#and neither did she see the kitchen counter... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlightwritingf1 · 29 days ago

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No Mercy | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N are still in the early stages of their relationship, discovering each other emotionally and physically. After a night out, Lando takes control in the bedroom.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 5.2k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, creampie, rough sex, aftercare, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, begging for creampie

It had been a long night, the kind that left them both buzzing with energy yet exhausted in equal measure. The event had been glamorous, filled with champagne and laughter, but now, as she stepped into Lando’s apartment, the world felt quieter, more intimate.

She kicked off her heels, letting them clatter to the ground, and tossed her clutch onto the couch. Lando stood by the door, his coat still on, hands in his pockets, watching her with a sly smile that made her stomach flip. He was always like this—confident, charming, and a little bit dangerous. It was one of the many things she found irresistible about him.

“What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to face him. Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something deeper that neither of them had fully explored yet. They were still learning each other, discovering the ways their bodies fit together, the ways their minds connected. And tonight, something about the way he looked at her made her feel he was about to show her another side of himself.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the wall, his eyes tracing over her body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His gaze lingered on her lips, then lowered, sweeping down her chest and hips before finally meeting her eyes again. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that sent shivers down her spine.

“Bend over,” he said.

The words hung in the air between them, thick and charged with meaning. She blinked, momentarily unsure she’d heard him correctly. But then his smirk deepened, and the glint in his eye left no room for doubt. He wasn’t teasing. Not this time.

Oh, she thought, her heart pounding faster. This is different.

She hesitated just for a moment, caught between surprise and curiosity. Lando watched her, patient but insistent, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. He wasn’t going to push, not unless she gave him the go-ahead. But the look in his eyes told her everything—he wanted this. More than that, he wanted her to want it, too.

And she did. Somehow, in the span of two words, he’d managed to make her feel bold, reckless. She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she took a step toward the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against her palms as she leaned forward, knees slightly bent, ass angled just so. The position felt vulnerable, exposed, but it also sent a jolt of anticipation through her.

Behind her, Lando moved. His footsteps were quiet, measured, but they echoed in her ears like thunder. She could feel his presence behind her, close enough that she sensed the heat radiating off his body. He didn’t touch her right away, though. Instead, he paused, letting the silence stretch out until it was almost unbearable.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you like this.”

His hands came down on her hips, firm and possessive, pulling her back against him. She gasped at the contact, her body already reacting to his nearness. His erection pressed into her lower back, hot and undeniable, and she couldn’t help but arch into it, craving more of him.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was warm, intoxicating, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Every time I look at you, I think about how fucking good it would feel to be inside you.”

His words were dirty, raw, and they sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her. She moaned softly, unable to hold it back, and he responded by tightening his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need—”

“You need what?” he prompted, tone teasing but his movements were anything but playful. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee, positioning himself between them. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“You,” she breathed, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. “I need you.”

His chuckle was dark, almost feral, sending goosebumps cascading over her skin. “Good girl,” he said, leaning down to nip at the nape of her neck. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Before she could respond, he slid his hand between her legs, cupping her core through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped, body tensing instinctively, but his touch was firm, unyielding. He rubbed against her in slow, deliberate circles, pressing just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through her.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel how wet you are.”

She obeyed without thinking, letting her thighs fall open as his fingers continued their relentless assault. The heat between her legs was overwhelming, pooling deep inside her as his thumb brushed her clit. She moaned again, louder this time, head dropping back against his shoulder.

“You like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “You like feeling my hand on you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando—”

“Patience,” he said, tone sharp but touch gentle as he traced a line up her inner thigh. “We’ve got all night.”

He let out a soft groan of approval as his fingers dipped under her dress until they met the resistance of her underwear. “So wet already,” he murmured, tone laced with admiration. “You really are desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, voice breaking as he pressed his fingers against the fabric, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her.

He pulled back slightly, hands retreating to her hips as he leaned in closer. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice calm but commanding. “Face me.”

She did as he asked, turning with hesitant steps. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding, as if he were seeing straight through to her soul. His hands gripped her waist again, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and hypnotic. “Don’t look away.”

She met his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away, as his hands traveled up her torso, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. A shiver ran through her at the contact, her heart racing as his fingers continued their journey, tracing the outline of her bra before sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers circled her nipples, teasing them lightly before applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Lando,” she whimpered, hands reaching to grip his arms for support.

He smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Do you like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Or would you rather I go slower?”

“No,” she managed, voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. “I knew you’d be greedy.”

His hands drifted higher, thumbs slipping under the straps of her bra and easing them down her arms. With practiced deftness he unhooked the clasp, stripping the lace away to bare her breasts to the cool air—and to his hungry gaze. A soft gasp escaped her throat as the garment joined the growing pile on the floor.

Without pausing, he found the hidden zipper at the small of her back. The sound of metal teeth parting was faint, almost teasing, as he drew it downward in one slow, deliberate motion. The dress loosened, silk sliding over her hips before gravity claimed the fabric. It puddled at her feet in a silent surrender, leaving her exposed beneath the dim light while his eyes roamed every inch of newly revealed skin.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a moan as his fingers reached the edge of her panties and pressed against the fabric as if testing the waters.

“Take them off,” he said, voice calm but insistent. “I want to see you completely bare.”

She hesitated, unsure, but his stare was unrelenting. Slowly, she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and leaving them pooled at her feet. He let out a low whistle, eyes raking over her nakedness with obvious appreciation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice filled with genuine admiration. “Absolutely beautiful.”

His hands returned to her hips, guiding her closer as he stepped forward. She felt the hard length of his erection pressing against her stomach, and gasped at the sudden intimacy. He let out a soft groan, hands tightening on her waist as he ground himself against her.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, voice thick with desire. “So warm, so wet—”

She whimpered, hands grasping his shoulders as he continued to move against her. The friction was maddening, building the tension inside her until it felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she breathed, voice barely audible over her pounding heart. “Please—”

He pulled back slightly, hands sliding to her thighs. “Bend over,” he commanded, voice firm and unyielding. “I want to see you spread for me.”

She hesitated, heart racing as the words sank in, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze, the raw hunger that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Slowly, she bent over again, placing her hands on the countertop and spreading her legs wide.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice filled with satisfaction as he stepped behind her. “Perfect.”

She felt his presence close, his warmth enveloping her as he moved in. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his jeans, the quiet rustle of fabric stirring her anticipation. He remained clothed otherwise, only freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, the intimacy somehow heightened by the contrast. His hands returned to grip her hips firmly, steadying her as he positioned himself at her entrance. She held her breath, anticipation humming through her veins as she waited for his next move.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice low and intimate. “Because I’m not going to hold back.”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando—”

He didn’t waste any time. With one swift motion, he plunged into her, filling her completely. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, body clenching around him as he began to move.

Lando’s thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, each one drawing a soft moan from her lips. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, every curve and contour of her body. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the line of her ribs before wrapping around her torso, pulling her back against him. She felt his breath hot on her neck, lips brushing her skin as he whispered sweet, filthy things in her ear.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “So tight, so perfect—”

His words sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn’t help but press herself back against him, urging him on. His grip on her hips tightened, and then, without warning, he picked up the pace. His thrusts became more urgent, deeper, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She moaned loudly, head falling forward as she struggled to keep up with his rhythm.

“Oh God, Lando…” she gasped, voice breaking. “Harder… please—”

He didn’t need telling twice. With a growl, he grabbed her waist and pulled her back onto him, driving into her with even more force. She felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he pounded into her. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he continued to thrust deeper and harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice rough and primal. “Take it… take all of me—”

She whimpered, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. His thrusts were relentless now, each one sending ripples of pleasure through her entire body. She felt her orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter inside with every movement.

Lando’s hands slipped to her thighs, lifting them slightly as he adjusted his angle. The change sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she cried out as he hit that perfect spot deep inside.

“Fuck, yes!” she screamed, voice echoing off the walls. “Don’t stop, Lando… don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, he only pushed harder, his movements almost desperate now. She felt his cock twitching inside her, evidence of his own impending release, yet still he kept going, driving into her with everything he had.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice ragged. “So close—”

She felt it too, tension in her body reaching breaking point. Her legs trembled, muscles quivering as pleasure threatened to consume her. She wanted to hold on, to prolong the sensation, but it was no use. The wave was coming, unstoppable.

“Lando!” she screamed as her orgasm finally hit. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, body convulsing around him as she came apart. She clung to the counter, legs nearly giving out as pleasure overwhelmed every fiber of her being.

Lando didn’t slow. If anything, he sped up, matching her rhythm as he chased his own release. His thrusts became erratic, breathing harsh and uneven as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I can’t… I can’t wait…” he groaned, voice strained. “So good, baby… so fucking good—”

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he found his release. His body went rigid, hands gripping her hips as he spilled inside. She felt the warm rush fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her back, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You have no idea how good that felt—”

She smiled softly, turning her head to kiss his temple. “I think I might have some ideas.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. His hands began exploring her body again, gently caressing her skin as he slowly withdrew from inside her. She bit her lip, feeling a slight pang of emptiness as he pulled out, but it was quickly replaced by a new wave of arousal.

Lando seemed to sense it too, because his hands immediately went to work. He turned her around, pressing her back against the counter as his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring every inch as his hands roamed over her body, teasing and taunting as he built her back up.

“You’re insatiable,” she murmured against his lips, voice laced with amusement.

He smirked, pulling back slightly to look down at her. “And you love it.”

Lando’s arms tightened around her as he hoisted her up effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She let out a soft gasp, core still sensitive from the intensity of moments before, but his touch—his presence—was already reigniting the fire within her. His hands steadied her, one gripping her thigh while the other pressed firmly against her back, pulling her closer.

The kitchen counter was just behind her, and for a moment, she wondered if he might set her down there again, but instead, he carried her toward the hallway, his stride confident and purposeful.

“Where are we going?” she asked playfully, voice teasing as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Her breath tickled his skin, and she felt the faintest shiver run through him, though his expression remained assured as ever.

“You’ll see,” he said, tone low and smooth, like molten caramel. There was something dangerous in his voice, something that made her pulse quicken. His lips brushed her ear, sending electricity down her spine. “Just trust me.”

Trust me. It sounded simple enough, but coming from him, it was an invitation to surrender completely. And she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

He walked with her nestled against him, his body warm and solid beneath her hands. She could feel every ridge of muscle, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong. His cologne surrounded her, a heady mix of cedarwood and spice that made her head spin. Every step brought them closer to the bedroom, and with each passing second, the anticipation grew thicker in the air.

When he finally reached the door, Lando kicked it open with a single powerful motion, carrying her inside. The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the night sky filtering through the curtains. He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on her hips before sliding up her sides. She looked up at him, heart pounding in her chest, and saw the same hunger in his eyes that she felt on her own.

“Undress me,” he commanded, voice firm but not harsh. There was no room for hesitation, no chance to second-guess herself. She nodded, swallowing hard as she reached for the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers fumbled slightly, betraying the nervous excitement coursing through her, but he didn’t rush her. Instead, he watched with an amused glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying the sight of her eager yet slightly uncertain.

One by one, she popped the buttons open, revealing the expanse of his chest beneath. His skin gleamed under the soft light, and when her fingers grazed over his stomach, she felt the ripple of muscle. He wasn’t just handsome—he was powerful, and the realization sent a thrill racing through her veins.

Once the shirt was off, she moved her hands up and down his abdomen, looking up at him with a coy smile.

“What’s next?” she asked, voice dripping with mischief.

“Don’t play games with me,” he warned lightly, though there was no real threat in his tone. If anything, his words only fueled her boldness.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his collarbone, feeling his body tense beneath her. Then, with deliberate slowness, she kissed her way down his chest, stopping to nip at his skin just above his navel. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands tightening on her shoulders as if to keep himself grounded. But she wasn’t done yet.

With a flick of her wrist, she tugged his jeans down over his hips, the zipper already undone from before. His boxers slid off easily with them, pooling at his ankles. His cock sprang completely free—already hard again, still slick with her from the last time he’d been buried deep inside her. The sight made her breath hitch.

He was big. Thick, flushed, glistening not just with pre-cum but with the wet evidence of what they’d just done. Her thighs instinctively pressed together as her core clenched around nothing, aching for him again. She stared for a moment, unable to look away, her mouth slightly parted as heat rushed through her.

Lando groaned, grip tightening as he stepped out of his pants. “Take me,” he growled, voice deep and commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

Her breath caught, but there was no hesitation now. She shifted back on the bed, spreading her legs slightly as she positioned herself. Lando climbed onto the mattress, movements fluid and confident, and knelt between her thighs. His gaze locked onto hers, desire burning in his eyes—a reflection of her own.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice rough and raw.

She nodded, biting her lip as she reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his length, squeezing gently as she guided him toward her entrance. He groaned again, hips twitching as she stroked him, and she felt a surge of satisfaction—she was in control now, and the power thrilled her.

But just as she began to lower herself onto him, Lando pulled back, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Wait,” he said quietly, voice tinged with something darker and more possessive. “I want to taste you first.”

Before she could respond, he shifted, settling himself between her legs. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider as his head dipped. Then his tongue was on her, sliding along her folds with expert precision. She cried out, arching her back as his mouth worked its magic, licking and sucking with a fervor that left her breathless.

“Lando…” she moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair as he buried his face between her legs. His tongue delved deeper, flicking against her clit with relentless pressure, orchestrating every movement, every sensation. She was nothing but a willing participant in his game.

“Fuck, Y/N… you taste so good,” he murmured, voice muffled but commanding. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her legs higher as he continued to devour her, making no effort to hide his pleasure. “So sweet…”

Her head lolled back against the pillows, body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando’s tongue was relentless, exploring every inch of her, the tension building inside, threatening to overwhelm her.

“Lando, I’m… I’m gonna—” she gasped, voice breaking as her orgasm surged closer.

He didn’t stop; he doubled down, thrusting his tongue inside her with renewed vigor. His fingers found her clit, rubbing in circles as his mouth worked in tandem, the combination too much. Her vision blurred, stars bursting behind her eyelids as she came, hips bucking against him as waves of ecstasy washed over her.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Lando lifted his head, eyes filled with desire and smoldering. He crawled up her body, kissing her deeply as his hands roamed her skin, rekindling the fire that had barely cooled.

“Now,” he said, voice thick with arousal, “fuck me.”

She reached for him, her hand wrapping around his cock with a firm grip. Her eyes locked onto his as she guided him to her entrance, her body trembling with anticipation. Lando’s breath hitched, his gaze darkening as he watched her, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

“Take me,” he growled, voice thick with need. “Show me how much you want it.”

She didn’t hesitate. With a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered herself onto him, gasping as he filled her completely. Her head fell back against the pillows, a moan escaping her lips as she felt every inch of him stretching her, claiming her. Lando groaned above her, his hands tightening on her hips as he watched her take him, his eyes blazing with desire.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

She began to move. Her hips rolled up to meet his, slow at first—deliberate, controlled. The thick slide of him inside her made her gasp, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coiled hot and tight in her core. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin with each motion, as if anchoring herself to the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

She set the rhythm, hips tilting, grinding, riding each thrust with a desperate, breathless need. The drag of his cock inside her was perfect, deep, filling her so completely it was dizzying. Wet sounds filled the room, their bodies moving in perfect sync, skin against skin, heat against heat.

Lando’s breath came in ragged gasps above her, jaw clenched as he held himself back, letting her take everything she needed. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to hers.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Take what you need.”

She moaned, the sound breaking free from her throat as her hips moved beneath him in frantic, rolling motions. She was on her back, thighs trembling as they cradled his body, and every grind of her hips sent a jolt of pleasure through her spine. She chased it—desperate, aching—her pace becoming more urgent, more erratic, even as exhaustion started to creep into her limbs.

Her body trembled with the effort, slick with sweat and need, and she could feel the burn building in her muscles, her thighs beginning to shake. But she didn’t stop. Not yet. The pleasure was too close—taunting her, tightening with every movement.

Lando hovered above her, breath ragged, his hands sliding up her sides, fingertips brushing over the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. His touch was reverent, grounding, but his eyes—his eyes burned into her with so much need it made her breath hitch. His jaw was clenched, body strung tight as he watched her fight for her release.

Her hips faltered for a moment, stuttering in their rhythm, and her hands gripped his arms harder, fingers digging into muscle.

“Lando…” she gasped, voice cracking with desperation. “I need you… I need you to fuck me.”

His entire body shuddered at her words, restraint snapping in an instant. He dipped down, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you just started.”

And then he took over. Lando didn’t wait. With a growl, he surged forward, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her toward him. In one swift motion, he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, and drove into her with a force that made her cry out. Her back arched off the bed, her hands scrambling for grip on the sheets as he claimed her completely.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

He didn’t hold back. His hips snapped against hers, each thrust driving her deeper into the mattress. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She gasped, her nails digging into his arms as he fucked her with a relentless rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Lando!” she cried, her voice breaking as the pleasure built inside her. “Oh God, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. If anything, he only went harder, his hands tightening on her hips as he pinned her down, taking what he wanted. She could feel the power in every movement, the way he controlled her body, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

She nodded frantically, unable to form words as the intensity of it all consumed her. Her legs trembled where they rested on his shoulders, her body completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he continued to fuck her, his tongue sliding against hers in a parallel of what his cock was doing to her.

“Come for me,” he demanded, breaking the kiss to look down at her. His eyes were filled with a hunger that made her shiver. “I want to feel you come around me.”

She didn’t need telling twice. With a cry, she shattered, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on her hips almost bruising.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Inside me,” she begged, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando, come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up. I need it—I need you.” Her hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if she could somehow make him deeper, make him stay forever. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything. I want to feel you pulse inside me, feel you claim me completely.”

Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his control slipping as her words drove him wild. “Fuck, you’re so greedy,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting to meet his every thrust. “I need it. I need to feel you come inside me, Lando. Please, I want to be yours. I want to feel you mark me, own me. Please.”

Her words were like a match to gasoline, igniting something primal in him. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he drove into her with a force that left her breathless. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

“Yes,” she cried, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a crescendo. “Yours. Always yours. Just come inside me, Lando. I need it. I need you.”

With a final, powerful thrust, he did. His body went rigid above her, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he spilled inside her. She felt the warmth fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just lay there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

Lando pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at her with a wicked grin. “You’re so fucking naughty,” he teased, his voice low and husky. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” His fingers traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, sending shivers through her already sensitive body. “But I like it. I like it a lot.”

She blushed, her cheeks flushing crimson as she tried to catch her breath. “You bring it out of me,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, before leaning down to kiss her gently. His lips were soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. “Good,” he whispered against her mouth. “Because I plan to keep bringing it out of you.”

As the heat between them began to cool, Lando shifted, pulling her into his arms. He laid back against the pillows, cradling her against his chest. His fingers trailed lightly over her skin, soothing and gentle now, as if he were trying to erase any lingering tension. She sighed, melting into him, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, nuzzling closer to him. “More than okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That was… incredible.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re incredible,” he murmured. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and content. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. Lando’s touch was tender now, his hands moving in slow, comforting strokes as he held her close. She felt safe, cherished, and utterly spent.

“Get some rest,” he said quietly, his voice a soothing rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, she let herself drift, knowing that in his arms, she was exactly where she belonged.

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pbaz7 · 1 month ago

Text

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my sleep schedule has been shitty as hell so i don’t even remember writing half of this honestly. so sorry it took so long. feel free to let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the series or any comments you have! if they’re any mistakes please let me know :)

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For about two weeks, all Paige and Azzi did was orbit around each other. They were tangled in quiet routines that they created for themselves, mixed with the perfect amount of chaotic affection. Days melted into nights with no clear beginning or end, the rhythm they’d set with each other was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Azzi managed to do a few basketball workouts here and there. Small things just to keep her body moving and active during her break. During one of them, she surprisingly discovered that Paige could actually hoop. She wasn’t flashy about it, but she moved with a gracefulness when she had the ball in her hand. Azzi had grinned at her from across the gym, a little breathless from her own workout. Paige had just smirked at her before dribbling the ball between her legs and looking away.

Grocery store trips turned into adventures, Azzi throwing random snacks in the cart just to see what Paige would veto or complain about. They cooked shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, feeding bites of food from each other’s plates and slow dancing to whatever playlist was echoing through the house. Azzi always cooked what she knew Paige preferred to eat and Paige always forced Azzi to sit down while she cleaned.

And of course mixed in with their new found domestication they were all over each other constantly. The kitchen counter, the couch, the shower, the floor that one time they drunkenly didn’t make it to the bed, in front of the fireplace, the laundry room table. It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was. If Azzi looked at Paige a certain way, that was all it took and well...Azzi was always looking at Paige a certain way.

In those two weeks Azzi discovered something soft, something she didn’t know she craved until it was in front of her. Paige had a protector’s heart, and Azzi loved every second of it.

Paige always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door; Azzi learned the hard way when Paige pushed her to the other side of the bed in the middle of REM sleep the night she had gone to bed before her. Paige unlocked the car for Azzi first, waiting until Azzi was inside before locking the door back and walking around to the driver’s side. She always chose a seat with a clear view of the exit, her posture relaxed and attuned to what Azzi was saying but always somehow alert. Azzi noticed how Paige would subtly angle herself toward her when they walked through crowds, or how Paige’s hand would naturally rest on her lower back gently leading her.

Azzi had her own small habits too. She folded Paige’s laundry in the meticulous way Paige liked it—T-shirts rolled, not folded. She helped Paige wash her hair when she complained about having to do it. She traced the lines of Paige’s back with her fingers absentmindedly when they were laying on the couch, whispering soft questions that kept her alert. She learned the difference between Paige’s “I’m fine” and her actual fine, the way her voice would dip a little lower when she was overwhelmed, how her eyes would drift somewhere to the corner when she needed a break but didn’t want to hurt Azzi’s feelings and ask for one.

In two weeks, they’d mapped out the best kind of intimacy a relationship could have. It wasn’t loud, nor performative for anyone around them but perfect for their bubble. Built through sleepy forehead kisses, late-night drives when Azzi couldn’t fall asleep, and a thousand small details that they started to memorize.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, they fell even deeper for the other, neither of them saying the words but showing it in every look, touch, and act of care.

…

Present day Azzi had just gotten goddess braids for the off season and Paige hadn’t stopped staring at her since.

Paige barely blinked when Azzi first stepped out of the salon, her eyes dragging over her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. Now on the drive home, Paige couldn’t stop glancing over, mumbling half-sentences like “I feel like I’m cheating, swear to God.”

Azzi just laughed as she rested her elbow against the window and turned her head toward Paige. “Mmm you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the door.”

Paige just shook her head, biting her lip, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s hair down to her collarbone like she couldn’t help herself before drifting back to the road. “I’m tryna be respectful baby, but Jesus.”

As soon as the front door closed Paige was behind Azzi, wrapping her arms around her waist and brushing her lips against her shoulder as she spoke. “You got me a lil ready for you already, mama,” she whispered.

Azzi turned her head slightly to whisper back, “You’re the one out here in all black like you don’t know what that does to me.”

Paige hummed, a small smile on her lips. “So we thinkin’ the same thing.”

Azzi laughed and tried to walk away, to at least kick off her shoes and grab some water, but Paige wasn’t having it as she immediately tugged Azzi gently back against her. “Just lemme look at you for a second,” Paige whispered, and Azzi could hear the sincerity in her voice. She turned, slowly to face her fully now. Paige’s heart skipped as her eyes met Azzi’s again, her gaze drinking in every new detail. The braids framed Azzi’s face perfectly and they were pulled back enough to show off her dimples and her doe eyes.

Paige reached up, using her middle finger and thumb to brush one of the braids like it was something delicate. “You look perfect,” she said, quietly. “Like…fuck man.”

Azzi let her hands rest on Paige’s hips, slipping her thumbs underneath the edge of the black tank top she’d been side-eyeing all day. “Lemme see how perfect you can make me feel baby.”

Paige grinned as she gently grabbed Azzi’s chin before connecting their lips. Making sure to kiss her intentionally; hungry in that way that never seemed to go away no matter how many days they spent tangled up in each other.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige swept her arms under Azzi’s thighs and lifted her off the ground causing Azzi to gasp against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. Paige carried her to the kitchen and sat her on the counter gently to stand between her legs.

Azzi barely had time to process the cold surface against her thighs before she felt Paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands under her shirt, trailing up her sides like she already knew every inch of her skin by heart.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Paige was helping Azzi pull off her shirt. Throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. She pulled back to take a breath and her eyes roamed over Azzi’s chest, her jaw tightening slightly.

“God damn,” she mumbled, her eyes full of admiration as she leaned in again, kissing and sucking along Azzi’s chest.

Azzi messily pulled Paige’s tank up and over her head, revealing the bruises, scratches, and love bites still fresh across her skin. Azzi’s eyes dragged over each one. All of them were small territorial pieces of evidence from the other day when Paige practically dared her to make a point because Azzi was pissy over another woman touching Paige’s arm.

Her fingers ghosted over the marks on Paige’s ribs, and she smiled. “I like these on you.”

Paige smiled as her mouth continued to trail down the valley of Azzi’s chest. “Still feel it every time I move.”

Azzi’s fingers moved down to undo Paige’s belt, her breath catching when Paige pulled her bra down slightly and her teeth nipped at her nipple before soothing it with her tongue. “Good,” she whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t let other bitches flirt with you in front of me.”

Paige laughed against her chest. “Nobody was flirting with me baby.”

Azzi just rolled her eyes and pulled Paige up to connect their lips. They were so wrapped up in one another—Azzi fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, Paige pulling at Azzi’s hips to get closer, her belt clinking against the edge of the counter—that they didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t hear the keys drop in the bowl by the entrance.

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige bit at her bottom lip before sloppily trailing down her neck.

The belt clinked softly against the edge of the counter again, but it was barely noticeable over the sounds of their own breathing. Azzi moaned softly as Paige sucked on the pulse point of her neck, moving her hands down to grip the edge of the counter.

“Yo, are y’all—? Oh my God!”

Azzi was slightly startled and on instinct pulled Paige closer to her to block their view, her chest unsteady as they both turned their heads toward the kitchen entrance.

Cam spun around so fast her blonde braid whipped behind her, using her hands to cover her face as she squeezed her eyes shut in horror. “Lord, please, I am begging you to please never let me see my sister like that again. Please, God. Take the memory away.”

Rickea and Rae stood there completely frozen, their mouths slightly open, Rickea’s eyes scanning Paige’s torso in shock while Rae’s just stayed locked in place.

Meanwhile, DiJonai brushed right past them all to open the fridge like she wasn’t surprised at what she’d just walked into in the slightest. Only offering a, “Y’all better not be sweating on the counters I’m supposed to be cooking on.”

Once Azzi adjusted her bra she turned fully toward the group looking a little mortified.

Paige, on the other hand, leaned against the counter casually and seemed completely unbothered, even with her pants still undone and her abs on display.

Rickea let out a whistle as her eyes dragged across Paige’s torso. “Damn...look like somebody been busy. She been fucking you up.”

Paige glanced down at herself and smirked. “Lil bit.”

Cam, who was still turned away, groaned louder. “Why are you answering her?! Paige I cannot unsee this. I need bleach for my eyes. Therapy maybe.”

Rae blinked once, still not saying anything, but her gaze hadn’t moved away from Paige’s exposed stomach and the way her opened pants hung a little too low on her hips.

Azzi noticed and her jaw tensed, a slight possessiveness burning in her chest as she snatched Paige’s shirt off the counter and tossed it at her aggressively. “Put on a shirt.”

Paige easily caught it sliding the black tank top over her head without saying anything. She took her time buttoning and zipping her pants before looping her belt back through. Azzi could tell that her usual wall was back up without her even saying anything.

Rickea laughed under her breath, elbowing Rae. “You really couldn’t look anywhere else?”

Rae blinked again, like she finally snapped out of her daze. “I—I didn’t even realize. That was involuntary, I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Azzi said flatly, yanking her own shirt over her head. “Y’all ever heard of knocking?”

Before anyone could respond, Cam, who was still facing the other direction with her eyes on the ceiling said, “Paige, are you fully clothed now?”

Paige didn’t bother answering. She moved to brush past her before heading upstairs. Which, of course, left Azzi standing alone in the kitchen.

“So that’s what y’all be on?” Rickea teased, as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I ain’t know you were a lil kinky.”

Cam groaned.

Rae, who was leaning on the counter, decided to add her two cents, “So what’s the safe word?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible. “Y’all are annoying.”

“Annoying, or right?” Rickea grinned. “Because the evidence is all over Paige’s body.”

“It’s giving: ‘do not cook on that counter,’” Cam mumbled, finally turning around. “I swear if I ever eat toast off that counter again and catch a flavor—”

“Cam,” Azzi groaned, her face starting to burn as she reached for a water bottle to occupy her hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Cam repeated. “You had my sister shirtless with her pants open in the kitchen in the middle of the day!”

“And I’d do it again,” Azzi said under her breath, but it was loud enough to make Rickea holler.

“She said what she said!”

DiJonai, who was sitting at the counter eating grapes, finally spoke up. “Y’all acting shocked like we ain’t all see this coming eventually.”

“True,” Rickea nodded. “Still...the kitchen, though Azzi?”

Azzi took a sip of her water and shrugged. “The vibe was right.”

Before anyone could respond, they heard Paige coming back down the stairs and they all turned towards her when she walked in the kitchen. “Why are y’all in my house?”

Cam looked at her like she was confused by the question. “Umm, maybe because your entire family is in town and coming over for dinner? Or did you forget?”

Paige just blinked at her, completely void of any recognition about what she was saying.

Rickea snorted and Rae tried to hide her smile while Cam sighed dramatically. “You don’t remember, do you?” Cam asked.

“No,” Paige said dryly before walking over to reach into DiJonai’s bowl of grapes and tossing one in her mouth.

DiJonai nudged the bowl a little closer to her without looking up from her phone. “Don’t eat the green ones. They’re too sour.”

Paige wordlessly nodded before picking through the bowl until she had a small handful of red ones. When she was done she turned and made her way into the living room, sinking into the couch before throwing on a random NBA game. Muted, of course.

The others lingered in the kitchen for a few seconds before they naturally drifted after her.

“So what are we making for dinner?” Rickea asked, as she sat on the arm of the chair closest to the couch. “Cause I’m not about to eat anything Cam cooks.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “That one time the chicken was undercooked was years ago.”

“That was last summer,” Rae corrected, as she scrolled through her phone.

DiJonai walked in and said, “I got salmon when we were at the store but I’m not about to do everything myself.”

They all settled into the living room, discussing sides and who was cooking what but it started to get a little loud when Rae and Rickea were arguing over who would prep the salmon for DiJonai.

This caused Paige to break her silence without looking at them. “If you gon’ talk,” she said flatly, “at least lower your voice.”

“Damn, I thought you’d be nicer now that you’re fuckin’ all the time,” Rickea said.

Paige turned her head to give Rickea a look that was so blank it bordered on disrespectful.

Azzi, who finally wandered in the living room had two waters in her hand and passed one to Paige before easing onto the couch next to her. She glanced between Paige and the rest of the group chuckling to herself a little. “What happened to that smile you had ten minutes ago pretty?” she teased gently as she bumped Paige’s knee with her own.

Paige’s eyes shifted toward her and gave her a small grin, her eyes a little less closed off.

Azzi smiled back at her and Paige’s hand subtly reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and pulling Azzi a little closer as she went back to watching the game.

Just like that, the chatter picked back up the girls bouncing between kitchen plans, whose playlist sucked less, and whether or not Rae was going to get distracted and burn the garlic bread again. This all happened while Paige stayed sitting next to Azzi, only ever really dialed into the conversation when she was speaking.

…

Later that day when Paige’s family got there, it was immediately chaotic. The door barely swung open before her siblings were barreling in—Lauren asking for food, Drew talking trash to Cam and Ryan almost knocking over Rae trying to race to the living room to play her PS5.

Her dad was behind them, holding a tray of some store bought dessert and his current girlfriend’s hand, already in the middle of a story no one asked for. Her mom came in a few minutes later with a few wine bottles in her hands and a tight smile that said she’d already been sipping on one before she got there.

Paige’s house that was previously filled with a peacefulness that made her chest feel open was now just loud and ringing in her ears. Tipsy laughter, overlapping conversations: Rickea teasing Drew, Rae and Cam loudly debating over the music, DiJonai yelling from the kitchen about Rae almost burning the garlic bread. Azzi was the only one who didn’t make Paige want to disappear.

Paige didn’t say much. She drifted around the edges of the room, slipping between the kitchen and couch and wherever else she could avoid contact. When the adults asked her questions, she gave clipped responses. When her siblings bugged her, she tried to soften for them, but even then her voice stayed flat. She wasn’t mad, she just felt tired causing her to want to disconnect from the chaos.

Still the night was going fine, as fine as Paige could manage until her dad brought up the fight.

“You know,” he said, laughing too loudly over his whisky glass as he tossed a card on the table, “that was probably the most impressive fight I’ve ever seen from you, kid. I mean, everything about it was perfect. The setup, the speed, everything. Never seen anything more beautiful.”

Paige didn’t look up from her hand as she tossed a card down. “Thanks,” she said flatly, not bothering to fake a smile.

“Seriously I mean it, though! You were locked in like you used to be back in the day. We were all watching it on the big screen at—what was it, Sam’s place I think?” he glanced over his shoulder towards his girlfriend for confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we were all losing our damn minds. All my buddies were blown away.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it.”

Her dad looked surprised at this statement. “How do you not remember something like that?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head like he couldn’t accept that and reached for the remote. “You gotta see it. It’s everywhere. Think it has millions of views on YouTube now. Whole crowd was on their feet in the background.”

Paige's hand twitched in her lap before she pressed her nails into her palm. “I’m not tryna watch that right now dad.”

He waved her off like she didn’t say anything at all, already pulling up the video.

The second it lit up the large screen in her living room Paige saw her own face in the corner of the screen. She saw her fists taped, her eyes dark and her shoulders a little stiff. She felt her stomach twist, that same nausea from after the fight creeping in her abdomen and a metallic taste feeling the back of her throat. She couldn’t process the emptiness she saw on her own face.

Paige stood up quietly, taking the cards off her lap and putting them on the table without saying anything before walking out of the room. Tripping slightly over her foot on the way out.

From the kitchen where she was making Paige a drink, Azzi caught movement in the corner of her eye. She walked toward the living room, slightly confused when she heard the voice of a flight announcer yelling through the HD speakers of Paige’s living room.

The video seemed like it rolled in slow motion, showing Paige standing there, flexing her jaw as the ref gave final instructions. Azzi wasn’t listening to the sound coming from the TV, she was watching Paige’s face. Watching the hollowness in her expression, how empty her beautiful blue eyes looked as the camera zoomed in.

Azzi’s grip on the glass she was holding tightened. How did no one else see it? DiJonai, to her credit, looked uneasy. Her arms were crossed as she looked at the screen for a few seconds before she just tore her eyes away and pulled out her phone.

“Where’s Paige?” Azzi asked.

No one looked up, not wanting to miss the fight that just started.

DiJonai answered when she noticed nobody else was going to say anything. “I think she went upstairs.”

Azzi nodded once, pressing her lips together. “Thanks.” She moved to put her drink down on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs, the noise of the living room getting quieter.

When she stepped into Paige’s room it was empty but she noticed that the bathroom door was closed and she heard the sound of running water echoing behind it. She walked over and knocked on the door gently.

A tired, “What?” came from the other side.

“It’s me, baby,” Azzi said softly.

There was a pause. Then Paige’s voice came back noticeably softer now: “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door and stepped inside.

Paige was standing at the sink and her face was damp like she’d just splashed water on it in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes were rimmed with a redness, not quite from crying, but Azzi could tell she was close to it.

Azzi crossed the small space between them moving to weave her fingers into Paige’s hair, coming through the strands gently.

Paige closed her eyes at the feeling as she leaned into it.

“You okay?” Azzi whispered

“No,” Paige said truthfully. Then she added, “I just need a minute though.”

Azzi nodded. “Is there something I can do?”

Instead of answering, Paige reached out and pulled her in by the waist, gently, resting her forehead against Azzi’s for a moment before tilting down and kissing her softly. It was slow, the kind of kiss that silently said thank you even if she didn’t have the words for anything else yet.

Azzi always brought her back. Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s presence, Azzi was just always something steady in the chaos for Paige.

When they pulled away, Paige brushed her thumb over Azzi’s cheek and whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“Before bed?”

Paige smiled at her and confirmed, “Before bed beautiful.”

Azzi kissed her one more time before giving her one more glance before stepping back. “Don’t stay up here too long, you know I’m clingy”

Paige nodded again as she chuckled, her eyes already softer. “I won’t.”

When Azzi got back downstairs, the fight was still playing on the TV but her eyes landed on DiJonai who was sitting at the island in the kitchen. Azzi made her way over there instead of sitting on the couch, slipping into the stool next to her.

“She good?” DiJonai asked without looking up from her phone.

Azzi nodded lightly. “She’ll be ok.”

DiJonai gave a small nod.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you…you know, for being there for her when she went to Dallas.”

DiJonai shrugged like it was nothing. “Of course.”

“I know she won’t ever say it,” Azzi said, “but she appreciates you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

DiJonai laughed as she leaned back a little. “I know. She can’t hide it.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head thinking about Paige. After a moment she asked, “How’d you meet?”

DiJonai’s eyebrows raised in amusement thinking about the story. “She hasn’t told you?”

Azzi shook her head.

DiJonai let out a short laugh. “Okay, so this was Cam’s rookie year, so maybe over three years ago now? We were at this open run at a gym in L.A. Some pros, some overseas girls, just a bunch of random people. Paige was there, sitting on the side. She didn’t say shit the whole time really, was kind of just there watching.”

Azzi nodded as she listened.

“She was just staring and at first I thought she was zoned out, but it lasted for a while and eventually I was like alright she’s definitely starring. So I’m thinking, maybe she feelin’ me or whatever.” DiJonai grinned, shaking her head at herself. “So I walked up to her casually tryna be as nice as possible cause I didn’t know her and I was just like, ‘Hey, I saw you looking but I just wanted to let you know I’m taken.’”

Azzi laughed a little, trying to picture Paige in that moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I swear, I did,” DiJonai laughed. “And Paige was tone-faced as hell and was just like, ‘What?’ She said it super dry. So I say again, ‘You were staring, so I just thought I’d say something,’ and she was like, ‘I definitely wasn’t lookin’ at you.’”

Azzi fully laughed this time.

“It gets better,” DiJonai said, chuckling a little. “I tried to insist like, ‘Nah, you were definitely lookin’ at me.’ And she was like, ‘Promise you I wasn’t. You really not my type sweetheart.’ Then turns her head and went back to watching the run like I wasn’t standing there.”

Azzi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. “She’s so fucking rude.”

“Right?” DiJonai grinned. “But it was funny and after that, I kinda respected her ’cause she was for real not tryna get with me. Was barely interested in my presence, just wanted to watch basketball and that was rare in L.A.”

DiJonai leaned on her elbows as she continued. “I was in L.A. a lot around that time. Cam was always inviting me to runs, so I started showing up more, hanging out with them after. Paige was super closed off, but we kinda clicked eventually 'cause neither one of us was ever with the bullshit. No fake love.”

Azzi smiled again, her eyes drifting toward the staircase like she could sense Paige near it. “Yeah…that sounds like her.”

“Realest person I’ve ever met,” DiJonai said. Then she added, “She’s prolly the most stubborn too though, so…good luck with that.”

Paige walked in the kitchen, looking a little steadier than she had upstairs. Her hair was slightly damp from where she’d splashed water on her face, but her jaw wasn’t clenched anymore and her shoulders looked looser.

She looked down at Azzi, and said softly, “Talkin’ ’bout me?”

Azzi looked up at her and gave her a small smile before biting her bottom lip slightly to flirt a little. “Always.”

Paige didn’t say anything back just chuckled before walking past both of them and going into the living room. The fight was still on, probably replayed who knows how many times but Paige picked up the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring the protests around her. “Find somethin’ else.”

Azzi who was still sitting at the island smiled even though she couldn’t see Paige.

Paige sat in the corner of the couch, grabbing one of her throw blankets and pulling it over her lap.

The chaos of the house picked up again as they started to entertain themselves now that the fight was off. Her mom started telling a story about one of the AAU mom’s from Ryan’s team while Ryan and Drew immediately turned back on the PS5, Lauren yelling at them to grow up when they argued over who could use the custom controller. Paige sat through it in silence.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she walked in, she just scanned the room until her eyes landed on Paige in the corner of the couch and she made her way over, lowering herself next to her.

Paige adjusted the blanket to cover Azzi’s lap too before shifting to make space for her letting Azzi lean into her side. A loose braid fell across Azzi’s check and Paige reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against Azzi’s temple.

“You cold?” Paige asked softly when she noticed Azzi pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Azzi shook her head, smiling at her privately. “M’good baby.”

Her voice was quiet, but neither of them realized that the volume in the room dropped completely. Paige’s mom blinked at them mid-sentence, looking at them with a huge grin. Lauren elbowed Ryan, who looked over and finally noticed the moment too, while Drew stared openly.

None of her family had ever seen Paige like this. To them this was the same girl who could barely tolerate a group hug at family holidays. Now she was gently tucking a blanket over someone else, asking her if she was cold and inviting physical touch like she missed it.

Cam smirked from her chair. “Oh, so this is why you forgot about family dinner.”

Her mom, who was still grinning hugely, leaned over to whisper something to Lauren.

“You’re makin’ me look soft,” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Paige’s neck. “Mmm maybe a little, it’s okay though, right?”

Paige turned her head and when she did their faces were so close their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes held Azzi’s for longer than she intended to. A slight tension in each of their stomach’s as she whispered back, “Right.”

Azzi smiled at her answer as she shifted closer into Paige’s side, tuning back into the original conversation like nothing happened.

Even with this small moment with Azzi, since seeing herself on the TV Paige felt off. The noise around her: the laughter, the overlapping stories, the clatter of glasses seemed to blur in her ears. Not quite ringing but muffled, like she had water clogging her eardrum. Because of this her eyes and her mind drifted often, not fixated on anything in particular but certainly not present.

It happened a few times. When her mom asked Azzi about next season. When her dad laughed too loud at something Cam said. When Drew tried to show her something and she just blinked at him like he was speaking another language. Paige was sitting there but parts of her weren’t and Azzi noticed.

The first time she noticed that Paige zoned out, Azzi slid her hand under the blanket and gently tapped her knee twice. Paige blinked a few times, then glanced over, and Azzi gave her a slight smile, silently asking if she was ok. Paige didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened when she looked at Azzi.

When it happened again, Azzi picked up a strawberry off the table and held it in front of Paige’s mouth without saying anything. Paige stared at it for a second, before she parted her lips slowly bitting it from Azzi’s fingers, chewing absentmindedly while Azzi ate the rest of it.

At one point, Paige leaned her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Azzi let them stay shut for a while but eventually she nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “You fallin’ asleep on me big head?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t open her eyes, just gave a raspy “No.” But then she cracked a small smile just for Azzi.

Each time Paige drifted off into her own head, or just spaced out all together Azzi brought her back. Paige offering something small each time to show she appreciated it without saying it outright.

Eventually, DiJonai called out that dinner was ready and the group started moving toward the dining room. Paige stood up slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan and Azzi just laughed at her before waiting for her to walk to the table.

As everyone began picking seats around the table, Azzi started to slide into the open seat next to Cam, assuming Paige’s mom would want to sit next to her daughter but as she started to lower herself into the chair, she felt a soft grip wrap around her wrist.

Paige tugged her back toward the seat next to her. Azzi glanced at Paige’s mom who just gave her a small smile putting her hand on her shoulder before sitting in the seat next to Cam.

Dinner was filled with inside jokes from the kids and overlapping conversation. One of them tried to explain a TikTok trend to their dad who just kept saying it didn’t make any sense. Rae bragged about how everybody seemed to like the garlic bread this time and Cam tried to say they weren’t that good despite being on her second piece already. It was the perfect mix of warmth and noise.

Paige sat in the middle of it all again, quietly chewing on her food, smiling occasionally, but once again there were moments. Smakk fleeting moments where she just faded out. Her eyes would drift down to her plate and her jaw would tighten briefly before loosening again like she was forcing herself to relax.

Once again Azzi saw it each time. She’d nudge Paige’s foot with her own under the table. Whisper something dumb about how aggressive Cam was using her fork. Point out how Drew was eating like somebody was going to steal his plate. Each small effort drew the corners of Paige’s up, even if it was just for a second.

Azzi knew that seeing the fight was bothering her. Getting her stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be so she just wanted to do small things to keep her present.

But like all dads who can’t help but want to brag about their kids, her dad opened his mouth about the fight again. “You know,” he said mid-chew, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I still don’t get why you’re not more pumped about that fight kid. I mean, it was legendary. How are you not still riding that high? Figured we’d have to pull you out of the gym for dinner.”

Paige pushed a piece of a pepper around her plate with her fork before answering, “Told you. I don’t remember it.”

Her dad laughed, confused on why she kept saying this. “C’mon, how do you not remember a fight like that? You were insane out there. I’ve watched it more times than I can count and it’s only been two weeks.”

“I dissociated so bad I don’t remember it.”

There was a pause as everyone processed the words differently. Some thinking it was a good thing, others finally noticing how messed up she seems about the fight.

Her dad just grinned, eating a bite of his salmon before saying, “Man, that’s a different kind of locked in. That’s next-level. Mind of a killer.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi tried to step in, change the subject a little. “Okay, but can we please talk about how Cam is on her third piece of garlic bread tonight. I vividly remember her saying she’d never eat anything Rae touched.”

Everyone laughed. Well everyone except Paige, who didn’t even look up from her plate and her dad who was still curious about fighting.

Her dad leaned in, waving his fork around. “So what are you thinking for the next one? If it’s anything like that last fight, I gotta be there in person. Can’t afford to miss a show like that.”

Paige’s voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear over the chatter. “I’m takin’ a break.”

He blinked at her. “A break?”

She didn’t bother to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, frowning now.

“I mean,” Paige said slower, drier, “I’m takin’ a break. Not fighting.”

Her dad gave a quick scoff, like he was brushing it off. “Come on, kid. What? That was probably the best form you’ve been in since you started. You had that girl out of her league. You got—”

“I just need a break,” Paige cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

There was a brief silence until Ryan, her younger brother, piped up with a grin, trying to lighten the mood but not fully knowing any better with his comment. “She probably just wants more time up under Azzi.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it landed wrong, especially the way he said it.

Paige turned her head toward him and her expression was unreadable. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.”

The grin faded off his face, and he looked down at his plate.

Her dad sighed, clearly still not understanding. “Okay, so how long you thinkin’? Just a few weeks without hitting the gym? A month?”

“I don’t know dad.”

“Well, you better figure it out soon,” he said, voice picking up at the end of each word. “There’s already talk about someone throwing another challenge your way in a few months. Big up and comer. Could be a real headliner if everybody plays their cards right.”

“I’m reigning champ,” Paige replied, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll be fine saying no to one fight.”

“But you know how this works. Momentum matters. You slow down now, people start talking—”

Paige dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate and looked up. When she did her eyes looked tired but there was a sharpness to them. “I don’t need you to manage my career, I pay somebody for that.”

That shut him up and no one else spoke after that. The table felt still, suspended in a slight awkwardness for a second until Rickea at the far end changed the subject with a forced laugh and a comment about Rae.

Paige didn’t join in. She reached for her napkin, wiped her mouth before pushing her chair back and getting up from the table. She quietly walked towards the patio doors before slipping into the backyard.

Everyone kept eating like nothing happened, even though the energy had shifted just a little.

Azzi gave her a few minutes, enough time to breathe without an audience; gather herself if she needed to, before she quietly stood up and followed her outside.

When Azzi stepped out the night air was a little brisk so she wrapped her arms around herself before her eyes caught the light coming from the far end of the yard in the gym.

When she stepped inside, Paige’s scent filled the air naturally along with the smell of leather and lavender. Her eyes landed on the cage where she saw Paige lying flat on her back in the middle of it with her eyes fixed on the ceiling like she was trying to find answers in her ceiling.

Azzi walked into the cage quietly and eased herself down next to Paige not saying anything. She just laid there with her, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies naturally aligning like puzzle pieces.

After a moment, Paige reached over and pulled Azzi into her chest and Azzi adjusted herself to fit more comfortably, draping her arm across Paige’s waist and resting her head where she could hear the thump of her heart. It was loud, louder than usual. Like it had something to say to the rest of Paige’s body.

They laid like that, in the stillness of the gym, until Azzi spoke up. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours please.”

Paige exhaled, using her fingers to toying with one of Azzi’s braids, a grounding motion more for herself than anything else. “I just don’t feel fully here right now,” she admitted quietly. “I Can feel myself dissociating and I…I don’t like it. I’ve been fine for two weeks before today.”

“It didn’t start happening until he brought up the fight,” Azzi pointed out, watching her reaction closely.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I know.” There was a long pause before she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared past the ceiling. “My body still feels physically sick when I think about it. Like it happened today. Like I’m back there. I have to force myself not to think about it the second I wake up. Every day. Like I’m making a conscious decision to not let it spiral the moment I open my eyes.”

Azzi moved her hand up to the base of her neck, running her fingers through her hair again. “Ohh,” she said with a big grin, trying to lift the weight in Paige’s chest with a joke, “so that’s why you’ve been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, claiming you’re bored?”

Paige let out a laugh, the first real one of the night. “God forbid I need a little entertainment first thing.”

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes at the excuse before swinging her leg over to straddle Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s hips without thinking.

Azzi leaned down, her fingertips moving through Paige’s roots in a calming pattern. “The psychiatrist we found. She’s scheduled to come tomorrow, right?”

Paige nodded, as she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You still good with it?” Azzi asked softly.

“I mean…not excited,” Paige murmured, “but I know I need to talk to somebody. Can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

Azzi brushed a bit of hair away from her forehead with her thumb. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me all the time. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Paige said, opening her eyes to look down to meet Azzi’s. “It’s the only reason I’m not losing my mind right now.”

Azzi tilted her head up. “That and the fact I’m a phenomenal emotional support girlfriend.”

Paige smirked, squeezing her hips. “Mmm. Top tier, really.”

Azzi leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. “Can’t let you forget it.”

She lingered there, close enough for her breath to tickle Paige’s lips as she smiled at her. Then, gently, she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a soft kiss. It was filled with the natural affection that started to live in the space they’d carved for each other.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s sides, brushing her thumbs over her ribs as she melted into the softness of Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shifted down, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she caught Paige’s lower lip between hers. Paige’s spine pressed into the floor of the cage as Azzi pressed down further, rolling her hips once to test the waters. Then again when she heard a soft hum at the base of Paige’s throat.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s torso, wanting to be closer to her.

Then a knock on the gym door interrupted the moment.

Paige let her head fall back against the floor with a soft thud as she groaned in frustration.

Azzi immediately swatted her shoulder. “Why would you let your big ass head fall back like that?” She rolled off of Paige with a sigh when all she did was just grinned up at her.

Eventually Paige called out dryly, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and her dad poppied his head in, looking half-guilty. “We’re gonna head out, kid. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Paige gave him a thumbs up, not bothering to sit up. Her dad gave her a tight smile before pulling the door shut behind him.

The silence barely lasted a heartbeat before Paige was pulling Azzi back toward her, curling her hands around her waist again. Azzi leaned in close, letting their nose brush and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed before she whispered against her lips, “No.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted, “You’re no fun.”

Azzi grinned and gave her a quick peck. “Don’t pout. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

Paige grinned widely and she looked so cute it made it hard for Azzi not to give in to her when she said, “Why not now?”

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to answer when the gym doors slammed open with a loud bang.

“Yo stop fuckin!” Rickea’s yelled.

“We knew y’all were hidin’ in here somewhere,” Rae added as they all walked in ready to distract Paige in whatever way she needed.

DiJonai walked in last, shaking her head. “Look at this. Can’t leave y'all alone for five seconds.”

Azzi huffed, sitting up reluctantly mumbling, “That’s why not.”

Paige sighed, letting her head fall back against the mat again, mumbling to herself, “This is why I can't have nice things.”

Rickea squinted at the two of them from the edge of the cage. “Y’all makin’ out in here or having a kumbaya? I can’t tell.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes like she was trying to will the interruption away while Azzi stands up, brushing off her pants.

Cam chimed in not wanting to hear anything about what they were potentially doing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Paigey, you gotta teach Rae how to throw a punch.”

“No,” Paige said flatly without opening her eyes.

That got the whole group laughing.

“Wait, seriously though, she doesn’t know how to throw one.”

Paige finally cracked her eye’s open, locking eyes with Rae. “You deadass?”

“Unfortunately,” Rae admitted with a small shrug, clearly not proud of it.

Paige exhaled like it physically pained her to get up from where she was. Still she sat up slowly, rolling her neck before stepping out of the cage. “Grab wrap and some gloves,” she mumbled as she made her way toward a bench.

Rickea leaned over to Rae, whispering. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid or Azzi gon’ get you.”

Rae shoved her lightly, laughing under her breath as she walked toward the wall Paige pointed to.

The second Paige sat down at the bench, Azzi followed her and slid in behind her, draping her arms around Paige’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. The move seemed casual, but there was a slight deliberate possession in the decision.

Paige tilted her head back to glance at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s lips brushed her ear as she whispered, “Don’t be all touchy.”

Rae walked up holding the wrap and gloves in her hands as she plopped down cross-legged in front of Paige before she could respond. Paige just chuckled at Azzi’s whispered warning.

Without pulling away from the way Azzi was draped over her shoulders and trailing her nails across her neck Paige reached out and grabbed one of Rae’s hands as she started to work the wrap around her knuckles.

“So wait,” Cam said, as she leaned against the wall, “how you a whole D1 athlete and don’t know how to throw a punch Rae?”

“I play basketball, not Mortal Kombat,” Rae answered like it was a stupid question.

Rickea snorted. “Girl, with how you foul, I just assumed you’d be good at it.”

“See, this is why I don’t play defense,” Rae mumbled under her breath.

As Paige silently focused on wrapping Rae’s fingers, Azzi stayed behind her, practically molded to her back. Her hands moved down to casually slide beneath Paige’s sweatshirt, her nails scratching softly at the skin near her waist.

Paige’s movements stuttered briefly, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Azzi leaned in to whisper, “Just making sure you don’t forget I’m here.”

“You’re literally in my spine,” Paige muttered.

“Exactly,” Azzi grinned.

DiJonai walked up, holding up her wrapped hands for Paige to inspect, having learned to do it herself during Paige’s extended stay in Dallas. Paige glanced at them, gave her a quick nod, and DiJonai went back to her corner to put some gloves on.

Paige tightened the wrap as she worked toward Rae’s wrist. Azzi shifted behind her, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder again and starting to sway them both slightly like she was slow dancing in place.

“Ma’am,” Paige said under her breath, lips twitching to hide her smile. “Please.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Azzi said, her voice quiet for only Paige to hear as she nestled even closer into her neck. “Just supportin’ my girlfriend as she gives out free boxing lessons to other women.”

Paige glanced back at her with a faint grin. “She’s your teammate.”

Azzi only responded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Paige shook her head, finishing the last loop of the wrap around Rae’s hand. “Flex your fingers.”

Rae did as she was told, curling her fingers a few times and Paige gave a nod, jerking her chin toward the light bag.

Rae stood up, cracking her knuckles like she knew what she was doing. “Try not to judge me too hard,” she mumbled as she walked off.

Paige pushed off her knees, about to follow her, but Azzi’s grip around her waist stayed tight, holding her in place. Paige paused, chuckling as she looked over her shoulder. “Wassup, mama?”

Azzi pouted, putting her plump lips on display, as she furrowed her eyebrows like she wasn’t ready to share. Paige chuckled again before angling herself to press a kiss to her lips. Letting it linger for a few seconds.

From the cage, Cam’s exaggerated gagging cut through the moment. “Okay! We get it! Y’all like each other or whatever,” she yelled. “Go touch gloves or touch foreheads just stop doing it in front of me!”

Paige pulled back with a lopsided grin, whispering against Azzi’s lips, “You’n gotta be jealous.”

“I’m not,” Azzi whispered even though she was still holding her waist like she was indeed very jealous.

“Right.” Paige kissed her one more time before standing up and walking over to where Rae stood by the bag.

Rae stood in front of the light bag and her stance was uncertain, fists raised like she’d only ever watched boxing on TV.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Paige said, tapping Rae’s ankle with her foot to guide it. “You’re gonna wanna keep one slightly back so you can pivot. Don’t be flat-footed or it’ll take you too long to move.”

Rae adjusted before glancing over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Better. Keep your chin tucked and your hands up. Higher.” She stepped closer and lifted Rae’s left wrist. “You’re not waving at nobody. Guard your face.”

She said you look friendly as hell!” Rickea laughed from the bench, stretching her legs out.

“I am friendly,” Rae muttered.

“Yeah, and that’s how you get fucked up,” Paige said. She demonstrated a jab in the air. “Lead with your left then come across with your right.”

Rae attempted to mimic what Paige did. Her form was a little stiff, but passable.

“Not terrible,” Paige said. “Loosen up though. You throwing like you're worried about breaking a nail.”

“Because I am!” Rae shot back, shaking her hand out with a grin.

“Girl,” DiJonai said, as she practiced slow combos against her own bag.

Rae tried again and the second time she was a little more relaxed. Paige stepped in behind her, using her hands to adjust Rae’s shoulders and guiding her hip through the rotation of a punch.

From the bench Azzi narrowed her eyes. She reached next to her on the bench and grabbed a spare wrap, and threw it at Paige. It thumped against her back.

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, looking a little dryly at Paige. “You tryna spar or flirt?”

“I’m teaching.”

“You’re teaching real hands-on.”

Paige shook her head before taking a step back.

Rickea snorted. “She got real professional real quick, huh?”

Paige mumbled something under her breath, before turning back towards Rae. “Again. This time, pivot on that back foot. Don’t muscle it, snap it.”

Rae’s next punch landed with a satisfying pop that made Paige miss the sound. Rae blinked in surprise, glancing back at Paige for approval.

“There you go.” Paige gave a short nod. “Do that like ten more times. Then switch sides. Reset your stance each time.”

Rae nodded and turned back to the bag, a little more confident now and Paige backed away, strolling back toward the bench. Azzi was still sitting where Paige left her and she had one hand propping up her chin, watching with an unreadable expression until Paige got closer.

Then Azzi tilted her head up, looking up at her through her lashes. Lashes Paige knew damn well she did not need to bat like that causing her to stop in her tracks.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, tightening her jaw as she stared down at her.

Azzi smirked on purpose. “Stop what?”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You know what.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, not moving from her position. “Mmm, no I think you gotta be a little more specific, baby.”

Paige blinked at her, visibly trying to keep her expression neutral, but Azzi just tilted her head a little more to the side, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You just gon’ stand there lookin’ all tense?” Azzi asked softly. “Or you wanna admit I’m in your head a little?”

Paige huffed a laugh through her nose, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Azzi whispered, dropping her gaze to Paige’s mouth before flicking back up. “But I’m not wrong.”

Paige’s hand lifted without thinking, her fingers cradling Azzi’s jaw as her thumb brushed across her cheek, then softly over her bottom lip. The way she was touching her was gentle. Completely contrasting the way Paige was looking at her.

Azzi leaned into it, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You wanna kiss me again, or just admire the view?”

“Trying not to actually,” Paige admitted under her breath.

Azzi held back a grin and said something too low for Paige to catch.

“What?” Paige leaned down instinctively to hear.

Azzi’s smile grew, locking her eyes on hers as she made her voice a little lower and whispered, “I said...you’re going to make me forget my name if you keep lookin’ at me like that, daddy.”

Paige froze and a visible ripple of tension moved through her whole body as her jaw clenched harder this time. She didn’t even look away from Azzi as she said flatly, “I need y’all to come back tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words, then a chorus of groans erupted across the gym.

“We just started!”

“Nah, you serious?”

“Woww, that’s crazy,” Cam added, dramatically.

Still in the midst of complaining, the rest of them were moving way too slow and dragging their feet. So Paige just muttered “Whatever. Y’all can stay,” as Azzi laced her fingers through hers and tugged her gently toward the house.

DiJonai yells out after them, “Please remember I’m staying in the guest room!” Subtly telling them to not be too loud as everyone went back to what they were doing, deciding not to leave.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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stargrillzz · 2 months ago

Text

Even the silence screams

summary: He couln't allow himself to feel something after everything he's done. It was like a punishment, but you coming around, made it even worst.

Note: nothing to say except the usual, I LOVE THIS MAN GOD DAMN. xoxo

Ever since Bucky Barnes stepped foot into Stark Tower, he felt like walking ice.

He didn’t speak to anyone but Steve, and even then, his voice was quiet, subdued, heavy with a weight no one could see but everyone could feel. His eyes carried shadows, and his presence seemed to suck the warmth out of every room he entered.

The rest of the Avengers tried to be friendly… at first. But Bucky’s coldness was a wall too high to climb. Tony didn’t help, of course. And Natasha just observed him in silence, as if she understood something none of you did.

You, though, decided to try something different.

It started with coffee. You’d see him some mornings, lingering at the edge of the kitchen like he was waiting for it to clear out. So you left a second mug beside yours and didn’t say anything.

Three days in, he took it.

“You always drink it black?” you asked, casual, not looking at him directly as you stirred sugar into your own.

He seemed caught off guard that you were speaking. His voice was low, cautious. “Yeah.”

You nodded, offering the faintest smile. “Strong choice. Bit intense, though.”

A pause. Then, with a hint of dry humor: “Fits the mood.”

You glanced over. Was that—did he almost smile?

From then on, mornings became a thing. Not every day, but enough. He didn’t always speak, but he stayed. Sat nearby. Drank the coffee you made.

It was the smallest crack in the ice, but it was something.

One morning, you found him sitting alone in the lounge, staring at the TV but not really watching it. You sat beside him without saying anything. Minutes passed. Then you felt his gaze on you. You looked over. He looked away.

But the next day, when you sat down, there was a second coffee already waiting on the table.

It was a small gesture. One that made you smile all day.

From then on, things started to take shape.

He’d invite you to go running with him and Steve. Sometimes you joined, sometimes you didn’t. But when you did, he always ran at your pace. Never said anything about it. He just did it. —“Don’t want you getting left behind,” he muttered once. That was the first day he spoke to you without you initiating.

Weeks passed. Then months. And somehow, it became a routine.

You and Bucky had breakfast together. You and Bucky watched movies together. He listened to your stories. You listened to his — though his were harder to tell. He didn’t always talk, but when he did, with you, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. The way he’d scowl when you laughed too long at one of Clint’s dumb jokes. Or how his posture changed when you were around other guys on the team—shoulders stiff, jaw set, eyes hard.

It all came to a head one evening during movie night.

You were sitting on the floor with Peter, both of you laughing over something dumb and animated—some inside joke, some meme he’d shown you. Bucky was behind you on the couch, watching.

Or rather, staring.

When you looked back at him, his expression was unreadable. But he didn’t say a word.

Later that night, as you were cleaning up in the kitchen, you felt him walk in. He hovered by the door, arms crossed.

“You and Peter,” he said, voice low. “You close?”

You looked over your shoulder, caught the tension in his stance. “We joke around. He’s like… a kid brother.”

He nodded slowly. Still not looking at you.

“Why?”

He hesitated. Then, after a beat: “Didn’t like the way he touched you.”

You blinked. “Touched me?”

“Your waist. Earlier.”

You leaned against the counter, folding your arms. “Are you jealous, Barnes?”

His eyes finally met yours. Tension flickered across his face. “Maybe.”

You weren’t expecting the honesty.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, just like that, he turned and walked out—leaving your heart beating too fast.

After that night, something shifted.

The kitchen felt emptier in the mornings. His coffee mug sat untouched where you always left it—like a placeholder for someone who didn’t plan on coming back. You sat at the counter longer than usual, hoping he’d walk in late. He never did.

Days passed, each one a quiet confirmation that he was pulling away.

He started disappearing from shared spaces. Left the room if you walked in, kept his head down during briefings, drifted through conversations without ever meeting your gaze. If it hurt, he didn’t show it. If he missed you, he buried it.

You tried to play it cool, texting once, then again. You okay? Did I do something? Talk to me.

Nothing. No read receipts. No response.

Eventually, you gave in and cornered Steve in the gym, catching him between sets, frustration laced into every word.

“He’s shutting me out. I didn’t do anything, Steve.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then let out a breath and shook his head slowly.

“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s him.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“He thinks he’s protecting you.”

You stared. “From what? Me?”

“From him,” Steve said gently. “From how much he cares.”

The words didn’t make sense until much later. But they stayed with you, settled heavy in your chest—until the weight of it pushed you into action.

You found him in the sparring room that night, alone with the bag. No music. No lights except for the dim overheads. The rhythmic thud of fists landing echoed in the still air, steady and relentless. He was soaked through, breathing hard, lost in whatever he was trying to outrun.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, letting the silence sit.

When it became clear he had no intention of acknowledging you, your voice broke the stillness.

“Are we really doing this?”

The hits didn’t stop.

“I mean, fine,” you continued, stepping further into the room. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Just keep pretending like the last few months didn’t happen.”

His pace faltered, then picked up again—harder, sharper.

You stopped a few feet away. “Is this your thing now? Run before anyone gets too close?”

Finally, the bag stilled. He stood still with both hands resting against the leather, his back rising and falling in uneven breaths. For a moment, you thought he might walk away again.

Then, quietly: “I told myself it wasn’t real.”

You blinked. “What?”

“This,” he said, turning toward you, eyes unreadable in the low light. “Us. Whatever we were becoming. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real because if it was... it’d be too much.”

Your voice softened. “Too much for who?”

His hands flexed at his sides, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “For me. For you. You shouldn’t have to deal with everything that comes with me.”

“You think I don’t know what I’m dealing with?” you asked, stepping closer. “You think I just stumbled into this by accident? I chose to be close to you.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “If I let this happen—if I let myself have this—and something goes wrong…”

“You’ll survive,” you said gently. “And so will I.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

“I do,” you said, and now you were right in front of him.

"I’m falling in love with you. And I can’t handle feeling something for someone who deserves so much better. I’m not good, Y/N. Not for you.”

Your heart stopped. For a second, you couldn’t breathe.

Then, without thinking, you stepped forward. “Who the hell are you to decide what I deserve?”

He blinked, thrown off.

“I… I didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.”

Silence fell.

The only sound was the swinging of a punching bag and the rapid pounding of both your hearts.

Then he moved.

One step. Then another. He raised a trembling hand, hesitant, like he was scared to touch you. You took it gently, guiding it to your cheek. He swallowed hard, eyes wide.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were clumsy at first, unsure. But you leaned in, slow and warm, molding yourself to him. His hands gripped your waist, desperate and grounding. Your fingers tangled in his shirt. It was like all the tension, all the months of longing and fear, exploded into that moment.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, you rested your forehead against his.

“Don’t you ever ignore me again,” you whispered, voice shaking.

He smiled. Small. Honest. “Never again.”

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princesssmars · 7 months ago

Text

baby girl, im finna rock your shit!

a sequel to this vi x reader. p.iii

wc : 1.735

contains : fxf relationship and sex. some romantic fluff. rough sex. penetrative sex (r!receiving). some dom!vi i think. lowkey highkey jealous/possesive vi.

a/n : greatest writing motivation is being horny as fuck. enjoy.

for better or worse, violet could not keep her hands off of you.

when you first glanced at her you did not take her for the type to be so affectionate - dyed black hair, smudged eyeshadow, not to mention the abundance of leather she was wearing as she celebrated knocking her opponent out cold. that mixed with her playboy reputation with some of her more desperate fans? let’s say you weren’t expecting nightly shoulder rubs and playful smushing of cheeks when you got home.

but when you finally gave her a chance to worm her way into your heart you were gladly surprised to see just how much of a sweetheart the boxer could really be. she texted you every day and constantly made sure you were taking care of your physical and mental well-being.

and of course, once you gave her the go-ahead she was so physically affectionate. she always had a hand on your hip when walking in public, gently moving you to avoid a small obstacle or to show you a small place she wanted to treat you to. at your shared apartments she would follow you around almost akin to a puppy, a big dopey smile on her face as she stood behind you while you were grabbing some chips from the kitchen.

“uhh…do you need something?”

“nope.”

“…are you sure?”

“yup.”

and every time you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at her before putting a kiss on her cheek.

and while you noticed it beforehand, after you slept together for the first time you saw just how…depraved her affection could get.

from your experience, the first few days after the first time with a partner could be strange, with neither partner knowing when it would be right to initiate the next time without seeming too distant or too desperate. but gods were you glad you and vi were on the same wavelength. it was only the morning after that you were ready to go at her again, nearly embarrassingly desperate to feel the ache she left between your legs again.

but you were feeling just the slightest bit of self-conscious over how eager you were with her last night, so you decided to do something nice to show your appreciation by making her and you a nice breakfast. even though your legs felt the slightest bit wobbly as you made your way to the kitchen.

in the middle of you poking at the eggs to check their progress when you feel a pair of strong arms encircle your waist and a towering body press into your back. you try to keep focusing on the cooking but it becomes impossible when vi starts to playfully bite and kiss at the skin of your neck, forcing you to giggle as the feeling of it combined with her hair getting in your face.

your giggle turns into an airy gasp when her palms grasp your hips and she brashly thrusts her crotch into your backside, moving your body over to the side so you can grip the counter. a deep groan escapes from her throat when your hand travels up to grip her hair. another moan leaves your throat when she lets one of her hands travel down beneath her your sleepshirt.

so you were both equally desperate. and it was amazing.

now her quick kisses before boxing matches had a fair chance of turning into heated make-out sessions and quickies, her scarred lips smiling as she whispered how she needed to complete her ‘winning ritual’ before she goes out to fight, which usually consists of her getting on her knees and eating you out until you’re dizzy. she also loved downright groping you whenever she got the chance when you slept over at her apartment. you could be mopping the floors and she wouldn’t hesitate to reach down and squeeze or slap your ass before walking off like nothing happened.

and though you initially didn't suspect it, you find out she can be incredibly possessive. and again, it was amazing.

once you started to become more official vi made sure you had a front-row ticket to her matches so she could turn her head and spot you whenever she was in the ring. she was scheduled to fight some up-and-coming boxer who was known for her big mouth, and after shit-talking vi one too many times in the press your girlfriend was more than eager to step into the ring. you just didn't expect the woman to have an apparent death wish as she openly flirted with you before the match started, blowing you a kiss and a wink before coming face to face with an uncommonly calm violet.

it was one of the faster knockouts she'd gotten in her career.

as soon as the press and her team were done talking to her she gave you a look. a look that said “get your ass in the car because you are so getting messed up when we get home,,”

and so, you get your ass in the car. and not even an hour later, she makes good on her silent words.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“thats it, take it baby. just fucking take it.”

when you had called vi depraved you truly meant it, as there was no other way to describe the provocative posiiton she had you in - your body pliant and settled on top of hers as her arms wrapped under your kneed and locked behind your head.

all of it was just so deliciously disorienting. the way her feet planted on to the mattress so that she could use her core to thrust her hot pink strap inside of your cunt, the frequent growls and grunts she let fly right next to your ear, how her clasped hands kept forcing your head from rolling back to looking down-

you let out a pitifully desperate whine when your eyesight locks onto the sight of your body from the mirror she dragged over to the front of the bed. youd felt a zap go through your body as she was doing so, and it was only increased ten fold as you saw the creamy mess between your thighs, strings of your slick expanding and contracting each time she pounded herself into you.

“god, i can feel you clenching around me. you like looking at how fucking messy i make you?” violet sneers before delivering a random harsh thrust inside you, laughing nearly cruelly when an odd squeaking comes from your throat.

“aw don't worry baby, i love it too. sounds so fucking good, should've set up a god damn camera-”

it is definitely not embarrassing how loudly you moan at that. you aren't allowed to be bashful when violet giggles into your shoulder. she brings one of her hands to wrap around your throat while the other travels downwards. she brushes over your breasts and stomach, reveling in the ripple it causes when you take a shaky inhale at the feeling.

you’re so caught up in the contradictory softness of her touch and the roughness of her hips movements that you’re more than shocked when she raises her hand and brings it down in a hard slap against your thigh. your hips involuntarily move up into her palm while down towards the strap, conflicted on which pleasure you want to overwhelm you.

“come on, don't run from it. we know you can take it.” she groaned, bringing her hand down in another rough slap against your thigh. she was never the most jealous person. she was never in a relationship long enough to be jealous. but seeing you fall apart for her so desperately after that bitch had the nerve to hit on you in front of her put a sick feeling of satisfaction in the pit of her chest.

your whines start to take on a higher pitch that reveals to her you’re closer than ever to your orgasm. high off of the win and the euphoria of fucking you and feeling the base of her dick bumping into her clit with each thrust, she decides to take a gamble and do something that she knows will make you make a mess for her.

there are no words to describe the full-body feeling you have at her rough palm smacking down on your clit, or the way your orgasm rips out of you like a bullet train. it’s so powerful it nearly hurts, and no matter how much you try to arch away from her she uses her grip to hold you down and follows you up with her hips.

“nuh uh, don't fucking run from me, baby. just feel it, god take it, bet you look so fucking pretty.”

the pleasure feels like it lasts for hours, and its only halfway through that you realize you’re leaking all over both of you and the sheets. you also realize that the experience has brought violet to a fiery orgasm herself, her body pushing through the pleasure as she uses shaky thrusts to help the both of you ride through your orgasms.

with how much she loves being affectionate, it's no surprise that vi is a god at aftercare. once it's clear your high has passed and you’re teasing the edge of sleep she immediately gets to work by slowly slipping the strap out of you and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek when you whimper at the object leaving your warmth. ever so gently she handles your body to slip off of hers and rest on the bed and on shaky legs walks to get a rag from the bathroom.

after cleaning both of you off she tosses the strap to the floor to be cleaned later and flops in bed next to you. as she lays on her stomach she rests her arm over your body, pulling you in ever closer to her.

“y’know i think that reaction gives me permission to start calling you jealous.” your voice is quiet but hoarse and gives her just the littlest bit of pride.

“’m not jealous. maybe i just can’t get enough of you.”

god, you hope you get flirted with more often.

#finding butchfemme photos on tumblr is a struggle #asked my friend for what i should do and tried to find positions on twt #but the second thing came up was one of my tweets about abby #so #full n3lson it is #fun fact i hate singing the “i fight for dck” more than anything so i just imagine im talking about str4p <3 #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #boxer!vi #vi smut #vi x reader smut

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majestyeverlasting · 4 months ago

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Hello beautiful ☺️ can I request a Joel miller x reader where like the reader is on her period and gets all snappy with Joel and he just kinda takes it and then she gets all emotional about it later after he gets home from work and is just a big mess but he only cares about her wellbeing?? 😭

Love u btw <3

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader summary when it comes to grace, Joel’s got a well that never runs dry [fluff, 1.8k] a/n love u too anon ♡

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．

A slender band of gold sunlight graces Joel’s cheek as he stands across the counter. Even more slivers paint the kitchen in similar sleepy streaks. It’s a beautiful day, all things considered. The morning is still young with the promise of what could lie ahead. Yet all you can focus on are the words that have disturbed this beautiful little bubble in time.

Appointment, oil change, fluid check.

“I’ve already handled everything on the back end,” he says as he sets his coffee mug down. “All you gotta do is drop the truck off, and you’re good to—”

“Okay,” you say with more force than intended.

Joel remains quiet, and you take it as permission to voice your frustration further, “We could’ve gotten it serviced this past weekend when both of us were free. That would've made more sense.”

His shoulders square as you direct a piercing, matter-of-fact glance his way. “They were completely booked,” he explains.

“Of course they were,” you say. “And now it’s my problem.”

Joel’s gaze flicks into his coffee, black with a dash of creamer. Only a couple of sips left. You’d already finished yours.

“Made the appointment ‘cause you said you didn’t have anything to do this morning, honey.” His dark eyes are sincere as they meet yours, but you don’t offer any softness in return.

You mutter something under your breath about your schedule not being the problem.

Even with all the time in the world, you wouldn’t opt to spend an hour sitting in a service shop—breathing stale air, sinking into peeling leather seats, watching a revolving door of strangers. Especially when staying tucked away at home was a more promising alternative for a day like this, when your body seems to be conspiring against you.

Your cycle had started on the least convenient morning and shortened everything from your fuse to your patience to your desire to interact with other people.

You watch him finish the remainder of his coffee and lick his lips afterward.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

With a frustrated huff, you slip off the island barstool and walk his mug to the sink. It provides an excuse not to look at him, more than anything. A dull, crampy ache has settled low in your stomach, but you feel his watchful gaze tracking you even more than the pain. He watches you rinse the colorful ceramic and move to place it in the dishwasher, tapping his fingers as he pieces together a new line of action.

“We can try to reschedule,” he offers. “I’ll take off early and handle it sometime before we leave on Friday.”

Come the end of the week, you’ll be heading to Boulder, Colorado, to see the girls. So much has changed since Ellie and Sarah moved away for college, but visiting them made the family unit feel whole again.

Neither of you expected to miss them as much as you did, never mind in all the small ways you did. Once upon a time, you affectionately joked that it’d be quieter and cheaper with them not around. But you missed their shoes at the door, hearing music flowing from their bedrooms, cackling and teaming up against Joel with them on game nights. You even missed the little disagreements fueled by the notion that they were growing up and you simply wanted the best for them.

“Can’t make the drive ‘til everything’s in good shape,” he says.

The reminder is more of an encouragement than something he’s trying to hang over your head. Unfortunately, it strikes just the right nerve and leaves you looking for a hole to prod.

“Then why would we cancel today’s appointment if it’s already guaranteed?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “No point in switching things around and making it worse.”

Joel remains quiet as he gathers his words. “So you’ll—”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” you say as you sit back down.

The need to take the truck in is no more his fault than an inevitable necessity, but a large part of your frustration feels good—justified.

“You gonna let me finish any of my sentences?” He asks lightly, placing a hand on his hip. The fabric of his shirt stretches over his bicep.

When you motion for him to finish, he walks to stand alongside you. The warmth of his proximity coaxes you to swivel the stool towards him even as you refuse to meet his gaze. You succeed until he places a thick hand on your thigh and delivers a gentle squeeze. It’s even worse for your resolve that his touch rests against your bare skin. Your sleep shorts rest too far up your leg to shield you from the calloused warmth of his palm.

“You always have a choice.” He tilts his head to look into your eyes. “We can work something else out.”

“I already said I’d handle it.”

“Well, alright then,” he concedes as you stare down at his hand.

A brief silence passes before he speaks up again, “Hey. Thanks for packing my lunch.”

You shake your head in dismissal.

“Gonna think of you when I eat it today like always.” A small smile curls at his lips as he speaks. “Do I get my goodbye kiss, or has that privilege been revoked?” The tenderness of his thumb as it strokes your thigh yields a guilt that weaves through your ribcage like the bones constitute a sewing loom.

When you don’t respond, Joel leans in to peck your forehead, his lips plush and warm.

Two quick horn honks sound from outside.

“I gotta run.” He withdraws his touch, letting his fingertips brush down your thigh until they fall away at the bend of your knee. “Thanks for getting the truck taken care of.”

He lingers for a moment before stepping back. “I’ll see you later this evening.”

When Joel heads towards the front door, you don’t trail after him like you usually would. You watch his steady stride and broad shoulders as he crosses into the foyer. Before reaching for the knob, he pauses to look over his shoulder.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t leave until you murmur it back.

You watch the door for a few extra seconds after he’s gone.

•••

When five o'clock rolls around, you find yourself curled on the couch with a book. Sunlight lights the pages. As beautiful and immersive as the prose is, all that lingers in your mind is this morning. How difficult you’d been with Joel, how he hadn’t taken your bait. Sometimes, you wondered if the well of his grace would ever run dry since all you seemed to do was draw from it. He should’ve stopped you one too many moons ago, but the thought never once crossed his mind.

When you got to McBride’s Auto Shop earlier, your cramps had begun to subside. Waiting wasn’t nearly as bad as you’d built it up to be in your head, even with the grainy TV and the older woman chewing gum as she flipped through an outdated magazine. The fact you hadn’t kissed Joel goodbye was far worse.

Soon, you hear Tommy pull up alongside the curb to drop Joel off. In seconds, you place the bookmark between the pages and toss the book onto the coffee table.

When Joel saunters through the front door, you’re there to wrap your arms around his neck. Your earnestness is reminiscent of when the girls were little and ambushed him when he got home from work, no matter how tired he was or how many bags he happened to be holding.

A surprised chuckle rumbles out of him as he clumsily kicks the door shut behind himself. You relish the sound of his laughter as if somebody tuned the sound just for you. Joel wraps his arms around your waist as best he can with his backpack still on his shoulders and lunchbox in his grip.

You nuzzle your nose into his shirt gently, almost felinely. He smells like fresh air, underscored by a muskier, fragranced scent.

“Honey,” he coaxes, attempting to pull away. “Lemme put my stuff down.”

You ease up long enough for him to pace further inside and set his bags on the floor. Then, your arms secure right back around him like they never left. The attention feels as lovely as it always does coming from you. Joel’s smile eventually settles into something small as he rubs your back in soothing passes. His large frame nearly swallows you, but he’s never come close to crushing you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he finally says.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into him, words almost too muffled to comprehend. “I was mean to you this morning and shouldn’t have been.”

Joel has to laugh again. Not at you, but because he’d let himself believe this particularly warm welcome was completely uninspired.

“I didn’t mean to make it such a big deal,” you say. “It’s that time of the month, and I took it out on you.”

“Is that what it was?” he asks lightly, kissing your head.

When he pulls away to get a better look at you, the warmth in his gaze strikes deeper than you expect. Either that or your hormones have begun to tug on your heart more insistently than they should. Before you can look away, tears well in your eyes, and Joel feels a slight pang of guilt as you try to blink them back.

His thumb catches the one that slips down your cheek. “No harm done,” he assures.

You nod as you lean into his touch. It still amazes you how one person can be so kind and attuned.

“Gonna take a lot more than a bad mood to get rid of me,” he jokes, smiling when a low chuckle escapes you.

“I’ll never wanna get rid of you.”

“Give it a few more years,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

You swat his chest gently.

A future without Joel sounds so far off that it comes across as no more than a joke. It’s so unforeseeable that you can’t imagine it teetering into reality. Maybe it was bold of you to feel that way—for both of you to feel that way, especially when there’s no road map detailing the days of your lives to come.

All you know is that you’re cultivating your love for one another moment by moment, second by second. Surely, that was enough to endure whatever storms sprung up along the way.

Joel squeezes you tighter as if he’s somehow thinking the same thing.

You’re grateful for his grace, the trip to Boulder you’ll share, and everything to come with him.

“How about carryout from Lorenzo’s?” he asks.

That beats leftovers any day.

You finally capture his lips in a sweet kiss.

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all.

JOEL MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou hbo #pedro pascal

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bueckersworld · 3 months ago

Text

DRINK N’ DANCE

SYNOPSIS: a party turns into something much more when paige finally confesses how badly she wants you—and proves it in the most unforgettable way.

WARNINGS: smut — mdni, strap-on sex, strap referred to as paige’s dick, teasing

WORD COUNT: 2.7k. RECOMMENDED SONG: drink n’ dance — future. info. masterlist. taglist.

────୨ৎ────

you weren’t supposed to stay this late.

the party was supposed to be just a quick drop-in—say hi to the team, nurse a drink, dip before midnight. but that was before paige showed up in a crisp white tee and low waisted loose black cargos, showing her stomach, a silver chain resting against her collarbone, jaw looking sharp enough to cut glass. she leaned against the kitchen counter like she was born there, forearms crossed, and you lost your whole damn train of thought the second your eyes found hers.

she wasn’t even doing anything. just sipping her drink, shoulders relaxed, watching people dance like she didn’t notice how they all kept sneaking glances at her. but she noticed you.

of course she did.

she always does.

you tried to play it cool. leaned into a friend’s joke. took another sip of your drink. but she pushed off the counter like gravity didn’t apply to her and walked straight up to you, pausing just close enough to smell like amber and something smoky. her eyes scanned you once—slow, hungry, unbothered.

“you came,” she said, like she hadn’t texted you three times to make sure.

you shrugged. “didn’t have anything better to do.”

her smile was lazy and a little cocky. “yeah? you wearing that for ‘nothing better to do’?”

you looked down at your dress—black, short, dangerously close to illegal—and fought the blush rising in your cheeks.

“maybe i knew you’d be here.”

that made her blink. just once. like you caught her off guard, which was rare. paige was usually all calm and smooth and unreadable, like the world could be burning and she’d still lick her lips and ask you what your problem was.

tonight, though, she let that smile grow just a little wider.

“good,” she murmured. “i was hoping.”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. your brain was already short-circuiting from the way her voice dropped, the way her fingers tapped against her glass like she was trying not to touch you.

she didn’t wear hats anymore. said she outgrew them. and honestly? you were glad. you liked seeing her waves the way they were now—messy, undone, framing her face with no effort. she didn’t need to hide behind anything. not with you.

“so,” she said after a beat. “you dancing tonight?”

you tilted your head. “are you?”

she stepped closer, eyes burning into yours like she already had the answer. “only if it’s with you.”

you should’ve said no. should’ve reminded her you were friends, best friends, and this wasn’t how things worked between you. but you didn’t.

instead, you took her hand and let her lead you to the middle of the room, lights dimmed, bass vibrating through your chest. you turned, backed into her, and felt her hands settle low on your hips like she’d been waiting for permission.

you started slow, swaying to the beat, the two of you pressed together in a way that couldn’t be blamed on the crowd. you felt her breath near your ear, steady and warm, as her fingers flexed slightly, gripping you tighter with every pulse of the bass.

neither of you said a word. didn’t need to. the tension was louder than any lyrics playing.

she was close. closer than friends ever got. her thigh brushed yours every time you shifted. her chest against your back made your heartbeat stutter, and when she moved in sync with you—slow, smooth, undeniably confident—you felt heat pool low in your stomach.

her mouth brushed your ear when she finally spoke. “you’re driving me crazy.”

you turned, just enough to see her face, lips parted, eyes half-lidded.

“you started it,” you whispered.

her jaw clenched, barely, like she was trying to keep control. “don’t tempt me.”

you stared at her, daring. “why not?”

she didn’t answer. just licked her lips and stepped back.

“i need air,” she muttered, and you followed without hesitation.

outside, it was quiet. cool. you leaned against the porch railing and tried to catch your breath, but paige stood beside you, fingers twitching like she was debating something dangerous.

“i’ve been drinking,” she said, voice low.

“me too.”

“i mean, i’m not drunk drunk, but…” she exhaled, looking away. “i say dumb shit when i’m tipsy.”

you tilted your head. “like what?”

she looked at you then. really looked. no jokes. no flirting.

“like how bad i wanna kiss you right now.”

your breath caught. your pulse jumped.

you waited—one heartbeat, then two. she didn’t move. didn’t lean in. just looked at you like the truth was finally too heavy to keep quiet.

“paige…”

she shook her head, stepping back. “forget it. i shouldn’t’ve said that.”

you reached out and caught her wrist. “no. don’t do that. don’t back off now.”

she froze, eyes darting to where your fingers curled around her skin.

“i’m not drunk,” you said. “and i don’t want to forget it.”

the silence stretched between you, thick and electric. then she leaned in slowly, eyes searching yours for doubt, hesitation, anything.

but you wanted this. you wanted her.

so when her lips brushed yours, you didn’t stop her.

the kiss was soft at first. careful. like she still wasn’t sure if she was allowed. but when your hands slid up her chest and you tugged gently at the collar of her shirt, something inside her snapped.

her hands gripped your hips again, tighter this time. she backed you against the porch railing and kissed you like she couldn’t hold back anymore. like she needed to get it all out before morning stole the courage from her mouth.

you moaned against her, soft and needy, and that only made her kiss you harder.

when you pulled back, lips swollen, chest heaving, she rested her forehead against yours and whispered, “come home with me.”

you didn’t even think.

you just nodded.

—

her apartment was dark, quiet, and way too clean for someone who was constantly traveling. you kicked off your heels while she locked the door, and by the time you turned around, she was already in front of you again—hands on your waist, lips on your neck.

she kissed like she played—aggressive, focused, confident. and you let her. let her press you into the wall. let her tug your dress up just enough to feel the heat of your skin against hers.

but somewhere between gasps and tangled fingers, she paused.

“you sure?” she whispered, eyes blown wide, breath hot against your collarbone.

you nodded. “so sure.”

she smiled, slow and wicked, then kissed you again—long and deep and delicious.

she didn’t rush. paige didn’t do rushing. she took her time undressing you, trailing kisses along your stomach, letting her hands explore like this was her first time touching something sacred.

and maybe to her, it was.

you stripped her down to her sports bra and boxers, fingers dragging over warm skin and tight muscle. she looked down at you like you were a dream she was afraid to wake up from.

“you’re so damn pretty,” she murmured, voice rasped and reverent.

you pulled her onto the bed and let her settle between your thighs, legs tangled, mouths moving slow and unhurried. her hand slipped under your thigh, lifting it higher, and you moaned into her mouth, unable to hold it back.

it wasn’t rough.

it wasn’t even messy.

it was intimate.

her chain dangled over your chest as she kissed down your neck, hips grinding into yours with delicious rhythm. her hand cupped your face after, brushing hair from your cheek.

“don’t disappear after this,” she said, barely audible.

“i won’t.”

“i mean it. i’m not doing this just to fuck around.”

“i know. neither am i.”

she kissed you again—slow, purposeful, like she might never get the chance again.

when she pulled away, her lips didn’t stray far. she traced a trail of kisses down your jaw, across your neck, lingering at your collarbone like she wanted to memorize the taste of you. your fingers tangled in her hair, sighs slipping out between your lips, soft and needy.

paige looked up with a smirk, that cocky glint in her eye back in full force. “worked up already, baby?” she murmured, voice low and thick, like velvet. like she wanted you to feel it more than hear it.

“paige…” you whimpered, embarrassed by the way your body reacted, her thigh snug between yours, pressed right against the soaked fabric of your panties. you were drenched—and it was just from kissing. god.

she leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “i got you, ma.”

then she pulled back.

you blinked as she disappeared toward her closet.

“where’re you going?” you asked, your voice small, breathless.

she didn’t answer.

not until she reappeared in the doorway, stepping forward with something in her hand.

click.

your breath caught.

a strap. she strapped up for your first time.

holy fuck—she was irresistible.

she returned to you slow, like a predator savoring the moment, and ran her hands up your thighs, parting them with ease and pushing them up until your knees bent, completely vulnerable beneath her.

her fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aside without a word. then, with two fingers, she slid through your soaked folds, groaning low in her throat.

“jesus christ…” she muttered, her gaze dark, glued to the mess between your thighs. “you’re drippin’, baby.”

you whimpered when her thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your hips twitch. your hands reached out for her instinctively, grasping at her arms, her shoulders—anything to ground yourself.

she looked up at you like you were her prey, smirking through her lashes. and then, without warning, she sank two fingers inside you, deep and curling instantly to that spot that made you cry out.

“fuck—paige!”

“yeah…” she groaned. “i know, baby. i got you.”

a fucking tease.

she moved her fingers with purpose, scissoring you open, thumb working your clit in perfect rhythm. you could barely breathe.

“that feel good, ma?” she whispered, watching you fall apart, your body trembling under her.

you nodded frantically, lips parted, hair splayed across the pillow, eyes fluttering. “y-yeah, paige… fuck, yes…”

she grinned. “think you can take it, hm?” her voice dropped even lower, the strap nudging against your thigh now. “you want it?”

you whimpered, “yes. please—I can take it.”

her eyes lit up with something wicked. “good girl.”

she pulled her fingers out, sucking them clean with a groan like you were the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. then she positioned herself between your legs, lifting them to rest your ankles on her shoulders.

one hand gripped your hip, the other guided the strap to your entrance.

“nice and slow, baby,” she murmured. “i got you.”

and then she pushed in.

you gasped, head tilting back against the pillows. the stretch had your thighs shaking, but paige didn’t rush. she moved slowly, watching every flicker of expression on your face, checking in without a single word.

“almost there,” she whispered, pushing in all the way with a slow roll of her hips. “c’mon, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”

you whined. “f-fuck, paige…”

she began to move—gentle, steady, drawing her hips back and snapping them forward again with slow precision, letting you feel every inch.

it didn’t take long for the begging to start.

“paige, c’mon, please… need it, i—fuck, please…”

she didn’t even respond. just smirked and picked up her pace.

her thrusts grew sharper, deeper. your body rocked beneath her with every snap of her hips, your moans growing louder, more desperate, echoing around the room. “take that dick, cmon baby.” paige grunted.

“oh fuck—” you gasped, “just like that, don’t stop—please—”

“god damn…” paige grunted, watching herself disappear inside you with each thrust, the slick sounds between your legs making her lose it a little. “you hear that, baby? that’s all you. so fuckin’ wet for me…”

you nodded helplessly, back arching.

she leaned over you, her chain brushing your chest, her breath hot against your ear.

“tell me it’s mine,” she whispered, slamming into you harder. “tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“yes—fuck, paige—it’s yours! it’s all yours!” you cried out, babbling now, mind hazy, body burning. “only you—only ever you—”

“yeah,” she growled, kissing you fiercely. “that’s right, baby. mine.”

the kiss was messy—tongue and teeth and need. her hips didn’t let up, her thrusts brutal and deep, her thumb returning to your clit like she knew exactly how to push you over the edge.

your body shook, the pressure building, unbearable.

“paige—gonna—fuck, i’m gonna come—”

“do it,” she whispered against your lips. “come for me, baby. let go. c’mon, give it to me.”

that was all it took.

your orgasm hit like a wave crashing into the shore—violent, hot, blinding. you screamed her name, legs trembling, nails digging into her skin as your body convulsed beneath her.

she slowed her hips, gently thrusting through the aftershocks, kissing you sweetly on the cheek as you came down from it all.

“shhh,” she whispered, “i got you.”

when she finally pulled out, careful and slow, she removed the strap and disappeared into the bathroom.

she returned with a warm rag and the softest hands you’d ever felt, cleaning between your legs, your thighs, kissing your knee and murmuring sweet nothings the whole time.

you watched her through half-lidded eyes, heart still racing, skin still tingling.

such a fucking sweetheart.

so drunk in love.

so nasty when she wanted to be.

and all yours.

—

you woke up tangled in her arms, her chest rising and falling steady behind your back, the morning light sneaking through the blinds. her hand was splayed across your stomach, chain cool against your skin, breath soft against your shoulder.

you shifted slightly and felt her stir.

“mornin’,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“morning.”

she pressed a lazy kiss behind your ear. “still here.”

you smiled. “told you i wouldn’t disappear.”

she pulled you closer, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“you’re mine now,” she said.

you turned your head slightly. “yeah?”

she nodded. “always wanted you. just never had the guts.”

“you were drunk,” you teased.

“nah,” she said, grinning. “i was just nasty.”

you laughed, then rolled to face her, brushing a hand through her curls.

“guess that makes two of us.”

and when she kissed you again, soft and slow, you knew it wasn’t just a one-night thing. it wasn’t lust. it wasn’t impulse.

it was her.

finally.

after all that waiting.

it was her.

and she was yours.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ more paige smut, yum yum.

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠٫ 𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎..

taglist: @shikaizer @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb

#ᥫ᭡ — 𝜝𝑈𝐸𝐶𝐾𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑊𝛰𝑅𝐿𝐷 #𐙚 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑔𝑒..#— 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #uconn x reader #paige bueckers uconn #pb5 #wlw #paige buckets #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #paige blockers #paige bueckers smut

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inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

can you please write one of law and the reader is very quiet but as time goes by she and feels comfortable with him, she starts to open up....maybe later catches feelings for law

Echoes in Silence

law × reader

a/n: tried to make it cute af lmao

words count: 2.1k

tags: introvert reader, law being law, soft, sfw

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Polar Tang is quiet, the way you like it. Or maybe the way you need it to be. The hum of machinery and the distant slosh of water against the hull are the only sounds that fill the narrow corridor. You sit with your knees pulled up in a corner of the hallway outside the medbay, half in shadow, half in thought.

You hear him before you see him. Light footsteps. The brush of a coat hem against the floor.

Law stops a few feet away. Doesn’t say anything.

You look up.

He looks down at you, then glances at the closed medbay door “Why aren’t you inside?”

You shrug.

He doesn’t push. He never does.

“You can come in. I’m just organizing.”

You stand without a word and follow him inside.

The room smells faintly of antiseptic and paper. He moves efficiently, always with purpose. You sit on the low bench by the cabinet, folding your hands in your lap.

“Too loud in the mess?” he asks after a while.

You nod.

Law glances over his shoulder, his voice quieter now “You don’t talk much.”

You meet his eyes for a beat, then murmur, “Neither do you.”

A pause.

“Fair.”

He finishes arranging some vials, then leans against the counter across from you. He doesn’t fill the silence, and that is what makes you speak again.

“I like it here” you say. Your voice is soft, unsure.

“I know” he says “You sit in the same spot every time.”

Your lips twitch. The closest thing to a smile you’ve had all day.

He notices.

Over the next few days, it happens without planning.

You’re there again. Quiet. Reading. Watching. Thinking.

Law says nothing when you show up. Just gestures toward the corner, or leaves a cup of tea on the table near you. Some nights, he asks about what you’re reading. Other nights, you ask what he’s writing in that notebook he guards like a secret.

You don’t expect him to answer. But he does.

“Patient notes” he says one evening.

“About me?” you ask.

He glances at you “Would you be flattered or offended?”

You think “Depends on what you wrote.”

He gives the faintest smirk.

One night, it’s late. You’re sitting in your usual spot, legs crossed, head against the wall.

Law sets down his pen “You’re less quiet lately.”

You lower your gaze “I didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

You let the silence stretch.

Then “Does that bother you?”

He shakes his head “No.”

You look at him. Really look this time.

He’s quiet, like you. But in his silence, there’s space. Not pressure. Not judgment.

Just… presence.

You don’t say anything else. But you stay a little longer than usual. And so does he.

The next time it happens, it’s accidental.

You’re in the storage room, checking inventory for the kitchen. You hear the door click shut behind you, then feel his presence before he speaks.

Law leans against the shelves “Did Penguin guilt you into helping?”

You glance over “He bribed me with some sweets.”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh “Figures.”

You go back to counting jars.

“You missed medbay last night” he says casually.

You pause.

“You noticed?”

He shrugs “Hard not to.”

You glance up at him again, unsure if he’s teasing. He’s not. Law’s face is unreadable, but not closed off.

“I was tired,” you say “Just wanted quiet.”

“You could’ve come anyway.”

You stare at the row of labels, letting the silence hold the weight of his words.

“I didn’t think… you’d notice I wasn’t there.”

“I did.”

You don’t answer. Not with words. But something shifts in your chest, small, but definite.

Two nights later, you’re back in the medbay.

Law’s at his desk, writing in that same black notebook. You sit across from him this time, not off in your usual corner. He doesn’t comment.

You watch his hand as he writes, neat, controlled script. Everything about him is precise. Sharp.

“What are you writing now?” you ask.

He pauses.

Then slides the notebook your way.

You blink “You don’t usually—”

“It’s not classified” he says.

You read it. Notes on medicine. Anatomy. A sketch of a spinal structure. It’s dense, but fascinating.

“You have good handwriting” you say before you can stop yourself.

Law glances at you “You’re the first person to say that.”

“It’s easy to read.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You smirk, just a little “You know I read more than I talk.”

“Then maybe I should start writing you notes instead.”

You don’t expect that. And judging by his own slight shift, he didn’t either.

The room goes still. Not tense. Not awkward.

Just still and warm.

Later that night, as you walk back to your room, you catch yourself smiling.

It’s quiet in the halls again. But not the same kind of quiet.

It’s not empty anymore.

The next time Law finds you, you’re on the observation deck, tucked against the glass where the sea slips by in shades of green and blue. You’re holding a book, but not really reading. Just staring out. Thinking.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just steps in and sits beside you, mirroring your posture, shoulders slightly forward, hands resting on his knees.

You don’t look at him. You don’t have to.

“You come here a lot?” he asks after a long pause.

“Only when it’s calm.”

Law hums “You like the ocean?”

You nod “It doesn’t talk.”

He glances sideways “Like you.”

You smile without showing teeth “You keep saying that, but I talk more around you than anyone else.”

He raises a brow “That’s saying something.”

“I know.”

Silence again. But it’s… companionable.

You tilt your head against the glass “I didn’t think we’d get along, you know.”

“Why?”

“You’re quiet. I’m quiet. I thought it’d be… awkward. Too much silence.”

“And?”

You glance at him. His eyes are half-lidded, watching the ocean like it’s revealing secrets only he understands.

“It’s not awkward” you say.

“No,” he agrees, voice low “It’s not.”

Another day. Another quiet room. You’re in the medbay again, this time sitting in his chair while he leans against the desk nearby, arms crossed.

“You’re comfortable here now” he says, not really asking.

You nod “It feels… safe.”

Law looks at you a moment, unreadable. Then “You feel safe with me?”

You meet his gaze.

“I do.”

He doesn’t look away.

“Good” he says quietly.

Your chest flutters, sharp and unexpected.

“You don’t mind?” you ask “That I stay?”

He exhales, slow “I mind when you don’t.”

It’s the closest thing to vulnerable you’ve ever heard from him.

You don’t answer. Just reach across the desk and nudge one of his notebooks, fingers brushing the edge.

“Teach me something.”

He lifts a brow “Now you want to talk?”

You smile softly “Only if it’s with you.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, just barely but it’s there and you don’t miss it.

It starts happening more often now, these moments where it’s just the two of you.

He doesn’t ask why you’re always around. You don’t ask why he never tells you to leave.

Tonight, you’re both sitting on the floor of the medbay. He’s leaned back against the cabinet, legs stretched out. You’re across from him, sitting cross-legged, a small anatomy guide in your hands.

You trace a diagram with your finger “Do you ever forget things?” you ask.

Law lifts his eyes from the chart he’s sketching “Details?”

You nod.

“Sometimes,” he admits “But not often.”

You study his face “You don’t seem like the type to forget anything.”

“I remember what matters.”

You pause, lowering your voice “And what matters?”

There’s a flicker in his gaze.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds your eyes.

“You do.”

The air shifts. Quiet stretches between you like thread, thin, trembling, real.

You open your mouth to speak, but the door creaks. Shachi pokes his head in.

“Oh sorry, Captain. Didn’t know you were busy.”

Law’s voice is even “I’m not. What is it?”

Shachi hesitates. Glances at you, then back at Law “We were gonna run maintenance checks. Just checking if you needed anything.”

“No,” Law says, already half-turning back toward you “I’m good.”

“Right. Sorry.”

The door closes again.

You’re still quiet, but your eyes are on Law.

He sighs through his nose “They think something’s going on.”

You tilt your head “Is something going on?”

He looks at you. Not cold. Not guarded. Just… steady.

“I don’t know yet,” he says “But I don’t mind the idea.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I thought we were just… quiet together” you say, softly.

Law leans in a little, elbows on his knees “We are. But it’s never felt empty, has it?”

You shake your head “No.”

“Exactly.”

For a while, you both just sit there. Breathing in the same silence. Feeling how close it’s becoming.

Eventually, he glances at the clock “You should rest.”

You stand, slow, reluctant “Will you still be here in the morning?”

His voice is softer than usual “Yeah.”

You smile at him, the first one tonight.

“Good,” you whisper “I sleep easier when I know that.”

You’re sitting in the mess hall, rare for you. But it’s late, and the quiet is comforting. A mug of tea warms your hands while your book rests open on the table. You’re not reading, just letting your thoughts drift.

Penguin walks by, stops when he sees you.

“Well, hey,” he says, friendly grin on his face “Didn’t expect you out here.”

You glance up “Couldn’t sleep.”

He plops down on the bench beside you, a little too close but not enough to make you uncomfortable “Yeah? Same here. I usually find Shachi and mess with him ‘til he throws something, but this works too.”

You huff a quiet laugh.

He leans a little, peering at the title of your book “That the one you’re always reading?”

You nod “Third time.”

Penguin stretches his arms with a low groan “Guess it’s a comfort thing, huh?”

You smile faintly “I like the ending.”

Then—“Y/n.”

You both look up.

Law stands in the doorway. Calm. Still. But his eyes are sharp.

Penguin straightens a little “Hey, Captain. You need something?”

Law’s gaze moves to you “I need you in the medbay.”

You blink “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

There’s a pause. Penguin scratches the back of his neck “Everything alright?”

Law’s eyes don’t leave yours “It will be.”

You close your book and stand quietly, brushing past Penguin. As you walk beside Law down the hall, you glance up at him.

“…There’s no emergency, is there?”

“No.”

You slow your steps “Then why—”

“I didn’t like how close he was.”

You stop walking.

Law stops too.

Your chest tightens “Penguin?”

His voice is flat. But not cold “He’s loud. He doesn’t notice how quiet you get when you’re uncomfortable.”

You look at him carefully “You were watching?”

He meets your eyes “I always watch you.”

You stay quiet. The silence feels different now, electric.

“You’re jealous” you say softly.

He doesn’t flinch “Maybe.”

Your heart is pounding “You didn’t have to make up an excuse.”

“I didn’t.”

You raise a brow.

He steps closer “I do want you in the medbay.”

“Why?”

His voice lowers just slightly “Because I like having you there.”

You breathe in slow. Then “You could’ve just said that.”

Law gives you the smallest, smallest smirk “I’m saying it now.”

And this time, it’s you who starts walking first, back toward that quiet room that’s started to feel like it belongs to the both of you.

The medbay is quiet, warm with the faint scent of paper and tea.

You sit on the bench beside Law, shoulder to shoulder, a single book balanced between you. You’re both reading, each on your own side of the page, turning it together in near-perfect rhythm.

You don’t talk.

You never really have to.

His arm rests beside yours, close. Steady.

Your fingers shift as you adjust your hold on the book.

His do too.

Your pinkies brush.

Neither of you moves away.

You pretend to keep reading. So does he.

But his hand shifts again, slow, barely there, until his fingers gently, tentatively, find yours. A light touch. Testing.

You let him.

More than that, you curl your pinky around his, your thumb brushing softly against his hand.

The silence stretches, thick but easy.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Law turns the next page with one hand, and laces the other fully with yours.

He doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at him. But your hands stay like that. Warm. Steady. Connected.

You keep reading together.

No words. No glances. Just two quiet souls, finally finding comfort in the space between them.

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capuccinodoll · 9 months ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: It’s Joel’s birthday. As usual, you and Sarah are getting everything ready to celebrate, just like you have for years. However, while preparing dinner before Joel gets home from work, Sarah tells you that her dad has been seeing a mysterious woman for the past couple of weeks. This wouldn’t be an issue, except he’s been deliberately hiding it from you, even going out of his way to lie about it.

Though you try to keep your anger in check to avoid ruining his birthday, your emotions get the better of you later that night when it’s just the two of you. Joel doesn’t hold back either, sparking a heated argument that pushes you both further than ever before.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not.

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all.

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness.

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form.

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him.

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him.

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure.

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fic #tlou hbo #tlou joel #capuccinodoll #joel miller is your best friend #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal joel #dbf!joel

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konigslittleliebling · 15 days ago

Text

NOT HER, NOT EVER. -> D. DIXON

table of contents; established relationship, strong language, implications of assault, protective!daryl, hurt/comfort, soft!daryl (only with you), some fluff at the end

when your group settled into alexandria, which was once rick had finally deemed it safe and its people trustworthy, you resumed the domestic role you played before the world ended.

as did carol.

in all honesty, the pair of you never really abandoned your places as the mothers of the bunch, neither did lori when she was alive—though they were actually mothers, so it came naturally to them. but before maggie, you were the only other married woman in the group, so the duties of chef; laundrette; healer; moral compass; voice of reason—and the like—weren’t anything you hadn’t become accustomed to throughout your marriage to the. . . let’s say, untameable of the group.

and you loved it.

the normalcy of it. the familiarity.

the way that whilst you were vacuuming your new home and scrubbing last night’s dishes, the world was still falling apart beyond those red gates; yet if you were to wake up here after all these years, you’d be none the wiser.

it was almost perfect.

but not every resident welcomed you warmly.

rick had already had a run-in with pete anderson, alexandria’s doctor. quite simply, rick took a shining to pete’s wife who didn’t make an effort to rebuff his advances.

but since rick’s wife is dead and he’s yet to replace her, not that he isn’t trying (and with another man’s wife, no less) — pete’s sights settled on the next best thing.

and who better than the wife of rick’s best friend and second-in-command?

the clock ticks, the ceiling fan whirs, the house creaks against its earthy shrine, and here you sit.

the faucet drips, you sit.

the breeze curls against the windows, still you sit.

your book remains open in your lap, you stopped reading it at least an hour ago. you kept rereading the same line anyway.

you swallow, it’s painful. your fingers brush your throat where a gnarly bruise blackens the skin, you wince.

but when the front door opens, you jump.

it’s only daryl, of course it is. it’s always daryl.

“hey,” he greets in his usual tired, a little rough, very raspy voice. he’s always tired after a day of hunting or scouting with aaron. “y’alright, babe?”

you hum a meek ‘mhmm’, head faced away from him.

you know he heard you. he hears everything.

with his boots still on, muddy and wet, he slings a rabbit—already skinned—onto the kitchen island.

two things that would usually earn him a word of warning, or at the very least a stern glare. but you don’t so much as bat an eye.

red flag number one.

“got dinner.” he tells you, gesturing to the little animal—dead on the counter.

he expects you to jump up and wax poetic about the importance of food hygiene and a sterile cooking environment.

you do nothing. “thank you, baby.”

daryl grunts. “uh-huh,” his thumbnail finds its way between his teeth, nibbled and gnawed, then he flicks his hair from his eyes. “whatcha do today?”

“not a lot.” you stretch your hoodie sleeves over your hands, then prop your cheek against your hand, conveniently shielding your face with your palm. “same old, really. did you and aaron find any survivors?”

“nah,” he frowns, fingers picking at the calluses on his hands. “just this lil guy.” he juts his chin at the rabbit, not that you’re looking at him to take notice.

you’re always so eager to welcome him home, hear about his time beyond the walls whilst you prepare supper, then tell him all about your day once he’s done.

but not tonight. that there is red flag number two.

“gonna tell me what’s up?” he asks, voice low. thin, even. like he’s afraid to hear your answer.

“i’m just tired.” you lie, pretending to scrub your eyes—just another excuse to conceal your injuries, something that doesn’t go amiss.

he sees everything, especially when it comes to you.

“i think i’ll head up to bed after i’ve made your dinner, i barely got a wink of sleep last night.”

you were fast asleep when he got up this morning. out cold, dead to the world as you snored softly with a faint smile on your face.

because even in sleep’s embrace, you’re happy. always happy.

the light of the group, the heart and soul that glues them together.

if you’d had a restless night, it would’ve woken him. daryl’s a light sleeper, but not you.

you’re lying.

and there goes red flag number three.

“ain’t gonna eat with me?” he asks, circling the kitchen until he’s in front of you.

you look away.

“i ate lunch pretty late, my own stupid fault.” you look down at your book, pretending to read.

he takes note that you’re on the first page, the one where the author pays tribute or dedicates the novel to a loved one. you never read those, you always skip to the first chapter like everyone else. no one reads the prologues—he never understood why authors bother to write them.

daryl clears his throat, chest tight. you shrink into yourself when he sits atop the coffee table, hands clasped. “hey,” he tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. “look at me.”

you refuse, finally turning the page of your book. you skim over the words, not absorbing a single one of them.

“baby.” his hand, tanned and weathered, flattens over your page. “need ya to look at me.”

you blink, then ghost a finger over his knuckles—scarred, dry. you trace down to his wrist, then his forearm. he catches you with his other hand, holding yours within it. he gives it one squeeze, then circles his thumb over the back of it.

he taps it once, twice, thrice.

“i’ll sit here ‘til ya do.” he takes your book and places it on the table beside him. “then we’ll both go hungry ‘n sleepless.” he grips your other hand, comforting.

then he twists them to face palm-up and lifts your wrists to the light, the unmistakable markings of fingers that weren’t his revealing themselves in all their morbid glory. “fuck’s all this?”

his voice is low and gritty. lethal.

it’s not what he says, it’s the way he says it.

“daryl. . .”

“who?” he asks, lower. you almost don’t hear him.

you open your mouth, then close it again. each word that manages to surpass a thought dies on your tongue.

he goes stiller than stone.

“i was testing some lipstick shades but they were all a bit too bright—didn’t suit my complexion. they obviously left a stain.” you try to free your wrists but he holds them tighter. “. . .they’ll wash off.”

you don’t wear make up.

“c’mon, then.” he stands, pulling you up with him.

“daryl—”

you struggle against him as he drags you toward the kitchen sink.

“wash ‘em off.” he finally lets go of you to turn the tap on.

you freeze, staring at the flow of water like it’s your first day on earth.

a finger hooks under your chin, gentle in its guidance. you allow him to finally look at you, tears immediately gathering in the wells of your eyes.

his stare hardens, blue eyes flitting like he’s picturing every possible scenario or reconstructing a crime scene.

“do nothing.” you whisper, placing your hand over his heart. it hammers against your palm like its trying to punch itself free. “we need this.” you motion around you. “we earned this.”

he scuffs a knuckle over the swell of your cheek, then the purplish blotch that cups your eye.

you grimace, he scowls.

“got lipstick on yer cheek, did ya?”

“please,” you take his face in your hands. “i’m okay.”

“take it off.” he grumbles, eyes now pinned to your hoodie.

“what—?”

“fuckin’ take if off.” he repeats, dark. firm.

you shudder, a fat bile rising into your throat. you’re not afraid of him, but of what he’ll do.

“ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he softens his voice. “just need to see.”

you know he’d never hurt you.

you take the hoodie off.

he looks. like, really looks. gently, as though you might snap, he lifts your arms. your ribs are bruised, as is your neck.

“name.” he gruffs.

“no.” you refuse.

his eyes find yours, permeating. “name.”

you huff out, hugging your arms to your middle. “pete.”

his jaw ticks, shoulders rigid like a board.

“but don’t do anything, please, stay here with me.”

you expect him to smash a plate or send his fist through the wall, but he does neither of those things. he cups your elbow, his other hand finding rest stop at your shoulder. “go upstairs.” he nods toward the staircase, expression dead like he feels nothing at all. you know it’s a front: that thing he does when he doesn’t want to frighten you. “i’ll meet ya up there.”

“daryl—”

“i’ll meet ya up there.” he persists, pressing you ahead of him by the small of your back.

“what’re you going to do?” you ask, turning at the step.

he gazes down at you, unreadable. masked.

you’ve seen that look before—you don’t need to hear him say it.

you head upstairs.

only once he’s heard the door to your shared bedroom close does he charge for the front door, snatching his crossbow from the porch on his way.

the moon is high in the sky when you hear the front door open and close upon someone’s arrival.

or more-so, their return.

it’s even higher by the time you feel the mattress dip, a welcome warmth embracing you.

“where’ve you been?” you ask, sleepily.

“where’d ya think?” he murmurs, huddling against you.

you reach over to flip the bedside lamp on and you both groan—you when you sit up, and he when light floods the room.

his knuckles are skinned, dried blood crusted around his nails. you peer over at the corner where he likes to discard his clothes, even though the laundry basket is right there.

his shirt is soiled where brownish blood sprays it, and you spot some rips and tears that weren’t there before, like there was a bit of a scuffle.

“is he alive?”

your questions hangs in the air for a moment.

“barely.” he finally answers, arm slung lazily over your lap.

“how bad did you—”

“don’t matter.” he husks, eyes closed. “he ain’t gonna bother ya again, so don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“can he even walk? or talk? does he even remember who he is?” you don’t deny he deserved it, but if the monroes catch wind of this, you’ll be out on your asses.

“he can walk.” he tells you, thumb massaging your tummy. “go to sleep.”

you lay yourself back with a sigh, your face and torso still on fire. “did he say anything about it?”

“made him admit it first.” daryl shrugs a little, hand flat like a paper weight on your lower belly. “wanted to see if he was a man at all.”

“and?”

“beat it out’a him eventually, but if he was a man he wouldn’t’ve touched ya in the fuckin’ first place.” he goes tense against you, like he’d been trying to force that part from his memory.

“well, thank you for letting him live.” you place your hands over his, a lighthearted inflection to your tone.

“didn’t wanna, but he’s got a woman n’ kids at home—even if they’d be better off. ‘sides, it would’a been a mercy. he’s gotta live with what he did n’ what came for him after he did it.”

you hum, rolling your head to the side so you’re facing him. as if feeling your gaze, he opens one eye, droopy and tired. “what else does he have to live with?”

a small smirk teases the corner of his mouth—one of satisfaction. “few broken bones n’ a busted lip.”

“he’ll tell deanna and reg.” you warn softly, tucking a stray of shaggy hair from his face.

“nah, told him if he did i wouldn’t be so forgivin’ next time.” his breathing slows as you comb your fingers through his hair, nails scraping soothingly against his scalp. “he’s a doctor, ain’t he? he’ll be fine.”

“i guess.”

“want ya to go see maggie or carol first thing, get yerself checked up.” his hand slides to give your hip a gentle squeeze, then returns to splay over your front.

you boop his nose in return and that same eye peels open to glare at you. “i’m fine, my ribs aren’t broken. just sore.”

“don’t care.” he grouches, hand lifting to point a finger at your face. “and these.”

“just cuts,” you catch his finger, then try to pinch it between your teeth. he snatches it away with a dry chuckle. “they’ll heal.”

“woman, just fuckin’ do it.” he insists, tone in jest but still deadly serious.

you snort. “oh, i’m convinced!”

“damn right ya are.”

a knock at the front door disrupts you.

“ignore ‘em.” daryl grumbles, leaning over you to switch the light off.

“i know y’all are awake!” you hear a voice call up.

you frown. “is that rick?”

“yep.” daryl reaches up to close the window, then flops back down.

you wince. “daryl, careful.”

“sorry.”

“saw your light go out!” rick knocks again.

“go let him in.” you give daryl a nudge. “it might be about pete.”

“exactly.” he gripes.

“i’ll just keep knockin’!”

“you know he will.” you nudge him harder this time. “tell him the truth, he’ll be on our side.”

then the jarring sound of a nasally snore fills the room. he never snores.

“i know you’re faking.” you shake him. “daryl.”

the ‘snoring’ gets louder.

you purse your lips, then throw the covers off and kick your legs over the side. “making your wounded wife answer the door in the middle of the night.” you tut, tying your robe as loosely as you can. “unbelievable.”

his face meets the wrath of your pillow when you toss it at him, then you pad across the room. “coming!”

#daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x wife reader #daryl dixon x wife!reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader fluff #twd fluff #daryl x female reader #daryl x fem!reader #ᝰ 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛

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kieranduffysgirl · 16 days ago

Text

simon 'ghost' riley x price's daughter ˚ ۪ ୨୧⊹

wc: 0.8k

warnings: petnames (love, lovie, little missy, missus, baby), kissing, cuddling, physical affection, mention of intimacy, inexperienced!simon, soft!simon, sweet!simon, soap cameo (and he's a bit cocky soz guys), gaz cameo (anxious gaz 4 life)

a/n: I love sweet and shy simon, this man is definitely quiet and awkward with girls but I can imagine hin being all cute and gentle in a secret relationship, also he would be the best son in law Price could ask for lets be honest - a snippet from an upcoming collection!

∘•···············•∘ʚ ୨୧ ɞ∘•················•∘

"You pair need to remember she's my daughter, we're not in a pub and you're not to try anything with her...she's my little girl." John huffed in exhaustion as he sipped his bottle of beer on the decking of his rural cabin by the English coast. An anxious Gaz and a an unbothered Soap sat in from of him.

"Of course...I'm sure there's plenty of other girls around, Captain..." Gaz mumbled anxiously as he fiddled with his empty bottle of beer. He had no intention of trying anything on with Price's daughter, but the idea of disappointing him was nerve wracking for him.

Soap on the other hand didn't give a single shit.

"Dinnae get why not, she's a wee bonnie lassie...aye, I'd be a stella son-in-law too," He rambled on as he took a swig of his beer, "Why y'not givin' ole Riley this lecture too, Cap?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes, "Simon hasn't even spoken to a girl on our nights out, never been on a real date...don't think he's ever been near a girl...and whenever little missy walks into the room he's quieter than ever." He explained casually, it was known that Simon was inexperienced and lacked any female interaction.

But, what they failed to notice was that Simon had turned up to the cottage already, but was still tucked away inside the kitchen.

His arms were tightly around Price's daughter as he mumbled, "Missed you lovie...love you so much...you putting the kettle on for me, love?"

His lips were all over her cheek and neck as he gripped her tightly, her giggles filled the kitchen as she wiggled and tried to kiss him back whilst making him a cup of tea. Her smile was brighter than the sun itself and she was warm, loving and gentle. Her patience with him was something he had never experienced before, she made him feel loved in a way no one ever had before and it made his heart ache.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ୨୧ ɞ∘•················•∘

They had fallen in love nearly a year ago, when Price had bought the boys to the same coastal cottage for a summer break after a rough mission. One that had Simon reliving his childhood trauma and battling his ptsd, but she cared for him like no one else did...she almost understood him in a way.

Simon had spent his nights on the deck, holding her hand and listening to her story, she always did the same in return. She always helped him piece together his own story. He didn't see when, but at some point his arms wrapped around her and drew her close to him, closer than anyone had ever been. His lips brushed against hers as he whispered, "Please..." a plea for her love, her affection, her attention and her hand in courting.

He hadn't ever had someone.

And neither had she.

They were so deeply in love, but no one else could even see it. It was as if it was a secret so well kept that only the stars that shone that night could remember their confessions and kisses that were the catalyst to this sweet romance. He began to avoid all women at the bars and barely spoke to any other girl when he was out because he knew his sweet birdie was waiting for him to come home, but the boys put it down to his lack of experience and social skills.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ୨୧ ɞ∘•················•∘

"Missed you lots and lots..." She mumbled softly against his, chapped and scarred, lips as she let him lift her up to the counter to be at his height. His large, callous, worn hands were gently running over her plush stomach and around her freckled back to cuddle her so close it was almost suffocating.

"My missus...Mrs Riley..."He whispered tenderly into her ear as he held her tightly, as if scared she would be taken from him. Like someone would swoop in and steal her away. His insecurities were the bane of his life, always in the forefront of his mind, it made him sick to think of losing her in any way.

She giggled softly, like an angel, and whispered, "Need to ask good old Captain Price for his blessing first, baby..." as she quietly slipped down from the counter to finish making tea for her loving, gentle and slightly anxious boyfriend.

His heavy arms settled around her plush waist and he hunched down to her shorter height to rest his scrapped, scarred and stubbled chin on her head. "Mhm...soon..." He mumbled into her silky tresses as he pressed gentle, butterfly-like kisses to her parting of her locks.

The loving reunion occurred under the soft glow of the sunset in the rustic kitchen, as Price sat outside with Gaz and Soap completing oblivious to the gentle lovers inside.

Completely oblivious to the connection between the two broken people, a connection built on love, trust and respect.

Maybe soon it would grow harder to conceal, or maybe Simon would finally ask for Price's blessing to marry his daughter. The little, vintage engagement ring in his pocket was quietly praying for the latter result to happen, in order to grace her finger and portray their love outwardly.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ୨୧ ɞ∘•················•∘

#@kieranduffysgirl #aveswrites #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost fluff #simon ghost x you

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dollyswishingwell · 1 month ago

Note

Maybe for mama’s princess, can you do a part where their daughter stops the Li’s from getting hit on?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.12

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack, anon this is such a cute idea, our baby really protected our assets fr

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your baby girl stops people from hitting on your husband

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You practically had to shove them out the door.

Rafayel was draped over your lap like a sleepy cat, babygirl wrapped around his neck like a baby sloth, and neither one of them showed any intention of getting up.

“Just go to the aquarium or something,” you sighed, gently peeling your daughter off your husband. “Give me two hours. Please. I want to sit in the tub without hearing someone cry or ask for my boobs.”

Rafayel blinked slowly. “…I would also like to ask for your boobs.”

You gave him a look.

So did the toddler, but she parroted him anyway:

“Boobs.”

You stared between the two of them, deadpan.

“Okay. Out.”

— ✧ —

The aquarium outing was a success, for the first twenty minutes.

They matched in little lavender hoodies and matching crossbody bags, your baby girl holding tightly to his hand while Rafayel dead-eyed a penguin exhibit.

She was thrilled.

He was tolerating it.

And then,

a pair of giggling young women approached.

“Awwww—oh my god, is this your little girl?”

“You’re, like, too handsome to be walking around with a baby, haha. Is she your niece?”

Rafayel blinked at them. Slowly.

He was mid-sip of his bubble tea, eyeing them with the exact same flat, tired, unbothered look he gave cockroach executives during Monday meetings.

“No,” he said bluntly. “She’s my daughter. And I’m married.”

“Oh no way,” one of the girls giggled, leaning in toward him. “Married men are always the flir—”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

Because suddenly, a tiny voice chirped:

“That’s my mommy’s husband.”

They looked down.

And there she was.

Two years old.

Pink tutu. Rafayel’s same bi-colored eyes staring them down like judgmental little searchlights.

Holding out her baby pink flip phone toy. Like it was a gun.

“I’m callin’ Mommy now.”

“You’re not ‘pposed to talk to my Daddy.”

Rafayel blinked.

The girls went quiet.

So did half the aquarium lobby.

“…I didn’t even teach her that,” Rafayel muttered, sipping his tea again, only a little proud.

“Come on, my little moonflower. Let’s go see the jellyfish. Maybe they won’t try to homewreck us.”

Your daughter clutched his hand again.

“Can you carry me like at home?”

“Mommy says you’re strong and pretty like a princ. But you’re my prince. Not theirs.”

Rafayel melted. Instantly.

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, hiding his grin in her bubblegum-scented hair.

“Don’t tell Mommy I bought you gum.”

“But yes. I’m your prince.”

— ✧ —

When they got home hours later, you were still in the bath, blissed out and surrounded by bubbles.

Until your daughter stormed into the bathroom with her little bag, climbed on the counter, and announced:

“Mommy. I protect Daddy. From evil womens.”

You blinked. “…Evil womens?”

Rafayel wandered in behind her with his arms crossed and his cheeks pink.

“I didn’t even look at them,” he swore. “Your daughter’s just terrifying.”

You raised your brow.

“…What did she do?”

He deadpanned. “She threatened them. With a toy phone.”

Your daughter beamed proudly.

“I told them. He’s Mommy’s. He not yours.”

And you absolutely kissed her so hard on her chubby little cheeks and whispered:

“That’s my princess.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It took every ounce of effort to get Zayne out the door.

Your sweet surgeon husband, cold to the world but painfully soft for you, had been clinging to the kitchen counter, still dressed in scrubs, with your daughter latched onto his leg like a barnacle.

“I don’t want to go if you’re not coming.”

“Just… let’s stay home. We can eat snacks. You can sit on my lap. That’s your thing, right?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Zaynie.”

“Yes, baby?”

You pointed at the toddler clutching his thigh like a hostage.

“She hasn’t let me pee alone in three days. If you love me at all, you will take your child to the hospital banquet setup so I can lie on the floor in peace.”

Zayne gave you a look.

Your daughter mirrored it.

But five minutes later, he was grudgingly carrying her out the door, muttering to himself.

“Gonna sue the cleaning lady if she doesn’t come back. My wife’s suffering. My daughter’s jealous. My life is over.”

— ✧ —

The hospital was hosting a mini staff family event to prepare for the gala, press tours, final fittings, department photos.

Zayne hated it.

His daughter hated it more.

Because you weren’t there.

And because every woman in that building somehow forgot their professional license the moment Zayne walked through the lobby doors.

“Dr. Zayne, you’re looking well—”

“Is that your daughter? Oh she’s precious, looks just like you!”

“Are you single, I mean, is your wife coming to the gala?”

Zayne stared flatly ahead, ignoring all of them as he adjusted his daughter’s bow.

But babygirl?

Babygirl snapped.

She squirmed out of his arms, stomped forward in her pink Mary Janes, turned directly toward the gathered nurses and interns and, in perfect toddler rage, shouted down the entire cardiology hallway:

“THAT’S MY MOMMY’S HUSBAND.”

Silence.

The walls went cold.

Someone dropped their clipboard.

She pointed right at her daddy, pigtails bouncing, cheeks puffed in outrage:

“MY DADDY. MOMMY’S MAN. NOT YOURS.”

“MOMMY’S PRETTY AND SHE PACKED HIS LUNCH. YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM.”

Zayne stared.

She was heaving. Panting. Adorably furious.

His heart monitor watch spiked and flatlined from pride.

“…God,” he muttered. “She’s just like you.”

The nurses slowly slinked away.

Babygirl glared until every single one was gone.

Then she turned to her dad.

“You didn’t even say I’m Mommy’s baby. You let them talk too long.”

Zayne immediately kneeled down, lifting her into his arms.

“You’re right,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “You’re Mommy’s baby. You’re the prettiest. Just like her. I should’ve corrected them faster.”

“Mommy wouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

“She gets mad. She throws the laundry basket.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath.

“She does. It’s terrifying. You did good.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter burst into the living room and announced:

“Mommy. I protect Daddy from the mean girls. I yelled SO LOUD.”

Zayne dropped the lunchbox you packed on the table and nodded solemnly.

“She inherited your rage. It was devastating.”

You blinked.

Your daughter blinked.

“…she what?.”

“Nothing. You’re beautiful. I need to sit down.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You had to bribe them to leave.

Xavier was half-asleep on the couch, your babygirl curled under his arm like a sleepy kitten, both of them blinking up at you with identical wide eyes and matching blue pajamas.

“Go where, pretty girl…?” Xavier mumbled, voice soft and slurred from a nap.

“You said I could lie here. I’ve been good. I haven’t even skipped a meeting since Wednesday.”

You gestured dramatically to the trail of glitter, stickers, and lollipop sticks leading from the kitchen.

“Okay. But your daughter ate five sugar sticks, painted the cat, and called me a side character for not having powers. I need a break. Take her with you to the lounge. Let her burn off energy somewhere else.”

Xavier blinked.

So did she.

“But Mommy’s the main character,” she said softly, snuggling closer to your leg. “You’re the prettiest. We don’t need to go…”

You kissed her forehead sweetly.

“I love you.

But if you two don’t get out of this house in 30 seconds, I’m moving to a cave on Europe and taking the cat with me.”

Xavier saluted you weakly and shuffled toward the door with her in his arms.

“Come, light. Your mother needs solitude. Let’s go terrorize someone else.”

— ✧ —

The Lounge was an enormous white-marble space filled with calm music, elite warriors, and mildly suspicious tea blends.

Xavier wandered in with his usual half-awake grace, your daughter perched on his hip, still in her pastel hooded cape.

Everyone paused.

Everyone stared.

Especially the newer recruits.

“He has a kid? He’s way too pretty to be a dad.”

“Do you think he’s single? He doesn’t look married.”

Xavier sighed and rubbed his temple, too tired to acknowledge the whispers.

But your daughter?

Your daughter heard everything.

And she was not having it.

She calmly reached into her sparkly purse…

Pulled out her limited-edition holo-charm wand…

And walked straight up to the group of women whispering about her daddy.

“My Daddy’s married to the prettiest girl in the world.”

“She makes him bentos with heart eggs and lets him kiss her tummy.”

Silence.

She held up a drawing she made, of you, with big sparkly eyes and long lashes, holding hands with Xavier and surrounded by hearts.

“My Mommy is the princess. You can’t have Daddy.”

“He only loves her. He naps in her lap. He says she smells like stars.”

The room went still.

One of the girls tried to giggle, “That’s cute, sweetheart, but—”

And the second she reached forward to touch Xavier’s arm,

CHOMP.

Your babygirl bit her hand.

Xavier blinked awake.

“…Sweetheart?”

“…Did you bite someone for Mommy again?”

She nodded proudly. “Yes.”

He gently picked her up and turned to the woman rubbing her hand in shock.

“You’ll survive,” he said blandly. “But if you so much as breathe in my direction again, she will bite harder.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter climbed into your lap immediately.

“I saved Daddy from the liars,” she said, very serious. “They were being so fake. I bit one.”

You blinked. “You what?”

Xavier walked in behind her with a yawn, scratching his head.

“She was very graceful about it. Honestly, it was poetic. I think I’m in love with both of you.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Are we going to get sued…?”

“No,” he said. “She was a volunteer recruit. We’ll just… deny everything.”

Your daughter cuddled against your chest and whispered:

“They were mean. You’re the prettiest. I only like you.”

And Xavier quietly leaned over, kissed your temple, and murmured in your ear:

“That’s our girl.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

“You’ll survive,” Sylus drawled. “You love being spoiled. And I love spoiling you. So, let me take my daughter out for the day and give my little wife her throne back.”

He was already kissing your temple as he lifted your toddler into his arms, both of them dressed like they were heading to a power lunch on wall Street.

Matching black trench coats.

Red accents.

Sunglasses.

Your daughter was clutching a mini briefcase that he had packed for her.

“We’re going to the main office,” he told you casually. “She needs to start seeing how the empire works.”

You blinked. “She’s two.”

“Exactly. By four, she should be fluent in contract law.”

— ✧ —

It was supposed to be a quiet tour.

Sylus strolled into his skyscraper HQ with his daughter perched on his hip like a miniature executive.

Employees scrambled to bow, straighten files, and shut up.

Until,

“Mr. Sylus! I didn’t know you had a daughter!”

“She’s adorable. Is her mother still in the picture?”

“You know, I’m free this weekend if you want help babysitting—”

Sylus didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at them.

He just kept walking with his daughter pressed against his side like a smug little marshmallow.

But the toddler?

Oh. She heard everything.

And she did not appreciate it.

She climbed down from his arms, carefully adjusted her sunglasses, and marched up to the small group of assistants who had been giggling too loud.

“Excuse me,” she said in perfect, eerie calm.

“That’s my daddy. He belongs to Mommy.”

“Mommy’s the boss. I’m the princess. You’re fired.”

The entire floor went silent.

“You can’t fire us, sweetheart,” one of them said nervously, trying to laugh.

Your daughter narrowed her red eyes.

Opened her little briefcase.

Pulled out a laminated flashcard sheet Sylus made for her, titled “Mommy’s Rights”, and began flipping through it with deadly seriousness.

“Clause 1: Mommy gets Daddy’s kisses.”

“Clause 2: Only Mommy gets Daddy’s lap.”

“Clause 3: You say anything flirty again, I call the guards.”

Sylus was watching from behind her with a smirk so proud it was dangerous.

“…This is my daughter,” he purred. “She’ll be replacing my second-in-command next quarter.”

The assistants fled.

Your daughter adjusted her sunglasses again and turned to look up at her daddy.

“I did good?”

“I protected Mommy’s property?”

Sylus lifted her in the air like Simba.

“Perfect execution. Five stars. I’m giving you a pony.”

— ✧ —

Back at the penthouse, you were curled on the couch when your daughter strutted in ahead of him like she ran the whole country.

“Mommy,” she said sweetly, climbing into your lap. “I stopped the office girls. They tried to take Daddy. But he’s yours.”

Sylus followed in behind her with his shirt half undone, lips lazily smirking.

“She threatened to unionize the HR department if they spoke to me again.”

You gawked. “What?”

He shrugged, pulling you gently onto his lap too, curling one arm around each of you.

“I’d kill for you,” he whispered into your neck. “She’s learning to do it legally.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

“You need a break, Pipsqueak.”

Caleb’s voice was low and firm, arms caging you against the vanity where you were trying to maybe put on a face mask.

But you hadn’t been alone for more than five minutes since your daughter woke up this morning crying “Mooommmmyyyyy” like a ghost haunting the Skyhaven penthouse.

“Caleb,” you warned, brushing his nose with a dab of moisturizer. “She’s literally under your cloak. She won’t let me breathe.”

He glanced down. Sure enough, her tiny face peeked out from the folds of his Farspace coat.

Purple eyes. Just like his.

Glaring.

You swore she hissed at you when you tried to touch her earlier.

He sighed. “Okay. Operation: Give Mommy Peace and Stop You From Turning into a Goblin. Let’s go.”

“But I wanna stay with Mommy,” she mumbled into his coat.

“You’ll survive,” he muttered, scooping her up like luggage and tossing his coat over her again. “She’s taking a nap and we’re going to the Skyhaven control tower. You can threaten the cadets and call it bonding.”

— ✧ —

The Skyhaven control tower was bustling.

Farspace officers in uniform. Loud orders over comms. Training cadets.

And then: Colonel Caleb and his toddler storming in like a war had been declared.

He sat her right on the edge of the command desk. She swung her legs, arms crossed like a miniature general, wearing his spare captain’s badge he let her keep.

Everything was going fine.

Until a new cadet, nervous, smiling, young, walked up.

“Colonel Caleb? Wow, I didn’t know you had a daughter. She’s adorable. I don’t suppose your wife is around…?”

Caleb didn’t answer.

He was reviewing long-range fleet data with one hand, casually unbothered.

But his daughter?

She froze.

And then slowly turned her head.

Like a horror movie.

Eyes wide. Smile fake. Legs still swinging.

“You’re not allowed to ask about Mommy.”

The cadet blinked. “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t trying to—”

“That’s Mommy’s husband,” she said, voice getting louder. “He belongs to her. Only her!”

Caleb paused.

Looked up.

Sighed.

“…Here we go.”

Your daughter leapt off the table, stood directly in front of the girl, puffed up like a marshmallow about to brawl—and yelled, in full toddler tantrum mode:

“DON’T LOOK AT MY DADDY!!!”

“MY MOMMY’S THE PRETTIEST! MY MOMMY GIVES HIM HUGS! MY MOMMY SLEEPS ON HIS TUMMY!!!”

The control tower froze.

Caleb watched, deadpan, as his daughter pointed to the door and shouted:

“GET OUT!!!”

The cadet turned white and practically tripped over herself running out.

Caleb dragged a hand down his face. Then reached over and picked her up by the collar like a cub.

“…You really are my daughter.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter stomped into your room, climbed onto the bed, and collapsed dramatically onto your lap.

“Mommy. Girls were looking at Daddy.”

You blinked, mascara wand mid-air. “Were they?”

She nodded.

“I yelled. I made her cry. Daddy said I did good.”

Caleb walked in, shirt tugged loose, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She declared you Supreme Commander of my heart in front of the entire fleet.”

“Then she kicked over a map table and told the recruits I belong to ‘the soft lady with sparkly lashes.’”

You choked. “She what?!”

Your daughter wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry. I scared them away. You don’t gotta do anything.”

“I’m your tiny soldier.”

Caleb collapsed beside you on the bed, pulling both of you against his chest.

“You’re the soft lady with sparkly lashes. And she’s the loud chaos I deserve.”

You snorted.

And whispered into your daughter’s hair:

“That’s my little monster.”

536 notes · View notes

sleepychenle · 1 month ago

Text

wc: 1024. genre: suggestive, does this count as smut? tags: brother!jaemin's friend!jisung. ft the dreamies. finger sucking, metions of spit, idk. jisung has a boner¿ [a/n]: yay! freaky post is here. be honest guys, should i stick to fluff and crack? 😭 masterlist

jisung was beyond uncomfortable as his friends kept talking.

your older brother, jaemin, had just left to buy more snacks while his six friends stayed in your house chilling, playing videogames in the living room.

that was until haechan brought up your name to the conversation. this was one of the usual subjects when they hung out without jaemin. of course, he didn’t know about it, and neither did you.

“have you seen how good she looks in that checkered mini skirt? and oh my god, that white top…” he runs his hands through his face as if that proved his point further.

you would’ve easily brushed off his observation if it wasn’t for the fact that he described your outfit to perfection. there was no way he wasn’t talking about you.

“yeah yeah, but my favorite has to be that red bikini of hers” chenle says confident. after his comment, you heard everyone else humming in agreement.

when did they have the time to look at you so attentively today?… when did they have the time to look at you at all?

they kept debating about you, and you weren’t even mad. you were genuinely curious… amused, even. they were so loud too… were they hoping you would catch them?

you stayed in the kitchen, just to listen their thoughts getting dirtier. until you hear jisung’s hesitant voice. “don’t say things like that guys” five pairs of eyes look at him as if he was ridiculous “…it’s not okay” he continues, growing less confident—if he ever had confidence to begin with.

“don’t be a pussy, you must be the one that thinks about her the most” jeno chuckles. “that’s… not true” he mutters with a frown. you can’t see it, but you hear it in his voice—he feels called out.

jisung couldn’t bear listening to them anymore, so he muttered an excuse to leave. “i’m going to grab some water.” he says quietly as he stands. no one responds, too caught up in their debate. but when he reaches the kitchen he sees you there, leaning against the counter, and he freezes.

“i heard you defending me back there… thank you” you say, snapping him out of his shocked state. “n-no problem, yn… they shouldn’t talk about you like that.” he grabs a glass and fills it with water, trying to keep up his little act. he’s nervous—like you somehow know he is no better than them.

you put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and he can’t help but shiver just from that. how cute. his reaction makes you smile, and you decide to tease him a little. you get closer to him and take the glass off his hands.

he is tall, but not intimidating at all. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him against you. “w-what are you doing?” he asks surprised at the sudden hug.

“nothing…” you feel his body stiffening so you pull away, just enough to look at him “i just wanted to thank you” you say innocently. “you don’t have to, really…”

“i want to…” the softness of your voice doesn’t feel right to him but he doesn’t question it. you let out a soft chuckle when your palm lands flat against his crotch. the gasp that escapes him is so loud, he fears the others heard it.

“oh? you are hard, jisung” his eyes widens immediately. he wants to say something—to deny it, but how could he? you’re literally feeling it under your hand.

“have you been defending me while being hard yourself?…” you pause for a second to squeeze his shaft over his pants, earning an embarrassingly high-pitched whine “or did i make you like this just now?” when he glances up and sees the amusement in your eyes, he feels a wave of shame making his chest tighten.

“i- i am not-“ he stutters, trying to find the perfect excuse. you caress his cheek with a smile—almost understanding. “don’t bother in answering, ji…” but your tone quickly turns mocking. “both of them are just as pathetic”

“i’m sorry, i- i swear i’m not like them” he says quietly, as if he wasn’t allowed to be louder. “oh i know you are not” you reach for his hair, tangling your fingers in his locks.

“you’re the only one that keeps lying to himself” he doesn’t know what’s happening—how he got in this situation in the first place... but he can’t bring himself to stop you from whatever you’re doing right now. “why don’t you tell me what you think of me, hm?”

he looks at you with wide eyes—speechless. you, tired of his unresponsiveness, grab his hand and kiss it softly. at first, just pecks on the back of it. but you wanted more of a reaction—more of those whines you knew he could make. so you start taking his fingers into your mouth.

“w-what if someone sees” he glances at the door a few times, then fixes his eyes on your mouth—where his fingers disappear inside. you just hum and keep going, sucking eagerly.

it hurts when the pressure builds in them, like they might explode. but somehow, it feels good. he wonders what it would feel like on his di—

he closes his eyes tightly, cursing at himself for his thoughts. how can he be thinking those filthy things? he swore he wasn't like them… but isn’t he the same, actually?

once again, you snap him out of his thoughts when you pull away. his gaze now locked on his spit-covered fingers. “my brother will be here soon, so i’d suggest you take care of that quickly…” you say, patting his hip.

“you wouldn’t want your friends to see that bulge in your pants, right?” you softly fix his hair and smile before making your way back to your room.

🏷️: @lyvhie

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moonchildstyles · 10 months ago

Text

cloudburst

y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month.

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was.

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly.

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him.

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner.

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check?

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up.

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up.

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back.

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls.

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway.

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him.

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent.

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead.

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist.

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath.

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized.

No doubt, she could do this.

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks.

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night.

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby".

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place.

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short.

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture.

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another.

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more.

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin.

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl?

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him?

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears.

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment.

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store.

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead.

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light.

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel.

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection.

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort.

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch.

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in.

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers.

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright.

"Hon? Are you okay?"

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond.

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace.

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat.

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands.

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him.

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N).

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days.

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship?

"But, what about you?"

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—"

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side.

Until he saw the contact name, anyway.

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him.

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression.

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry."

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in.

"Hello?"

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?"

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup?

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—"

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts.

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone.

His stomach turned.

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?"

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight.

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there.

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—"

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing."

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess.

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy).

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat.

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go."

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?"

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him.

He wasn't going to call.

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling.

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat.

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right?

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into?

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out.

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person.

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well.

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered.

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?"

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind.

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable.

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers.

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this?

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears.

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway.

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum.

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher.

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes.

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer.

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks?

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better.

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing.

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere.

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more.

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone.

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body.

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half.

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks.

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her.

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had.

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed.

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight."

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?"

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me."

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry.

"She's doing alright, though?"

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight."

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N).

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away.

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings.

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again."

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up.

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him.

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi."

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run.

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?"

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier."

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can."

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod.

"Right, thank you."

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing.

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her.

"(Y/N)—"

"You're here."

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me."

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now."

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight."

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response.

"I'm sorry."

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?"

That fragile tension between them cracked.

"You were on a date."

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this.

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)."

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?"

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—"

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like."

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that."

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders.

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away.

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date.

"I got into an accident."

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else."

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features.

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself.

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah."

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night.

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words.

"I know."

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew.

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more.

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen?

The air in the room seemingly went still.

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out.

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened."

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks?

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought.

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?"

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes.

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?"

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair."

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside.

He waited.

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television.

He waited.

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight."

Harry's shoulders deflated.

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry."

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself.

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have.

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her.

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her."

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck.

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter.

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks.

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?"

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you."

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?"

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings.

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you."

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore."

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling."

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—"

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you."

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me."

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way.

"I won't."

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms.

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night.

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes.

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself.

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork.

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess.

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room.

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already.

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident."

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did.

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see."

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed.

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night."

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—"

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?"

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably."

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?"

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call.

"Not for you."

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her.

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when."

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course).

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry."

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of.

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes.

"I'll see y'tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night.

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!

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