but his body is tense because he knows he’s about to seal their fate because he’s choosing football. 

“Do you want to watch something with me?” YN sounds so much like his YN, from three years ago, like she hasn’t changed at all, “I can listen. Despite the concussion, I slept so well. I haven’t slept right since we’ve broken up.”

“I…”

YN knows him better than anyone else.

Even from the first syllable.

Her eyes open, narrowing, and she pushes herself to sit up despite the ache in her skull.

“You promised,” YN tells him, voice stern and hurt, her bottom lip was trembling.

“My coach called -”

“Get out of my room,” YN raises her volume which was so out of character for her, “Now.”

“Can I just exp-”

“I’m…I shouldn’t have given you another fucking chance. I knew better. I just see you and have this stupid idea that you’re still the Harry that I fell in love with,” YN pushes herself even further away until they’re not touching, “I can’t believe I- Just leave.”

Harry has never felt more desperate in his life, “Please, it’s my contra-”

“I don’t need excuses. I shouldn’t have put your name on the list, I should have trusted you,” YN turns until her feet are off the bed, hunched over, and retching like she’s going to be sick, “Go get the nurse and leave. Please. My concussion-”

“Okay,” Harry’s response is shaky as he wants to touch her, help her, “I love you.”

He shouldn’t have said it.

But it had to let her know.

“You sure don’t know how to show it,” YN manages through another wave of nausea, “You’re a fucking sellout.”

++

[sshnzsr]

lower back tattoo

warnings: mentions of heeseung, mean dom!ni-ki, cheating, unprotected sex, degradation, doggy, ass slapping, lmk if I missed anything

wordcount: 0.7k

-

The hum of the tattoo gun filled the small parlor as you lay face down on the cushioned table, the cool air brushing against your exposed lower back. You’d been planning this for weeks—getting your boyfriend Heeseung’s name inked into your skin as a surprise for his birthday. The idea had seemed romantic at first, a permanent mark of your devotion. But now, with the needle buzzing and your nerves on edge, doubt crept in.

The tattoo artist, Ni-ki, wasn’t helping. He’d been smirking ever since you told him what you wanted, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You sure about this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and taunting as he wiped the stencil with a damp cloth. “Heeseung’s a lucky guy, huh? Hope he’s worth it.”

You bristled at his tone, shifting slightly on the table. “He is,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. Ni-ki chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried to ignore the way his gloved fingers lingered on your skin as he adjusted the stencil.

The session started innocently enough—sharp pricks of pain mixed with the steady hum of the machine. But Ni-ki’s presence was overwhelming. He was too close, his breath warm against your back as he worked, his hands steady but possessive. “You know,” he murmured after a while, pausing to wipe away excess ink, “guys like Heeseung don’t deserve girls like you. Bet he doesn’t even know what he’s got.”

You clenched your fists, heat rising to your cheeks. “You don’t know him.”

“Don’t need to.” Ni-ki’s voice dropped, rougher now, as he leaned closer. “I see girls like you all the time. Loyal. Sweet. Wasting it on someone who’ll never appreciate it.” His fingers brushed your hip, a deliberate graze that made your breath hitch. “Bet I could make you regret this tattoo before I’m even done.”

You should’ve stopped him right there. Should’ve told him to shut up and finish the job. But something about his words—his confidence—hooked you. The needle started again, but the air felt heavier now, charged. When he slapped your ass lightly, a casual “hold still,” you gasped, and his low laugh told you he’d noticed.

By the time the tattoo was done, your head was spinning. Ni-ki peeled off his gloves, smirking as he admired his work—Heeseung’s name now etched into your skin, stark and permanent. “Looks good,” he said, but his eyes were on you, not the ink. “Shame it’s his name and not mine.”

You stood, tugging your shirt down, heart pounding. “Thanks,” you muttered, reaching for your bag, but Ni-ki stepped closer, crowding you against the table.

“Don’t run off yet.” His hand found your waist, firm, unyielding. “Let me show you what you’re missing.” Before you could protest, his lips crashed against yours—rough, demanding, nothing like Heeseung’s gentle kisses. And God help you, you kissed him back.

It escalated too fast. Your shorts hit the floor, his jeans unzipped just enough. He bent you over the table, your freshly tattooed skin stinging as he pressed himself against you. “Look at that,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip, the other tracing the bulge of himself through your stomach as he thrust in, hard and unrelenting. “Feel me ruining you? That’s what you get for picking him.”

The words were venom—slut, cheater, dumb little girl—each one hitting harder than the last, paired with the sharp slaps to your ass that left you trembling. You hated how much you liked it, hated the way your body betrayed you, arching back into him as he fucked you raw, no hesitation, no mercy. The tattoo burned under his touch, a cruel reminder of the line you’d just crossed.

When it was over, you were a mess—hair tangled, legs shaky, guilt clawing at your chest. Ni-ki zipped up, smirking like he’d won. “Tell Heeseung I said hi,” he said, tossing you your shorts. “And next time, get my name instead.”

You left the parlor with his ink on your skin and his mark on your soul, wondering how you’d ever face your boyfriend again.