#do not send me an ask about this. i will not answer you

[sakuravalenp]

Don't eat anything else - Part 3 - DP X DC

Previous part

Masterpost

Sam had somehow fallen asleep after hours of rolling in her bed, so of course, when her phone started ringing, she was just about ready to send the thing flying across the room. She covered her ears with her pillow, hoping the thing would shut up soon enough, and cursed her past self for leaving the phone in her desk instead of plugging it to the socket that was just behind her bed. She could have already shut the thing off then, but no, she’ll have to get out of bed to do it. She was going to maul whoever decided it was a good idea to call in the middle of the night.

With a resigned huff, she got out of bed and went to the desk, stumbling over the chair because of course she hadn’t pushed it back into the space the desk left for it, and snatched the phone roughly, pulling the charger and making her pencil case fall off the desk. The clattering sounds let her know she had also left that open. She groans, and squints at her phone screen, her eyes complaining at the sudden light, she takes a look at the insistent caller: Tucker. She answers while letting herself fall into the chair.

“Tucker, it’s like two am. You better be dying, or I swear to the ancients I’m throwing your beloved PDA into a natural portal to never be seen again!”

“Check the Phantom chat.” Sam blinked. She was expecting some sort of dramatic response. Then her mind caught up to what her friend had just asked.

“Did Danny text anything!?” The call was already being placed on speaker as she took her phone off her ear and started looking for their chat server.

“You’ll have to check yourself, it’s a full text wall, I’ve just read like- the first paragraph. Just- check it out and call me back when you’ve read it all.”

Sam frowned at the beep of the call being ended. She had never hated so much that their server took so long to load. She understood why; a hidden server that went through the infinite realms? Tucker was a genius for creating it. Still, in times like this the waiting was excruciating.

Danny didn’t tell them anything about his life with Vlad. She would say it screamed red flags, but it was Vlad. The moment the man had gotten custody of Danny all the fire alarms were going off in Sam’s head, and they hadn’t stopped since.

They tried not to push much at the start. The Fentons and Jazz’s death was too fresh, so they just checked in, asking how things were going, trying not to prod. But weeks turned to months, and they hadn’t been able to see Danny, and he was not telling them anything.

They had been keeping tabs of what they could get. Danny checked in at least once a day, until he didn’t. There would be days without response, and then Danny would check in again with some vague excuse. When that became common enough, Danny stopped making up excuses and just directly checking in without explaining the absence.

His texts were useless to understand his situation, other than he was well enough to text them, so their next focus was his public appearance. There weren’t a lot of those, but they would be happy with any scraps they could get. 

Vlad had taken Danny to more than a couple of galas and some political events, proudly flaunting his heir, and yet, there were barely any photos of Danny at said events. It was up in the air whether it was due to Vlad avoiding the pictures getting out or due to how difficult it was to get a clear photo of Danny.

Nevertheless, the few pictures they did get weren’t great. He looked emaciated, lost so much weight, lost any brightness in his eyes. Still, Sam had almost cried from relief the first time they got a picture. The mind can be cruel when there's nothing to hold it back, and Sam had about a thousand terrible thoughts of what Vlad could be doing to Danny. At least he was in one piece. 

Her phone vibrated, letting her know the server had finally loaded. There was a bubble beside the Phantom group chat letting her know there were new texts. She pressed on the group chat and was indeed greeted by a wall of text. She scrolled back to find the beginning.

Hey guys, you’ll probably won’t see this until tomorrow but I needed to write this right away before I started doubting. Not that that’s really a choice at this point, not when the Waynes already left with those notes.

The Waynes? Oh, yeah, Danny had mentioned Vlad had invited them to dinner once. First visitors they would be getting. Sam had idly wondered if she would have gotten a chance to see Danny if her parents were more influential. She had never wished for her parents to be richer before. 

So anyway, the Waynes visiting kind of changed things here a bit. I may not have been really honest about how things were going here with Vlad. Though, you probably already knew that, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can tell you guys. I just don’t think I can get myself to tell you, and I’m so sorry, because you’re always there and deserve the truth, but I can’t. So, let’s just leave as things hadn’t been great, and Vlad was more of a monster than we ever thought he could be. 

Sam didn’t like that, it was terribly vague. What had Vlad done to Danny that he didn’t feel he could tell them? Sure they had been dealing with Danny’s silence, but now he was straight up telling them he couldn’t get himself to talk about it. The fact that he couldn’t even explain what Vlad had done meant it was probably worse than what she imagined.

They’d faced their fair share of horrors over the years while combating the rogues, and there had never been a problem verbalizing it. Something horrible had happened. Sam was going to kill Vlad. She didn’t care what the full story was, if it was bad enough that Danny actively refused to tell them, it was bad enough to revoke Vlad’s right to existence. 

The thing is, I can’t keep this up. The Wayne’s came in, and Vlad's plans for dinner made me realize I couldn’t let this keep going. I managed to sneak a note to Timothy Drake-Wayne. Everyone knows the Waynes have connections to the Justice league.

Sam frowned. The Justice League had been shining for their absence from everything involving Amity. That absence still burned like acid. They’d begged for help. Pleaded. Amity had become a warzone more than once, and no one had come. Would they really show up just because the Waynes got involved?

I know they hadn’t been answering our calls, but now it affected the Waynes. Again, I can’t explain how it affected them, but I’m pretty sure the Waynes will make sure the Justice League gets involved. I had to tell them that Vlad isn’t human. It would only end in an apocalypse if they came looking for Vlad without being prepared. They’ll look for you guys. I told them you had the means to combat him. 

Oh shit. Was she really meeting with the Justice League? In friendly terms? After all the ignored calls, Sam had swore it would be on sight if she ever met the assholes. And if they really showed up just because the Waynes were the ones to call, Sam wasn’t sure if she could keep it civil.

I didn’t reveal myself to the Waynes, I don’t know what the Justice League stand on ghosts is, all this is already a big risk, the GIW are bad enough on their own, there’s no way we would survive the Justice League hunting us, but Vlad needs to be stopped. I need you guys to give them what they need to not be possessed, and the ectoguns that I modified, maybe an ectoshield. Nothing more, they have a good history with non-humans, but I don’t know if we can trust them to not start a hunting campaign after Vlad. Try making it clear that this is a Vlad problem, not a ghost problem. I’m sorry I’m leaving everything to you guys, I can’t do anything from this side.

Her breath trembled. If the Waynes were really able to convince the Justice league to finally intervene, they might have days. She and Tucker needed to prep everything.

Ghost attacks had become rare since the portal was destroyed, but sometimes ghosts still came through naturally forming ones. There couldn’t be a ghost attack while the Justice League was there. Not when they needed to convince them that Vlad was the exception, not the rule.

They needed to get the gear and figure out how to lie to the Justice League convincingly enough that they wouldn’t turn every ghost into collateral damage.

Because Vlad might be the monster. But the League could still be the executioners.

Still, despite all the anxiety running through her veins, Sam felt hopeful. Danny had reached for help, after months of silence he had finally reached for help, and for once there seemed to be a chance they'd see Danny again. 

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They couldn’t continue reading the paper right away. There was no way to do it. Cass was more sensitive to people's deaths than anyone else in her family, and Bruce had focused on supporting her so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had just eaten. He had helped Cass to the bathroom like he hadn’t vomited as well. Tim had mumbled something about needing a shower, a really long shower, and left. Jason had forgotten the pretender had been bathed in that cursed soup.

He did think about taking the paper and finishing reading it himself, but green edged his vision, rage bursting under the skin, and he needed an outlet, which he didn’t have here. The punch he had thrown onto the wall had already left a mark, and this was a house they rented as Waynes, he couldn’t just trash it all.

He had worked through some breathing exercises Dick had introduced to him. He’ll never tell Dick, but they did work somewhat. It wasn’t really a surprise, Jason knew Dick had anger issues. The bastard seemed like the perfect young adult holding it together these days, but Jason was there for his teenage rebellion, and that was supposedly an improvement from how he had been as Robin. So of course the breathing exercises helped, but it wasn’t enough.

He felt like giving the wall another punch from the frustration, but he had been trying to “redirect his anger” in less violent ways lately, and this was the kind of situation where it would be better to clear his head instead of exploding. He could save the explosion for when they had that reprobate on their hands. 

His phone was pinging and Jason knew it was probably the rest of the family asking for an update. The sudden silence probably got them worried the supposed poison had been something serious, and as the only one in commission at the moment, he should be the one reporting, but he was pretty sure he would crack his phone if he used it right then. His helmet took his attention where it resided on the desk, and he made a decision.

You’re not supposed to ride while you're angry, that’s how accidents happen, but that didn’t apply to people like him. Red Hood spent most of the night in his motorcycle while absolutely furious; they knew how to ride without becoming a public safety issue. 

He grabbed his helmet and screamed before putting it on. “You better don’t read the damn note before I’m back!” And then he was on the road once again. 

He rode around the small city, making the same circle over and over again at maximum speed. Harsh changes in direction that made the adrenaline pump in his veins. It was a good outlet. At some point the green receded enough for him to think clearer. He lowered the speed a bit, and connected his helmet to the comms. The questioning screams from everyone on comms came instantly.

“Shut the fuck up. I can’t understand a single thing you are saying.” As expected, that didn’t have any effect, but a minute later the line went dead silent. Babs must have muted everyone's lines. 

“Hood, what’s the situation? Did the antidote work without problem?” Babs asked.

Jason almost laughed. Antidote. They wished it had just been some stupid poison. “It wasn’t poison, or drugs, Batman and Orphan are… physically fine.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jason could hear the crackle of a line joining the comms again. “What does that mean Todd?” Damian finally asked.

Jason could feel the rage try to creep back at the thought of what really was in the food, he pushed it back. He didn’t want to really talk about what really was in the food. Another crackle. “Little wing? What was in the food?” 

Jason sighed. Why should he be the only one in commission to report back? No, he was glad to not have been anywhere close to that hideous concoction that didn’t have a right to be called food. He turned the speed back up.

“Apparently, Vlad Masters is a cannibal. One in the habit of sharing his taste with others.” The silence in the other line was about what he expected, so was the new explosion of voices that came afterward. 

Yeah, no. Report given. They could deal with the news themselves. Jason disconnected from comms and started riding back to the house. Checking the time on the edge of his helmet screen, he saw he had been riding for quite some time. How has two hours already passed? 

He left the motorcycle in the garage. There was no one there, so Jason wandered inside. He found Tim was sitting on the sofa with his laptop in the living room, the note folded beside him. Bruce sat on a chair beside him still looking pained. Jason talked from the door.

“Did you actually wait for me?”

Tim shrugged and without taking his eye off. “Figured it would be better to read once we were all here.”

“Where’s Cass?” He asked, walking to the opposite side of the couch.

“She asked to be filled in later.” Bruce answered. “It’s better we read the rest of the note already. I can’t imagine what else Danny would like us to know.”

Tim sighed, like someone had asked him to be the one to read the letter instead of him being the one to take it upon himself. He took the note, unfolding it again, and Jason could see he was making an effort to ignore the first line.

“I don’t know who the victims are, or where Vlad gets them, but they’re recently deceased. So somewhere there must be people disappearing constantly. It may not be the same place all the time, or it may not even be the same city. Vlad isn’t human.”

“Fucking great. Just what we were missing. What is it this time? A vampire? He definitely has the aesthetic going for him.” The pretender glared at him for the interruption, but Jason thinks the situation fully justifies his reaction.

Bruce sighed. “Language. Please, go on, Tim.”

“He’s a kind of ghost.” Tim raised an eyebrow but continued reading. “I know it may be hard to believe for outsiders, but ghosts are pretty much a common occurrence in Amity Park.”

“I thought that was just a tourist trap.” Jason commented, which gained him another glare from Tim. Jason didn’t bother to acknowledge it, though, inside, he was quite enjoying getting the little shit annoyed.

Tim huffed, and lowered the note a bit before commenting. “There are quite a few claims of ghost sightings, but we couldn’t find any proof of them when we took a look at Amity while searching for a house to rent.” He turned to the computer and started typing something.

“Even then, those reports were not of great importance, mentions of seeing a figure for a couple a seconds in the corner of a room, of a shadow following them around the city, or a pale little kid running around in the cemetery.” Bruce added. “The whole city works around the theme.The biggest school is called Casper High, and most attractions are named after ghost-related puns. We concluded it was, in fact, a tourist trap.”

“So what, the kid is imagining his guardian isn’t human? Making things up to cope with the fact that he is a cannibal? That-”

“Um. Bruce, you might want to see this.” Tim interrupted him.

His eyes were wide, scanning quickly through a webpage. Jason moved close to see the screen, and so did Bruce, standing up from his chair to lean over the back of the sofa. Tim started reading titles while he passed the mouse over them. 

“Octo-Ghost Assists Kindergarten Party and Almost Becomes The Birthday Girl's Pet. First Ghost Attack of the Week in Casper High, Red huntress Captures It Before It Can Disrupt Class. Ghost Known as Lunch Lady Visits Local Restaurant and Asks for a Cooking Battle With the Owner: See the Unexpected Results. Don’t You Miss When Ghosts Would Interrupt Class at Least Once a Day? A ranting blog by Phan_number1. None of this existed when we were checking Amity!”

“How is that even possible? The Batcomputer should have pinged something if there was anything blocking the information,” Bruce says in what sounded like a monotone voice, but any of his kids could tell he’s alarmed by the fact that so much information was successfully hidden from the Batcomputer. “Try sending a link to Babs.”

Tim goes ahead to do that with the ranting blog, but honestly, Jason couldn’t care less if the oh-so-great Batcomputer missed this.

“So the kid isn’t making things up, great. Can you both have your freak-out about the information blockage after we finish reading the note?” If Tim were a super, Jason would have a hole on his front, he’s sure of it.

Babs: Why are you sending me a recipe for making ghost-themed pie?

Tim looks at the message in disbelief, and clicks on the link he had sent. The ranting blog opens, no pie recipe to be seen. Tim takes a screenshot and tries sending it, but a warning message appears, saying the file is corrupted. He tries to send an image of his gallery, it goes without any problems.

“This is weird. It’s not like any kind of blockage we had seen before. It even redirects links to a page that matches the city's theme.”

“Try sending the image through the Bat server.” Bruce says with a voice that it was more serious than Jason expected, which makes him glance back at the man. 

Bruce is glaring at the computer with a dark expression. Realization hits Tim, and he quickly tries to send the image through the Bat server. It goes through, and even Jason feels relieved at the received checkmark. 

“Okay… okay. So they’re monitoring private conversations, but the Bat server is still safe.” Tim murmurs. Then goes ahead and tries sending the link once more, with a message saying it should open the website shown in the image. 

Oracle: All that link opens is the pie recipe Red Robin. If this is some kind of joke, you know the Bat server is not for that.

Tim rolls his eyes at the response and starts writing down a response, explaining the situation to Babs.

“The link must be blocked by IP Address. Tell her to try using a residential proxy.”

“Already on it.”

Jason hates when the old man understands more about technology than he does. Damn his time in the grave. He had been working on getting up to date, and he can do some basic hacking and whatnot. Enough that he doesn’t need external help for every little thing. But he’s still so far behind. 

Oracle: I’m in. You’re also seeing all these things about ghosts?

Red Robin: Yes. 

Red Robin: Somehow they have the city under a blockage that the Batcomputer wasn’t able to detect.

“Okay. Babs can take care of investigating that. We have a note to finish reading, remember?” Jason says, reaching for the paper Tim had left beside the computer, which Tim promptly snatches back. “Hey!”

“You won’t read it outloud for everyone.”

“According to whom!?”

“Kids…” Bruce sighed, “Continue reading, please, Tim.”

The little shit looked smug for a second before going back to the note.

“Please understand that in general ghosts aren’t bad, it’s just Vlad. But ghosts are powerful, and Vlad is really powerful. This can’t be resolved through normal means. I know the Waynes have contact with the Justice League, so I ask you to please get in contact with them, and don’t get anymore involved. I doubt the Justice league is equipped for the type of ghosts we have in Amity park. My friends Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley know where to find specialized weaponry and protective devices. Please, convince the Justice League to go for them first, it would be a disaster if one of the Justice League was overshadowed by Vlad.” That’s where the letter ended.

“Overshadow?” Bruce echoed.

Tim wasted no time putting the word into Google, which, now that Jason noticed, was decorated with little ghosts. Did Amity have its own Google doodle? The definition of the word popped like any other word would, and Jason wondered if that was something else that was blocked outside the city.

“It seems to be how Amity Parkers refer to possession.” Tim said after skimming the definition.

“What do we know about Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley?” Bruce asked, already in work mode.

“Not much, outside of being known friends of Danny. The Masons are a well positioned family in Amity; they’re new money. Izzy Manson, Samantha's great grandfather, invented a machine that twirled cellophane around deli toothpicks, the patent and inheritance placed the family where it is today. Pamela Manson owns a jewelry brand that’s grown in popularity in the Midwestern elite, while Jeremy Manson is a real estate developer. They often attend galas in Wisconsin, and sometimes in other big cities. Samantha Mason is a known teen activist, and has had her fair share of incidents at galas.” Tim said, as he opened the report he had made before coming to Amity.

“Incidents?” Jason asked.

“She has a sharp tongue and doesn’t seem interested in keeping appearances. It’s well known she isn’t fond of the styles her mother gives her for the galas. In any photo she posted on her personal accounts in the last two years, she has a gothic aesthetic.”

“Ah.”

“There’s less about Tucker Foley. His mother, Angela Foley, works as a chef at a local restaurant called “A Ghost's Secret Recipe.” His father, Maurice Foley, is an IT technician for the city government. Tucker seems to take after his father in his interest in technology, and has a history of winning local programming contests.”

“There’s nothing that really screams “I know how to fight ghosts and have ghost weaponry” is there?” Jason comments.

“Well, this is the information we have while searching with the city's information being blocked. Search for Daniel Fenton on the web,” Bruce says, and when Tim enters the name, a lot of news articles come to light. “We should have suspected something when there weren’t a lot of news articles talking about an explosion taking the life of a whole family.” Tim nods to that.

Jason frowns at the screen. “Are you seeing these titles? Local ghost hunters die from mysterious explosions? Something tells me that the access to weaponry has more to do with Danny’s parents than anything about Samantha and Tucker.” 

“What did we have about the Fentons from the investigation in Gotham?”

“They were supposedly part of the tourist industry, “entertaining tourists with street shows about ghost hunting.” We were literally blocked from one of the most important details of Danny’s life.” Tim groaned. 

Bruce sighed. “Let’s try getting some sleep. We’ll try meeting Samantha and Tucker tomorrow in the late afternoon.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Late afternoon?”

“They’re teenagers. I would prefer to interrupt their class time or disturb them too late. They might not even know we plan to meet with them.”

Tim nodded, already starting with the new background check. “I doubt Masters lets Danny have his own phone.”

Jason unceremoniously closed Tims laptop, putting it aside and carrying the kid in a firefighter carry.

“Trying to rest applies to you too.”

Tim protested as he trashed, trying to get him to let go, and if the pretender had actually been serious about it, Jason may have not been able to keep a hold of him.

“I’ll tell Babs to leave the investigation for tomorrow as well. You’ll have time before we go meet Danny’s friends, so let’s rest for some time first, okay?” Bruce said with that voice he always used when he was treating them like little kids. And if Jason found it soothing, that was between his mind and himself.

Tim groans, but relaxes, accepting defeat, and the kid is asleep before Jason even makes it out the living room. Jason wonders, not for the first time, if Tims ability to basically sleep anywhere, anyway, anytime, would go away if the kid actually followed the sleeping schedule Bruce and Alfred tried imposing, instead of taking random naps around the clock. 

He’s sure the little shit will be back in front of the computer in 30 minutes. Whatever. He already did his mandatory older sibling duty by getting him to stop for a nap. 

[papayainsectorone]

teach me on the other side of the world

════════════════════════

summary: oscar is off racing somewhere in the world, but finds himself in the same situtation of quirming at your words again

content: 18+! smut, nsfw FaceTime sex, masturbation, praise kink, mutual pining, suggestive texting, desperate!Oscar, post-race tension, playful domination, light dom/sub dynamics, mild teasing, dirty talk, slow burn payoff

word count: 2,7 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: this is my first time trying a little smau situation and i quite liked it, also this part is not as long as the others but that man needs a break (somehow) lol

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7

════════════════════════

You’ve kept in touch since he left not just polite check-ins, but real conversation. Long threads of messages, soft voice notes exchanged when the timing aligned, and the occasional late-night call that left you both smiling into your pillows.

When he was away again for the next races, you watched him on TV. Eyes glued to the screen, heart stuttering when they cut to him adjusting his gloves, eyes dark and focused beneath his visor. You could almost feel the energy he carried, the calm precision with that edge of something more.

Later that evening, just after the podium ceremony, you send another message

His typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then again. Then gone.

You stare at the screen, waiting, a little amused, a little smug. But instead of a reply, your phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call.

You answer without hesitation, already grinning and there he is. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, breath just slightly uneven, and that wrecked sort of look in his eyes like you’ve completely undone him from half a world away.

You giggle. “What are you doing?”

Oscar groans softly, dragging a hand through his hair. “What are you doing to me.”

Your smile grows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a brow at the way he’s shifting like he can’t get comfortable, like every part of him is on edge. “You’re in the driver’s room? Not at the hotel already… what are you doing?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it.

Oscar swipes a hand through his hair, cheeks a full, telltale pink now. “Trying not to lose my fucking mind.”

You grin. “Why’s that?”

He glares at you, but there’s no heat in it. Just desperation. “You know why. Jesus.”

You lean back slightly, resting your chin in your palm as you watch him squirm. “Oh, I know. Maybe tell me anyway.”

“Fuck,” he groans again, dragging the word out. “You’re unreal. I’m—God, I’ve got engineers like twenty meters away and I’m sitting here trying to act normal while you’re saying the filthiest shit to me through a phone.”

You smile sweetly. “I haven’t even started, baby.”

He shudders, hand flexing in his lap. “Don’t. I’m serious.”

“You don’t sound very serious.”

“I can’t stand up right now,” he mutters like it’s a confession, gaze flicking down, then back up at you. “And it’s your fault.”

You pout dramatically. “Aww. Poor baby.”

“Stop it.” His voice cracks, and he covers his face for a second.

“You love it.”

He pulls his hand down, eyes hot now. “Yeah. I fucking do.”

There's a pause—quiet but loaded—then he shifts again, thighs visibly tense, and exhales sharply. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head, voice dropping just a bit more. “Only if you let me.”

He groans, and it’s low, throaty, utterly unguarded. “Fuck. Stop talking. Please.”

You just smile.

You let the silence linger for a beat, watching the way his breath hitches through the screen, the faint rustle of fabric as he shifts in his seat.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you say, “You know what I was thinking about while you were racing today?”

He looks like he might combust. “Don’t—”

You cut him off, voice soft and syrupy. “The way your mouth felt on me. How focused you were. Like you were trying to win me, not a race.”

His hand grips the edge of the seat now, knuckles white. “Baby—”

“And how when you finished, you looked so proud,” you murmur, letting each word drip. “Like you just set a personal best.”

Oscar closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall with a sharp exhale. “Holy fuck.”

“Bet you’d break your own record if you were here right now.”

His eyes snap open again, dazed and dark. “You have got to stop.”

“You say that,” you hum, “but your hand hasn’t moved from your lap once.”

He doesn’t answer just groans again, deeper now, and drags his hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub away the urge. When he lowers it again, his eyes are glassy. “I’m gonna lose my job.”

You laugh softly. “Only if they catch you.”

He leans in closer, jaw clenched. “You’d be the death of me. You know that?”

You smile, slow and dangerous. “Then die a happy man.”

He lets out a breathless, strangled sound, and you can practically feel the tension buzzing through the screen. “I need—fuck. I need you.”

That stirs something low in your belly, but you keep your voice light. “Mm. I know.”

Oscar blinks at you, totally wrecked. “This is so unfair.”

You soften your voice, just slightly, still playful but laced with something darker. “Then close your eyes, baby.”

He swallows hard, lips parted, gaze flicking between your face and the faint outline of his own reflection on the screen. “What?”

“Close them,” you repeat gently. “And pretend it’s me.”

His breath catches, but he obeys, lashes fluttering down, jaw tense.

“Think about my hands on you. The way I sounded when you made me fall apart last time,” you say, slow and deliberate, letting the memory stretch between you.

He exhales shakily, knuckles flexing. You keep going, voice soft but firm.

“Undo your pants, nice and slow. Just enough to feel it. Imagine it's my fingers instead of yours.”

A groan slips from him, quiet and desperate.

You hum, smile curling. “Good. Now don’t move yet. Just let your hand sit there. Feel how hard you are. For me.”

His hips twitch, and he presses his lips together in a failed attempt to stay quiet.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you murmur. “Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is barely more than a breath. “So—fuck, it’s—”

You smile, heart racing, entirely in control now. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hand shifts, just slightly, and you catch the hitch in his breath. “You didn’t tell me I could move,” he whispers, teasing but barely holding it together.

“Oh, you want permission now?” You tilt your head, savoring this.

He grins, flushed and flustered, but you can see it how badly he wants you. How worked up he already is from just your voice, your words.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

“I think I do,” you say, just above a whisper. “You’re hard and aching and trying to be good, just like I like.”

He curses again, softly, biting his lip.

You shift a little on your end, just enough to let the hem of your sleep shirt ride up. You’ve been aching, too—have been since the second you saw his flushed face light up your screen.

He doesn't notice at first. Not until your breath hitches.

His eyes flick up, sharper now. “Wait—are you…”

You smile, slow and wicked. “What do you think, baby?”

He swears under his breath, eyes darting down as if he could see through the phone.

“I can hear you,” he murmurs, voice almost reverent. “Those little sounds.”

You hum softly, fingertips ghosting between your thighs, just enough to make yourself gasp. “All for you.”

His mouth drops open slightly, breathing ragged again. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to.

“I’m touching myself,” you whisper, letting the words wrap around him like silk. “Thinking about how you sounded when you begged last time. How your mouth felt when you made me come.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches like he’s in pain, his hand twitching again, still resting in his lap.

“Still gonna be a good boy for me?” you ask sweetly, just as you press a little harder against yourself.

He nods, fast and breathless, lips parted. “Y-Yeah. I’m trying.”

You moan, soft and needy, and that’s all it takes—he jolts, like the sound shot straight through him.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes. “That noise—fuck, that’s not fair.”

“I told you,” you murmur, circling slow. “You’re not the only one suffering.”

He groans again, that same low, desperate sound from earlier. “You’re gonna break me.”

“Then break, baby,” you whisper. “I’m right there with you.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Now you can move.”

The tiniest movement of his hand and he shudders, face tipping up toward the ceiling. “Fuck—”

“Slow, baby,” you remind him, gentle but commanding. “You’ve got to earn it.”

“Earn it?” he pants, glancing back at you through heavy lashes.

“Mhm. Think about my mouth. The way I’d look up at you, tongue out, eyes begging. You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you?”

He nods without thinking, then chokes out, “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“Good boy,” you purr, and his hips twitch again at the praise.

You watch him fall apart in slow motion, breath ragged, pleasure written all over him.

“Just like that,” you whisper. “That’s it. Let me see how pretty you are when you come.”

His breath catches—shaky, shallow—and you know he’s close.

You see it in the way his eyes lose focus, how his hand trembles slightly just out of frame. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps, and then—

“Oscar,” you murmur, just as your own voice cracks around a moan.

He lets out a low, broken sound, hips stuttering once, twice, before he falls apart with a groan so raw and wrecked it makes your stomach flutter. His body jerks forward slightly, face twisting in pleasure as he spills over his hand and stomach, chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

And it’s that, the way his voice fractures, the sharp, helpless grunt that punches from his chest as he gives in, that does it.

Your breath catches on a whimper, body tightening as the pleasure crests sharply inside you. You press your fingers down just right, and then you're spiraling, back arching, hips trembling. You bite down on his name as it escapes, raw and breathless, your own high crashing through you in waves that steal the air from your lungs.

He hears it — that final, broken moan — and his eyes fly open, dazed and shining, locking on your screen just in time to watch your face twist in bliss, to hear the wet, desperate sounds of your release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, completely undone all over again, like your orgasm just knocked the wind out of him.

You ride the wave out slowly, body twitching, breathing hard, trying to pull yourself back into your skin. The phone wobbles slightly where it’s propped up, catching just enough of your aftershocks — the way your hand lingers between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in ragged swells.

Silence settles, heavy and warm, the kind that only comes after you’ve given someone every inch of yourself and they’ve done the same.

You finally glance at the screen again, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “Hi.”

Oscar stares at you like you just pulled the stars from the sky.

Your grin is slow, amused. “Well, that was a performance.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re gonna kill me one day. Actually kill me.”

You giggle. “Messy boy.”

His face burns brighter. “You’re so mean.”

“You like it.”

He shakes his head but can’t stop smiling. “I really do.”

You tilt your head, voice going soft. “You okay?”

He nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah. That was… yeah.”

“You’re kinda glowing, babe.”

He huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up.”

“Aww, no. Don’t get all shy now,” you tease gently. “You just came so hard for me. Made a mess.”

He groans again, hiding his face in his elbow, but there’s no real protest behind it.

“Next time,” you say with a wink. “In person.”

His head drops back onto the chair with a sigh, and this time his smile is soft. “Can’t wait.”

You settle into the quiet with him for a moment, watching his flushed, sleepy face on the screen. There’s something sweet in the silence, like a held breath after something beautiful.

Then, gently, you ask, “So… what are you up to tonight?”

Oscar blinks a few times, still catching up to the question. “Uh—right, yeah. Debrief in a bit. Gotta go over tire degradation, strategy calls, sector times—Carlos was mega in Sector 2, but I think we missed something on the outlap. And my entry into Turn 10 felt okay, but the data shows I was still hesitating. Might just be setup, but I’ve got a theory…”

His words pick up speed as he talks, eyes sharpening with that unmistakable focus. He sits up straighter, hands gesturing as he gets more into it, completely unaware of the way you’re watching him — the way your chest swells at how much he cares, how deeply he thinks it all through.

“I love how passionate you get about this,” you say softly, cutting in before he can spiral into corner analysis.

Oscar stops. His eyes flick to the screen again, his mouth quirking into a crooked, bashful grin. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s really hot.”

He laughs — short and surprised — then ducks his head, trying to hide how much it means to him.

And neither of you hang up for a while — the conversation drifting from strategy to weekend plans to nothing at all, just breathing in each other’s presence across the screen, the way people do when the feeling is too good to leave.

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 2

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas — and she’s already moved in.

Warnings: Alexia doesn't know how to tuck anyone is, and Y/n is proudly offering five euros to help with groceries.

Word count: 4.6k

Part 1 here

Masterlist

..

Alexia never realised just how big her dining room was until she sat across from a twelve-year-old stranger in it.

She rarely ate here. 

Usually, dinner was something balanced and boring, grilled fish and roasted vegetables, eaten cross-legged on the sofa while half-watching a sports talk show. 

But tonight, with the girl here… it felt wrong, somehow, to eat in silence in front of the TV. So, she set two plates down on the dining table like a proper adult and tried not to feel weird about it.

Now, she just watched, fork halfway to her mouth, as the girl absolutely inhaled her food. 

She was nearly finished already, only a few broccoli left on her plate, while Alexia had barely made it through her third bite.

And she was eating everything. Even the vegetables.

“Aren’t kids supposed to hate that kind of thing?” Alexia asked.

The girl looked up, cheeks full. She looked like a squirrel. 

Alexia resisted the urge to sigh. “So…” she said instead, reaching for her orange juice, “what’s your name?”

The girl shovelled another forkful of pasta into her mouth. “Uhgmm,” she said through it.

Alexia grimaced. “Sorry?”

The girl swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, and shrugged. 

“Not telling you.”

“I’m sorry–what?” Alexia said, completely confused.

“I’m not telling you,” the girl said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll just give me back if you know.”

Alexia stared at her, genuinely baffled. “Give you back?”

“To the orphanage,” the girl said simply. “Obviously.”

Alexia’s mouth opened, then closed again. 

Because… she wasn’t wrong. 

Alexia had wanted to know her name so she could pass it to her lawyer, have someone contact the authorities, figure out how to send her back, and if she was going to have to sign other documents cancelling the guardianship.

“I already know where you came from,” Alexia said slowly. “I don’t need your name to find the orphanage, I know it’s the Santa Clara one”

The girl froze, eyes wide, the fork halfway to her mouth again. Her confidence flickered for just a second.

“You can’t give me back,” she said quickly, too quickly. “You’re my legal guardian now. You signed a document.”

Alexia shot her a look. “A document you forged. In a way, I still don’t even understand.”

The girl set her utensils down and folded her hands over the table. The way she leaned forward, her elbows planted, chin tilted, expression serious, made her look like she was about to do business. 

“Look,” she said, “I don’t want a mom. Or a dad. Okay? That’s not what this is.”

Alexia didn’t answer. She just waited.

“I want to be a footballer,” the girl continued. “Like you.”

Alexia stared.

“I don’t need you to parent me or whatever,” the girl went on, as if that part was obvious. “I just need a place to stay. And for you to get me into La Masia. You don’t even need to pay–I’ve got some money.”

She dug into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a handful of wrinkled bills, proudly laying them across the table like she was negotiating a player transfer. 

Twenties, tens, even a crumpled fifty. Where she got them, Alexia didn’t want to know.

“See?” the girl said brightly. “I can cover the monthly tuition.”

Alexia looked down at the cash, barely enough to buy a pair of shin guards, let alone support a training program, and then back at her.

“You know this wouldn’t even buy one boot, right?”

The girl tilted her head, clearly processing that. “No? Oh….well, that’s okay, I’ll get a job!”

Alexia nearly choked. “You’re not getting a job. You’re a kid.”

“But I can cook! Well, not really. But I can wash dishes!”

“That’s not—” Alexia ran a hand down her face. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just… move in with someone and say you’re gonna get a job in exchange for becoming a professional footballer.”

“Why not?” the girl asked earnestly. “I’ve got a plan. All you have to do is not ruin it.”

Alexia stared at her.

This kid had broken into her house, eaten her dinner, forged a legal document, and now had the audacity to ask her not to ruin her plan.

She took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the girl, who still didn’t have a name. Who looked up at her like this was all normal. 

She forced her own adoption, and she thought it was completely casual.

It should’ve been infuriating.

But instead, Alexia just felt… tired. She had a long day.

She had woken up that morning thinking her biggest worry was the upcoming game. Tactics. Opponent formations. Whether her knee would hold.

Now, she was sitting at her dining table. An unfamiliar setting in itself, thinking about how the kid sitting across from her wouldn’t have clothes for the winter.

Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes drifting down to the empty plate across from her.

“Do you want more?” she asked, her voice calm.

The kid, who up until now had spoken with nothing but confidence, seemed to wilt a little. 

Her shoulders hunched in just the smallest way, and she looked down at her lap like the question embarrassed her.

“No, thank you,” she said, quiet and polite in a way that felt… off.

Alexia frowned. The plate had been licked clean–well, not literally, but close. 

The kid had eaten her food like someone who didn’t know when her next meal was coming. And now, she was suddenly… demure? 

Yeah. No way was she actually full.

Without saying anything, Alexia reached across the table and took the plate. 

The girl flinched–just a little, a small tightening of the jaw–but said nothing. Alexia turned toward the kitchen, refilled the plate with more pasta, and scooped on an extra spoonful of broccoli, since this one apparently liked it a lot.

Then she returned.

Alexia placed it in front of the girl with a quiet thunk of ceramic on wood.

The kid stared. Then blinked. 

Then looked up at her with eyes too big, too round, too unsure.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice tentative.

“Sí,” Alexia said, nodding once.

There was a beat of silence. The girl’s fingers crept toward the tablecloth, rubbing the edge between her thumb and index finger. Her brows knit together.

“Won’t it, like…” she hesitated, glancing at the plate again. “Won’t there be like… a shortage of food or something?”

Alexia’s stomach dropped.

“No,” she said gently. “There’s plenty in the pantry. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But your freezer looked empty.”

Alexia flushed. “I haven’t done the groceries yet,” she admitted.

“Oh.” The girl nodded again, like that made sense. 

And then she reached into the pocket of her hoodie. Fingers fumbling a little, she pulled out more crumpled bills.

She took a single five-euro note, smoothed it against her palm, and then, with all the dignity in the world, slid it across the table with one finger.

“To help pay for the food,” she said.

Alexia stared at the note.

 The table felt too big again. 

The kid too small.

 And suddenly, the game or dinner was the least of her worries.

..

When dinner was done, every last bit of pasta and broccoli scraped off the plates, the kid jumped up with unexpected energy.

“I’ll do the dishes!” she declared, already reaching for the sink.

Alexia frowned, rising to her feet. “You don’t have to.--”

“I like touching water,” the girl interrupted, dead serious, like it was a totally normal reason.

Alexia blinked. “Okay then.”

So while the girl stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Alexia hovered nearby. She dried the plates and set them on the rack, letting the girl have her moment.

She looked comically small next to the counter. The sponge was almost too big for her hand, and she kept having to stretch to reach the faucet.

Alexia cleared her throat, trying to make conversation. “You’re twelve, right?”

“Yes!” the girl said proudly, chin lifted. “Almost thirteen.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes! My birthday is like… in eight months.”

Alexia paused. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely close.”

The girl nodded seriously, as if that settled it. She returned to scrubbing a fork, very concentrated.

Alexia opened her mouth, trying to think of something–anything–she could ask the girl. 

But no question would be enough. None of them could really help her make sense of what had happened two hours ago.

That morning, she was just Alexia Putellas. Barcelona’s captain. Leaving the house with her kit bag slung over her shoulder and her mind focused on training drills.

By the evening? She was… Guardian Alexia Putellas, apparently. Cooking dinner for a twelve-year-old girl who might, technically, be her legal responsibility.

This was insane. Completely insane.

And yet, the girl didn’t look insane. She looked… harmless. Small. 

Too small and far too thin for a twelve-year-old. But also too clever for her own good, too quick with her words, too sharp-eyed. 

And Alexia still didn’t even know her name.

She shivered, recalling how the girl had just… barged in. Walked straight into her living room. Maybe it was time to finally take her mother and Alba’s advice: alarms on the windows, a digital lock on the door. Something that needed a code to open. 

They had begged her to upgrade the security for years, but she had always brushed them off.

Now? Knowing a pre-teen had managed to scale her building and just walk inside?

Yeah. That needed to change.

Her thoughts spiralled further, carried by a chill that ran down her spine.

What would have happened if the girl had chosen a different house? 

What if she’d climbed into the wrong apartment? Found someone who wasn’t kind, who wasn’t safe? Someone with bad intentions?

Alexia’s stomach twisted.

It was obvious no one was looking out for this kid. 

The way she had spoken, so confident, rehearsed, utterly convinced of the legality of her claim, told Alexia that this wasn’t just a prank. 

Something real had happened. Something official enough for the girl to believe it.

And if the orphanage had really let her leave like that…

She rubbed a hand down her face, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow, she was going to call Pedro. Her lawyer would know what to do—he would get the facts straight. 

He could find out who this girl was, where she came from, and what kind of orphanage allowed a child to walk around Barcelona with nothing but a backpack and a forged contract claiming a new parent.

Because right now, Alexia wasn’t even sure what kind of situation she’d gotten herself into.

But one thing was clear: this girl had nowhere else to go.

..

"Okay, everything is done here," Alexia said, sliding the last plate into the cupboard.

The kid, however, wasn’t done. She was hunched over the sink with that same determined energy, scrubbing the basin like it owed her something. 

Her fingers moved fast, precise, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“I don’t think it looks clean enough,” the girl muttered to herself, scrubbing harder. “I like cleaning. It’s like... when something gets shiny, you feel like you fixed something, even if it’s small.”

Alexia tilted her head, trying to spot whatever the girl was obsessing over. From where she stood, the kitchen practically sparkled. 

Not a speck of food, not a smear of sauce. It looked better than it had in weeks.

“Hm… no, it’s good–come on,” Alexia said, reaching for the sponge.

The girl rolled her eyes in response.

Oh. So this was what her mother had felt all those years, when she and Alba would roll their eyes over homework or chores. 

It was infuriating.

“It’s clearly not clean. Don’t you see this?” The kid jabbed at the sink with her sponge, pointing at what Alexia could only describe as a microscopic speck of tomato sauce, dried and clinging stubbornly to the metal.

Alexia squinted. “It’s just tomato sauce…It’s been there for two weeks.”

“Exactly.”

“This is the last thing you’re cleaning,” Alexia declared, watching the wall clock. Ten p.m. already. It was late for a kid. It was late for her, and she hadn’t even changed out of her training clothes yet. “After this, you’re not touching another sponge again.”

The girl nodded, satisfied with her mission. She hummed as she scrubbed, making up a ridiculous song under her breath: “Sauce, sauce, go away, come back never again.”

Alexia blinked. The kid was weird.

When she tried sneaking over to the counter to keep cleaning, Alexia snatched the sponge from her hand.

“Hey!” the kid protested.

“I told you, no more cleaning.” Alexia pointed dramatically toward the living room. “Out. Let’s get you sorted.”

The girl huffed but obeyed, shoulders slouched like she was being exiled from her kingdom.

As they walked into the living room, Alexia tried to figure out what exactly “sorting her out” meant. 

Maybe… just continuing her own routine and bringing the kid along? That seemed like a reasonable plan.

The girl paused in front of the television, standing still like she had stumbled across a secret relic. Her eyes locked on the blank black screen, her expression puzzled.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do–” Alexia began, adopting her classic on-pitch captain voice, ready to lay down a game plan. “We’re going to take a bath, then go to bed, and tomorrow we’ll–”

“What is this?” the girl asked, cutting her off completely. She pointed at the television.

Alexia blinked. “What?”

“This. What is this?”

“It’s a television.”

The girl looked at her like she’d just spoken another language. “What is a television?”

Alexia stared. “A TV. You know… televisión?”

Still no reaction. The girl tilted her head.

“It shows things,” Alexia tried again, gesturing vaguely. “Movies, cartoons, serious stuff like the news… and football games. The best kind of content.”

The kid squinted at the screen, unmoved. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

Alexia let out a stunned little breath. “You… you are Spanish, right?”

“Sí,” the girl replied easily. “I just never… I don’t know what that is.”

Alexia swallowed. “Okay. I’ll explain it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sí. Now come, let me show you the bathroom.”

The girl picked up her backpack, cradling the adoption folder tightly against her chest like it was something fragile.

 She followed Alexia down the hall. 

The apartment wasn’t large—just two bedrooms with en suites, a guest bathroom, a kitchen, dining area, and living room. 

Cosy enough. 

Functional. 

Alexia had been meaning to buy a proper house, but right now that felt a lifetime away.

She opened the door to the guest room and stepped aside, letting the kid walk in first.

It was a decent space. Queen-size bed, full-length mirror, desk, and a set of drawers. Only her mom or Alba ever stayed in it.

“You can leave your things there,” Alexia said, pointing toward the corner.

The girl turned, her figure suddenly looking too small for the room.

“Is this your room?” she asked.

“No,” Alexia said. “Mine’s down the hall, to the left.”

“So what is this room?”

“It’s the guest room. You’ll sleep here tonight.”

Alexia crossed the room and started fluffing the pillows, trying to make the bed look more inviting. 

She had no idea what she was doing, but it felt like the right thing. Domestic. Caring. Sort of.

The girl stared at the bed.

“I’ve never had one of those,” she said quietly.

Alexia froze. “What?”

“A bed.”

Alexia’s hands fell from the duvet. 

Her chest tightened as she turned around slowly. 

“Oh… no. Really?”

“Gotcha!” The girl grinned, dropping onto the mattress. Her legs dangled above the floor, nowhere near touching it. “You should’ve seen your face! Of course, I’ve had a bed.”

Alexia deadpanned. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Por Dios.

“So what exactly do you have in there?” Alexia asked, nodding toward the girl’s backpack.

The girl looked at her with a vague grin, clearly proud of the mystery. 

“Oh, just some stuff,” she said, dragging the zipper open with a dramatic flair and flipping the contents onto the mattress.

A modest pile tumbled out.

Some clothing, only enough for two days. One sock–just one. A toothbrush way too old. 

A few crumpled pieces of paper with what seemed to be drawings on them, and some small photographs–clearly of the girl herself, but younger. 

Maybe five or six.

Alexia’s hand hovered over the photos for a second, curiosity tugging at her, but she stopped herself. It felt too personal.

“This is all my stuff,” the girl announced, smiling proudly. “I’ve worked really hard for them!”

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. 

She was going to enjoy this moment where the girl didn’t seem to focus on cleaning the oven, or was too scared to get sent away to ask some questions.

Alexia turned toward the en suite bathroom attached to the guest room, opening a drawer and casually pulling out a few towels. 

She added a face towel, then grabbed a spare toothbrush, some soap, and the small bottles of shampoo she kept around for guests.

“So… worked for them? What do you mean?” Alexia asked, while keeping her voice very casual, as if she didn’t really want to know.

The girl sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging. “Yes. Work. We had to clean the orphanage to get stuff.”

Alexia paused, shampoo bottle still in her hand.

Ah.

That explained the obsession with the spotless sink.

She gave a quiet nod and resumed laying the towels neatly on the bathroom counter. 

“Oh…I see.”

The girl didn't seem bothered. In fact, she was proud. 

Not ashamed or bitter–just explaining the rules of the world she had grown up in. Alexia's chest tightened.

When she returned to the room, the girl was organising her tiny pile of belongings into the drawers like it was a personal treasure chest.

Alexia cleared her throat.

“The bathroom’s ready. I left you everything you might need, but you can tell me if something’s missing.”

The girl nodded solemnly, folding her single sock neatly.

“You good?” Alexia asked.

“Sí.”

The bathroom door clicked shut with a soft thud. It wasn’t loud–but somehow, it echoed.

Alexia stood there for a moment, her hand half-raised like she might knock on the bathroom door, but for what reason? She didn't know. 

So she let it drop and looked around.

This was her guest room.

Except… it didn’t quite like hers anymore.

Something about it had shifted, like the room itself had changed and adapted the moment that kid stepped in. 

The light even looked different now….warmer maybe, softer. Or maybe that was just in her head.

Alexia’s eyes caught on the small drawer she had opened earlier to grab a towel. 

It was closed again now, but she knew what was inside: one sock. 

Not a pair. 

Just one. 

Ridiculous. 

One sock shouldn’t change the shape of a room. But it did. She sat down on the edge of the bed–hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to anymore. 

The mattress dipped slightly beneath her weight. She stared at the floor.

Should she stay? Or leave?

Give the girl privacy? But what if she needed something? What if she didn’t know how the water heater worked? What if the pressure changed suddenly? What if she…slipped?

Alexia didn’t even know what kind of soap the kid liked. Did she have a skin condition? Allergies? Was she scared of something? Of being alone?

There was a whole person behind that door…a whole history that Alexia didn’t know about. 

Alexia let herself fall onto the bed, arms splayed out, staring at the ceiling. 

The fan rotated slowly above her, barely moving the air.

She hadn’t felt like this in her own space since… maybe ever. 

Not when her mom visited. Not when Olga stayed over for weeks during her injury. Not even when the team came over for dinners and spilt wine on her rug.

This whole situation was a mess. 

It was scary.

Alexia didn’t know how to care for someone in any way. 

Her romantic life was just sad at this point…she couldn’t remember the last time someone flirted with her without also asking for match tickets.

Her family had to remind her to call because she would get too caught up in football…and now a kid? A whole living-breathing kid?

Alexia swore up and down during her teenage years that she didn’t have any maternal bones in her body, but minutes later, when the girl showed up on the bathroom door with a pyjama that barely reached her wrists, she couldn’t help but feel something tugging inside her chest.

The shirt was too snug around her middle. The pants clung to her calves like leggings, stretched out and faded with wear. 

The fabric had once been pink, maybe. Now it was somewhere between peach and grey.

The kid didn't seem to mind how her belly and calves were showing, though, as if it was normal, how it was meant to be worn.

Still, the girl beamed.

“Oh, so… that’s your pyjama?” Alexia asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yes!” the girl chirped. “I got it on my ninth birthday!”

Alexia hesitated. Did the math. 

“Oh,” she said. “It looks a bit… tight, don’t you think?”

The girl frowned, her eyebrows pulling together like storm clouds.

“No.”

Alexia shifted her weight. “What if you change it? I can lend you one of my shirts or something–”

“No.”

“I just don’t think you’ll sleep comfortably in that,” Alexia said, gentler now, trying not to push.

“I like it. It’s mine.”

That last word hit harder than it should have. Mine.

Alexia shut her mouth. Because what was she going to say? That it didn’t fit? That the sleeves pinch? That it wasn’t warm enough?

It didn’t matter. It was hers. 

One of the few things in the world the girl could claim. And maybe that was more important than being warm or comfortable.

Alexia nodded slowly, almost apologetically. “Okay, sorry. You can keep it.”

The girl didn’t smile now.

She just moved to the bed and sat down cross-legged, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

Alexia stood up slowly, legs stiff from sitting too long on the edge of the bed. The girl watched her, still picking at the thread on her too-tight pyjamas.

Alexia hovered for a second, unsure, then stepped to the side of the bed. She reached down, took the edge of the duvet in her hands, and lifted it.

“You can get in,” she said, voice gentler than she expected.

The girl blinked at her. Like the gesture didn’t quite compute. Like she was waiting for something else.

Still, she obeyed. Slipped under the covers slowly, limbs careful and unsure, as if waiting to be told she wasn’t allowed after all. Her head landed on the pillow.

Alexia pulled the duvet up, tucked it lightly around her shoulders. Not too tight. Just enough. She didn’t know what she was doing, but it felt like the right thing.

Neither of them said anything.

She had never tucked anyone in before.

And the girl… looked like she’d never been tucked in either.

So it was a first for both of them.

Alexia hovered again, hands awkwardly at her sides, standing like she was posing for a team photo. The girl just looked at her, face soft and eyes half-lidded with sleep. 

Alexia thought about saying goodnight, or sleep well, or I’ll be just in the next room, but the words caught in her throat.

The girl’s eyes fluttered shut. Her breath evened out, slower. Softer. And then, in the smallest, sleepiest voice

“Please don’t send me back.”

Alexia didn’t answer.

She just stood there for a beat longer, then backed away slowly. Reached for the light switch. The room dimmed into a comforting dusk. 

She hesitated at the door.

Looked one last time.

Then she closed it.

Not all the way. Just enough.

..

In her own room, Alexia grabbed her phone off the charger with hands that felt too shaky for someone who regularly captained national finals.

She opened her messages, scrolled until she found Pedro, her lawyer.

Alexia: Hello, I have an emergency. Please call me

Three dots danced on screen for a while.

Then Pedro finally responded:

Pedro: What happened, Alexia? Something with the contract?

She sighed, fingers flying across the screen.

Alexia: Well, yes. A kid, she somehow got her hands on the contract, slipped a guardianship clause in there, and she came to my house, backpack and everything, saying I’m her legal guardian, she had some documents with her.

The phone started buzzing.

Alexia picked up on the first ring.

“Pedro.”

“You have a what?” he said, voice high and incredulous–nothing like the calm, measured tone she was used to hearing from him.

“I don’t know her name,” Alexia said, running a hand through her hair. “She’s one of the orphans from Santa Clara. You know, that orphanage Barcelona partnered with last month.”

Silence. Then the faint sound of frantic typing.

“Oh God,” Pedro muttered. “Hold on, let me check the system.”

Alexia waited, the only sound on the line the rapid clack of keys.

“Dios mío,” Pedro said at last. “It’s real. It’s all here. You’re listed as her full legal guardian. Signed and everything. The orphanage has already taken her off their records.”

Alexia squeezed her eyes shut. “How the hell did she manage to forge that?”

“No idea,” Pedro said, still sounding awestruck. “But it’s clean. Official. Like it went through the proper channels.”

“I’m so tired,” Alexia whispered, pressing her fingers hard into her eyes.

There was a beat of quiet.

“If you want to reverse it, we can start the paperwork,” Pedro said gently. “It’ll take a few months, but we can make a case for immediate annulment.”

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She stared up at the ceiling, letting the silence drag.

“…Yes. Please.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Okay,” Pedro said, just as softly. 

“I’ll start tomorrow morning. But until it’s processed, you’ll still be her legal guardian. That means enrolling her in school, getting her on your health plan, and making sure she’s safe and cared for. If we want the court to undo this, you have to show you were responsible in the meantime.”

“Fuck.” Alexia let out a long breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll take care of her.”

“Good,” Pedro said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.”

“Wait,” Alexia said quickly. “Do you have her name?”

There was a short pause, then some more typing.

“Y/N,” he said. Twelve years old. Born April second. No siblings in the system. Her mother gave her up–claimed she couldn’t afford to raise her. No ID listed for the mom.”

Alexia nodded slowly, though Pedro couldn’t see her.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Y/n.

Okay.

Alexia hung up. Put the phone down on the nightstand. 

She sat there for a while, staring at the wall. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worried about something that didn’t involve a match or a muscle strain.

Not a press conference. Not a lineup.

Just… a kid.

Maybe that was what scared her the most. Not the responsibility. Not even the legal mess. But the fact that part of her already cared. And it had nothing to do with football.

Alexia allowed her eyes to close on their one.

She dreamt of a sock, folded neatly in a drawer. And a kid with a too-small pyjama, curled under a duvet that didn’t quite belong to either of them.

..

a/n: I’m not sure where this story is going yet, so consider this an open canvas! I’m hoping we can build the plot together, and I’d love to hear any thoughts, suggestions, or ideas you have along the way! <3

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff, @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness @wosofavfanfics

[andy-15-07]

Hi! I.m not sure if your requests are still open of if this is where we ask for them and if its not im sorry. I was wondering if you could do something with Joel where he finds her when he is trying to save Ellie. He finds out that reader is also immune and the fireflies were gonna kill her too. So he saves her and he becomes the only person she trusts and doesn't really talk to anyone but him when they get back to Jackson. Joel slowly falls in love with her and one day on patrol he kisses her because they almost died and he think it's now or never. if not it's all good. Thanks!

Something Better

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1290 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It had been days since Joel had seen another human face that wasn’t trying to kill him.

Ellie was gone. Taken by the Fireflies.

His boots were soaked with blood and melting snow as he moved through the sterile white halls of the hospital, heart pounding, rifle tight in his grip. He’d done the unthinkable already. The doctors were dead. Marlene too. All for Ellie.

But just as he turned a corner toward the recovery wing, he heard a voice. Not Ellie’s. Quieter. Raspy. And scared.

"Please don’t take me back. Please... I didn’t say yes."

Joel froze.

He stepped closer and peered into one of the observation rooms. A girl, maybe a few years older  than Ellie, lay strapped to a hospital bed. Her arms were bruised from needles and restraints. She had dark circles under her eyes, lips dry, and skin pale,but she was very much alive.

And awake.

Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Are you here to kill me too?"

Joel lowered his gun immediately. "No, darlin'. I ain't here to hurt you."

She looked so tired. So damn scared.

"They said I was like her. The other immune one. But I didn’t want this. They were going to cut into my brain."

Joel’s heart dropped. Another one? Another immune girl, treated like cargo. An experiment.

He crossed the room in two strides and started undoing the straps. "You're getting outta here. What's your name?"

She hesitated. "Y/N."

"Y/N, I'm Joel. We don’t have much time. Come on."

The drive back to Jackson was quiet. Ellie was unconscious in the backseat, safe, and Y/N sat next to Joel in the passenger seat, barely speaking.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t cry. Just sat still, staring out the window like she was trying to memorize the world in case it disappeared again.

Joel offered her food. Blankets. Water. Nothing made her flinch except when he touched her wrist by accident.

"Sorry," he muttered.

She shook her head, finally speaking, voice a whisper. "Not your fault. You didn’t put me there. You got me out."

Back in Jackson, life was... different.

Y/N was placed in a spare cabin. Ellie healed. People smiled again. But Y/N? She didn’t talk to anyone. Didn’t trust anyone.

Except Joel.

When she did talk, it was to him. In quiet places. On patrol. On walks. In the early morning when the rest of the town was asleep. She felt safest with Joel.

"You ever think about leaving?" she asked once, during a patrol.

"Used to. Not anymore."

"Why not?"

He looked at her. "Because you’re here. Ellie’s here. It’s the first time in twenty years I got somethin' to lose."

She turned her face away, hiding her blush. But Joel saw it.

They grew close. Closer than Joel expected.

He’d find excuses to patrol with her. She’d bring him coffee. They’d share quiet dinners. She’d sit by his fire when sleep wouldn’t come. And Joel? He found himself watching her laugh. Noticed the way her eyes crinkled. The way she said his name like it meant something.

He was falling.

Hard.

The day it all changed started like any other patrol.

Snow. Footprints. Clickers in the woods.

But when one came too close, too fast, Joel almost didn’t react in time.

Y/N did.

She threw herself between him and the infected, burying her machete into its throat. It collapsed at her feet.

Joel’s heart nearly stopped.

"Jesus," he rasped, grabbing her shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

She was panting, wild-eyed. "I thought it was gonna get you."

"So you just threw yourself in the way?!"

"Yeah! Because I care about you, Joel!"

Silence.

Their breath came in clouds. His hands were still gripping her coat.

"You what?"

She swallowed. "You heard me."

He didn’t wait. He kissed her.

Joel pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. "I thought I lost you. I ain’t never felt that scared in my life. Not since Sarah. Not even with Ellie."

Y/N blinked, her chest rising and falling, trying to keep pace with the thundering of her heart. Joel's hand was still warm at her jaw, thumb brushing back and forth like he was memorizing the feel of her.

"Joel," she whispered. "You kissed me."

"I know. Shouldn't have done it like that, not out here. But hell... you got in front of that Clicker for me. And it hit me,I can't lose you. Not after everything."

Her eyes softened. She took his hand from her jaw and held it between hers. "I didn’t jump in front of it for fun. I did it because I care about you. More than I should. You’re the only one I trust."

He swallowed. Hard. "Do you... wanna go back to Jackson? We can talk more. Just you and me."

She nodded, cheeks flushed. "Yeah. Let’s go home."

They rode in silence the rest of the way, but their hands kept brushing. When they got to Jackson, the world was quieter, more forgiving. Snow lined the rooftops, horses snorted in the early dusk, and families bustled behind closed doors.

Joel led her to his house instead of hers. She didn’t fight it.

"You warm enough?" he asked after hanging up their jackets.

Y/N nodded. Her fingers itched to reach for him again. Instead, she paced a little, unsure.

Joel moved to the kitchen, poured two mugs of tea,one with a splash of whiskey, just how she liked it. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed again.

"Joel, about what happened out there,"

"Let me say it first," he interrupted gently. "I've been fighting how I feel. Since the day I met you. You were scared, covered in blood and bruises when I pulled you out of that Firefly hospital. And yet, you looked at me like I was the only safe thing left in the world. I didn’t deserve that."

"You saved my life."

"So did you. You don't even talk to most people. You talk to me. Trust me. That means somethin'."

Y/N stepped closer. "It means everything. Joel, you're the first person I've felt...safe with. Like I'm not a science experiment. Not just 'the other immune girl.'"

He reached out, thumb brushing her cheek again. "You ain't just any girl, Y/N. You're strong. Brave. Kind, even after all you've been through. And goddamn if I haven’t been fallin' in love with you a little more every day."

She inhaled sharply. Her chest ached in the best way.

"I love you too," she said. "Even when you scowl. Especially then."

He laughed, quiet and rough, and closed the distance.

The kiss this time was slower. More certain. His hands slid around her waist and hers curled into the collar of his flannel. His lips were warm, chapped, familiar. The sound of their breath, the creak of the floorboards, the soft knock of teeth. All of it was them.

They moved together like they’d been waiting years.

Hours later, they sat curled on his worn couch, her legs draped over his, her head on his chest.

"You ever think about what comes next?" she asked softly.

Joel rubbed lazy circles into her back. "Used to be, I didn’t. Was too busy surviving. But now... with you? Yeah. I think about a lot."

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but sure. "I want a life. Not just surviving. A real life. With you."

Joel leaned in, kissed her temple. "Then we’ll make one. Right here. Together."

Outside, the wind howled. But inside, Joel held her like she was the last soft thing in the world.

And for the first time in years, she believed in something better than survival.

She believed in them.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I���ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

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[sweetsbfreex]

out of bounds

summary: Bucky can't imagine life without you.

pairing: Thunderbolts!BF!Bucky x Superhero!reader

wc: 1876

-

A YEAR AGO

“What about Indian?”  You grunt, raising your knee to collide with your opposition's head. He sways at the move before you grab your throwing knives aiming for his chest. 

“No baby, we had that—“ Bucky throws two punches, “We had that two nights in a row this week.” 

“You weren’t complaining then.”

“I just can’t say no to you now can I?” He smiles charmingly before sending another agent flying across the room. 

“Okayy,” you sing, trying hard to ignore how attractive that was, “Italian? You like Mr. Catteano’s ravioli.” 

“Is that what you want?” He walks closer to you. 

“I think so? Oh wait,” you swing around him, throwing  stars at the running agent. One in each leg and another right in the throat, but it misses.

“That was cute,” Bucky smirks. “Something distracting you sweetheart.”

“No I’m perfectly fine,” you huff. Launching yourself in the air before sending a breath stopping kick to his chest. 

You look around the room to see everyone on the ground, “I think we’re good here.” 

Bucky places a finger to his ear, “Walker? Are we all finished here?” 

“All clear, Yelena has the sphere, you both can head to the quinjet.” 

“Understood.” 

Bucky steps beside you, drapes an arm over your shoulder, and steers you both towards the exit. 

“How about Caribbean?” You propose excitedly, you guys haven’t had that in a while. 

“Oh yes, let’s do that. Will you place the order on the way there?” 

“Yes,” you go to push back a piece of Bucky’s hair when you notice you’re missing something. “Shit. My bracelet. I think I dropped it in there.” 

You go before he can say a word, running back in as he walks after you. He hated to say it but these missions really did take it out of him. 

“Doll, Would you hate me if I said I might actually be craving Indian?” 

“James..”

It doesn’t even take a syllable for Bucky to detect the whimper in your voice.

“Y/n!” 

In the room, he’s met with you stood against the man from earlier. 

“Hey!” He dashes to you as quick as he can watching you struggle against the man’s restraint. 

“An eye for an eye.” The agent seethes.

“No!” 

Without a thought Bucky grabs the gun from his holster. It’s 2 shots to his head and two bodies hit the floor. 

He’s by your side in an instant, one hand cradles the back of your head from the icy, hard floor. The other goes to his earpiece. 

“Walker! Yelena! I need medics to the console room. Now!”

“Heard.” Comes through Walker's voice. 

“What’s going on?” Yelena asks, running towards the room. 

“Y/n— fuck!” He hates this. “Y/n’s been stabbed, hurry!”

It looks critical and feels even worse as you gasp in air. It stung but at the same time you could barely even feel the twisted bruise in your chest. 

“James,” you whimper. “Fuck, this hurts,” you cry.

“It’s okay,” he hushes you, his thumb rubbing over your temple. His free hand presses into your bruise. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

—

A YEAR LATER 

Bucky did not want this party. He would rather stay in bed and watch television. But no one would take no for an answer. Not Sam, not Yelena, and especially not you. 

The tower is decorated with all of his favorite things, and as endearing as it was he was not in the mood for any kind of festivities. He turns 108, so what. 

He shrugs his jacket on and a spritz of his favorite scent: Chanel Eau Fraîche and another spritz of his cologne.

He sighs, grabbing his door handle and not even within five seconds of him walking out he’s faced with an array of overly cheerful faces. 

“Happy Birthday!” Is cheered and the sound of a noisemaker fills the tower. 

Shuri, Fury, and Peter even came out for the occasion. Yelena walks over with glittery blue eyes. 

“Happy Birthday Bucky,” she smiles, placing a party hat with the words birthday boy sprawled on it. 

Sam stands beside her with a cake in hand. “Happy birthday, bud.” He claps him on the shoulder and at the same time everyone springs into the happy birthday song. They all cheer at the end when he blows his candles out. 

“Haha” Alexi laughs his deep grumble, picking Bucky up off the ground, “Happy birthday, you know, you are like brother to me. May your life be filled with many, many well wishes.” He kisses Bucky on the cheek. 

“Dad!” Yelena groans. 

Bucky just smiles and says a thank you. 

“How about a shot!” Joaquin whoos in holding the special asgardian concoction to Bucky.

“To Bucky!” Everyone cheers. 

… 

Fuck. Bucky can barely think straight. But he was in desperate need of a breather from everything. He doesn’t know how many fake smiles, laughs, and interest he could give to them. It was just all too much. 

“Y/n..” he walks away from everyone until he hits the end of the  hallway. It’s dark and almost quiet. Everyone else is an echo as he slides down until he’s sat with his back against the wall. His head hangs between his knees.

“Bucky,” he swears he hears your sweet voice like a whisper in his ears. 

“I need you,” he finally breaks. He’s been dreading this day ever since you passed. Birthdays were a special thing to you, and you made sure Bucky got to revel in the same feeling. He never cared about birthdays until he met you. Until you surprised him with a homemade cake in bed and a party of his favorite people later in the night. At those parties, you stuck by him like glue. Always by his side teasingly calling him ‘birthday boy’ until midnight struck. 

That’s when he officially started looking forward to birthdays. And now you’re gone. But your clothes are still in his closet, your perfume still sits on his dresser, your shoes are in the exact same spot you threw them in that day, he still keeps your pillow beside his. He refused to move anything out no matter what his therapist said. 

—

A YEAR AGO

“Bucky!” Yelena finally makes it through the threshold faced with Bucky and you on the floor. Bucky’s kneed against you, his forehead connected to your shoulder and an arm splayed across your body to hold your hand. His body heaves while yours lies still. “Bucky?”

“She’s gone.” He doesn’t move when he declares this, his voice steady and doleful. “She’s gone..” he lifts his head, red rimmed eyes looking into Yelena’s green ones. 

She walks over slowly to the two, placing a knee on the floor as she looks you over trying to keep herself together for Bucky’s sake. Gently, she places her hands to close your still eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she speaks softly.

Bucky looks at your face one more time. His nose has pinkened and his chin trembles. He looks at the red eyeliner you put on this morning to match with Yelena, the lips that would never speak those soft, endearing pet names again. He looks at you and realizes there’s no way he could live without you. There’s no life if you're not by his side.

He’s been through hell and back, but he’s not sure if he can overcome this. 

—

A YEAR LATER

“Please come back,” Bucky cries.

He’s a defined mess. A grieving mess. His hair has grown out to what it used to be. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was fighting, and if he wasn’t fighting, he was drinking the day away. 

“Hey Buck.” 

“Bucky,” Yelena and Sam are each by his side, he feels her hands against his cheeks lifting his head. 

It’s crowded in the hallway as everyone looks on concerned. 

“I need her Sam, I can’t do this without her.” He goes on drunkenly. 

“Hey, you can feel this for as long as you want, but y/n would’ve wanted you to celebrate with family.” Sam says. 

“Bob!” Bucky calls, disregarding everything and everyone, he holds his hand out. “Please, I need to see her. I can’t…” he begs inconsolably. 

“What?” Yelena whips her head around, “I thought we stopped that, you let him go back in there?” 

“I— He wouldn’t let me say no, I’m sorry.”

She huffs before turning to Bucky, “Bucky we talked about this, it isn’t good for you. Y/n wouldn’t want you to cope like this.”

It wasn’t a great memory, living that same day. But it wasn’t always terrible. He likes the beginning: getting to see you kickass so confidently. He loves getting to see the smile on your face that day and the love in your eyes when he teases you. 

God, He misses you more than anything. 

“Please Bob, please. Just this one time. I need to see her. She should've been here today.”

It takes a second before Bob speaks up, “I uhh, I’ve been working on something. A more positive side of the void.”

“Bob..” Yelena speaks with uncertainty.

“I can do this,” Bob says and clasps Bucky’s hand. 

…

“The hell is going on,” Bucky looks around to see his bedroom, but he’s in the same outfit. It’s not the console room like it usually is.

“Bucky?”

His heart drops because it couldn’t be possible, not in this way at least.

“Y/n?” he turns and it’s you. He chuckles to himself when he sees you dressed in his henley. Your fresh out the shower with your hair in two plaits. “It’s you?”

“It’s me.” You answer.

After that, he rushes you. You're in his buff arms in seconds and your feet are off the ground. He places his head in the crook of your neck.

“I miss you,” he breathes out. “This has been the hardest year of my life.”

“I love you so much,” Y/n whispers and pulls away, her hands frame his face. “I love you and I want you to try and be happy, yeah?”

There's a beat of silence.

“Bucky?”

“I don’t wanna talk about that right now,” He states. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you that day. This should’ve never happened, not with me standing right there.” 

Your arms are sat on his shoulders and one hand carts itself through the nape of his head. He hasn’t felt that sensation in days, he could shudder at the familiar feeling. 

“You were there for me everyday we were together. There is no one else I could’ve imagined spending the rest of my life with,” you smile up at him. 

He sniffles at your words. 

…

On the other side everyone watches Bucky’s relaxed face. 

“What did you do?” Yelena asks Bob. 

“I’ve been working on a positive spin on uhh “the void”. It’s the same but a more structured positive memory. 

“Whatever it is seems to be working.” Sam chimes in. 

Sam had never seen Bucky so low before and that was saying something. Something in him shifted after losing Y/n. He thinks about the day of the funeral and how empty and sunken Bucky looked. He just hopes whatever this was what would help a little. 

-

I hope you enjoyed this story, please don't forget to reblog and comment thoughts if you did <33

[onlyquinns]

that photo of kess, his veiny hands... the tattoo... i fear I'm going feral. can i possibly request one where kess goes absolutely crazy when reader surprises him with a small tattoo of his name and/or number where only he can see it.... so.... smutty pls if youre up for it. And maybe a little extra, when he turns up to practice the guys tease him cause his back is totally scratched up from the night before. thanks darling!!!

okay need to be sedated now, that photo has me going mad.

he sees it by accident. you’d honestly forgot you had it, barely able to see it yourself. you’d gotten his initials number tattooed on your hip—just above the bone—weeks ago, a little surprise you wanted to show him for finishing his first season with a completely new nhl team. obviously, you’d forgotten to show him.

michael’s watching you in your little bikini, wiggling to get comfy in the sun lounger, and that’s when he sees it. at first, it just looks like a smudge of black in your skin—but after squinting past the sunlight, he makes out a little mk7 in a dainty font. he immediately abandons his spot by the sliding glass door, his beer can forgotten by the grill as he walks over.

before you can even take your sunglasses off, michael settles over you, bracketing thick thighs over your hips. “when did you get it?” he asks, watching with blown pupils as you scrunch your brows like you don’t know what he’s talking about.

and you don’t.

“get what?” you ask, setting your book down on the hot concrete under you. you pull your shades off and set them on top of your book, michael’s large body blocking the sun from even touching you.

michael rolls his eyes, playing mean and it makes your cheeks warm even more in the summer heat. his hand cups your hip, right over your tattoo, and it clicks. he pinches and prods the skin there, and you whine.

“when did you get this?” he asks, lightly pinching the little tattoo to emphasize its existence. you look up at him and get lost in his face, his eyes dark and half lidded. “c’mon, baby, answer the question,” he growls, pressing his hips down into you so you can feel the hand outline of him through your bikini. hi hand trails over the waistline, pulling it back and snapping it against your skin.

you swallow, mind suddenly hazy and pupils blown just as big as michael’s. “a few days ago,” you murmur, “do you… do you like it?”

michael laughs, the sound so deep and throaty that it has you involuntarily squeezing your thighs together, slick pooling uncomfortably in between your legs. “you’ve no idea,” he whispers.

you’re unable to respond, words stolen from your mouth as you feel michael’s long fingers pull your bottoms to the side. he eyes you hungrily as his fingers make contact with your clit, drawing a loud squeak from you.

“why didn’t you tell me you got it?” he asks, fingers dipping lower between your legs and collecting your wetness on his fingers. he looks at you like he’s disappointed.

“i forgot,” you mumble. “you got so caught up with other hockey stuff—like… like the usa hockey thing.” you chew on your bottom lip and michael chuckles, as if to say that isn’t a good excuse. “i promise to tell you next time,” you say softly, peering up at him with big doe eyes. the look catches him off guard, sending impossibly more blood to his dick, but he shakes his head when he suddenly feels you grind down on his fingers.

michael pulls his hand away, pulling his large hand from your core to rest on your inner thigh, thumb pulling your pussy open for him to look at. “next time, huh?” he says, eyes only on your cunt and how it drools for him.

you nod, hair rubbing against the sun lounger’s rough cushioning. “y’know…” you start with uncertainty. “when we get married… i think it’d be cute to get your initial on my hand.”

michael groans at your words, “you’re killing me here,” he says lowly. he thumbs at your clit, drawing tight circles around it as he shimmies his swim trunks down.

michael pumps his hand over his dick, eyes flickering up to look at your face, a dark chuckle leaving his lips at the sight of you staring at his cock.

“my girl just like it when people know she’s mine?” he asks, drawing the thick head of his dick through your slick folds.

you nod, “mhm, only yours, mikey,” you say, watching where his dick slides through your folds.

michael grins, smug and cocky, and lines himself up with your entrance. his thumb doesn’t stray from rubbing circles against your clit as he sinks in, your body sucking him in. he couldn’t care any fucking less about being caught; in fact, he wouldn’t mind at all—just another little thing to add to the tattoo of his initials and number that prove you’re his. only his.

you moan as michael thrusts into you, taking his hand away from your clit and gripping your hips. he tilts your hips upward, angling your body just right so that he slams into that spongy spot inside of you over and over. you cry out and wrap your arms around him, freshly manicured nails digging into his back. michael moans, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of your freshly done acrylics dragging down his back. he knows you’re going to leave a mark, judging by the sharp sting your fingers leave in their wake, but the idea excites him beyond belief.

“fuck,” he groans, hips stuttering for a second as your ankles lock behind his back. “gonna make sure everyone knows i’m yours, yeah? leaving marks all over my back. fuck.”

you barely register his words, too dumb on the feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you. your body trembles in michael’s hold, your climax building to a peak. michael moans as your cunt flutters around him, squeezing and sucking him in as he tries to keep his rhythm.

“‘m gonna cum!” you cry, legs tight around his waist and hands gripping into his shoulders.

the sight of you him—all messy with sex hair and flushed cheeks—has michael drooling. “okay, okay—“ he presses one large palm over your lower stomach, adding more pressure to the push and pull of his dick inside you. you whine loudly with tears forming at the corner of your eyes, body trembling as you hold back on your release until michael gives you the go ahead.

“m-michael!” you whimper, eyes bleary and bottom lip pulled tight between your teeth. the sun lounger feels wet underneath you. “please—please lemme cum! wanna cum!”

michael grins down at you and nods, “okay, baby, cum for me,” he says, voice smug. “c’mon, pretty girl, make a mess on my dick—know you want to.”

you moan and finally allow yourself your climax, the tightly coiled cord in your lower stomach snapping and sending you spiraling. your body trembles as you pant, quick puffs of air leaving your glossed lips. michael smirks, fucking you through your orgasm and him to completion. he holds your hips tight, pressing deep into you and shooting hot ropes of cum into your aching cunt. you whine at the sensation, pulling michael so he smothers you with his body, and pressing your nose into his neck.

michael smooths his hands up from your hips and holds you close to him, feeling the quick rise and fall of your chest. you murmur incoherently into his sweat-damp skin and michael grins to himself.

“don’t think you’re off the hook now,” he whispers into your hair. “i’m not done with you yet, and that tattoo—“ he gives a quick, sharp slap to your hip, “—makes you mine.”

and later that day, when michael finds himself back at the delta center, his teammates whistle and whoop at the sight of his back—all marked up with thin, red lines and a new piece of saniderm on his hip, your initial inked into his smooth skin right where his are on you.

[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (5)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

This is what you wanted, isn't it? For things to get easier? For some godsend to come and save you from the deepening pit of debt and despair?

Is that what S is? Is he really going to save you? And your mother? Can his money do that? Or are you just dragging out the inevitable? Is this also just denial? False hope? What do you call it?

There's some things you can see clearly he isn't lying about. The money. It's already in your account like he said. And his car screams rich. Richer than you could ever hope to be. A rental but not the type they give to someone with nothing in the bank.

You look out at your apartment building. Those second thoughts already have you nervously picking at the edges of your nails. You take a deep breath and look straight to the windshield.

"You okay?" S asks, startling you from your doubt.

"Yeah, yeah, I... I've never lied to my mom before. Not as big as this. I mean yeah, I lied about losing her pearl earrings in grade school but that lasted all of two hours..." You frame your face and sit back in the seat. "I'm rambling. I'm sorry." You drop your arms. "And I've wasted enough of your time."

"Not wasted. Honest," He leans his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm headed to the hotel to eat room service alone." He scoffs and gives a sardonic smile. "Exciting stuff. But uh... it's a nice suite."

"Hah, yeah. Must be weird being away from home," you sniff.

"Not much different. Still empty." He shrugs.

"Uh huh," you hum thoughtfully.

"Well, you can tell your mom you went for an interview? Got something new? That could explain... things as they come up."

You pick at your lip and nod. "Makes sense."

"I could mock stuff up for you. I mean, I have letterhead," he chuckles and rubs his neck. "I'm not a great liar either, sorry."

You chuckle thinly. "It feels... hopeless." You shake your head. "Not you. Just... alright. Gotta face the music." You look at him. "S, thank you. For lunch and being patient with me. Sometimes I feel like a piece of my brain is not there." You exhale and grab the door.

"Uh, wait, before you go," he grabs your other arm then quickly lets go. You sit back and look at him. "I'm gonna be in town for a few days. So, I was hoping tomorrow we could... spend some more time together."

Your lips part. That's a surprise. You just assumed you'd have more time to adjust. To process. Time. It's precious and you don't know how much you truly have.

"Oh, right," you breathe.

"Unless... " he draws out.

"Oh, oh, I... I thought maybe you had to go back. For your business," you say as you wring your hands. Your skin is raw. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking and... you know, I have work but, I guess I'll be calling in."

"Sure, I didn't mean to blindside you. Sometimes I think things and just assume other people know," he clears his throat. "So, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you agree and pull the handle, pushing the door out. "Please, go get some rest. You flew out here, it must've been a long day."

"It's sweet of you to think of me," he says.

"Good night," you smile and stand straight. You shut the door and turn to look up at the dingy apartment building.

You drag your feet forward. Your lips move silently as you rehearse your lies. You purse them and slant your mouth one way than the other.

You almost collide with someone else as they come out of the building. You step out of their way and wait. You glance back. S idles at the curb. You wave before you go inside.

You climb the stairs one at a time. You're wading through molasses. As you get to the apartment door, you hesitate. Stop. Get yourself together. This isn't against her, it's for her. This could save your mom.

You enter and the deja vu makes you feel out of place. Everything is as it should be yet it feels like it's all changed. Your mom is on the couch, reading, her head in her hand, her finger feeling the edge of her scarf. You shut the door gently.

"Hi mom," you say as you put your bag down. You sanitize your hands before you go any further. "How was your day?"

"Good," she sits up. "You were gone a while. I thought it was your day off."

"I'm sorry, I didn't... say." You linger by the entryway. "So, uh, I really didn't want to get my hopes up and... I thought I'd surprise you..." you let the words dangle. You watch her, waiting for her to challenge you. She looks tired. "I went for an interview and er, I got it."

"An interview?" She echoes.

"Yeah. It pays better, so I said yes... and... yeah."

"Another store?"

"Um... admin?" You say.

Her lashes flutter and she smiles. "Wow, that's great, pie. Very good." The book closes in her lap and she brings her hands up to her face. "Can you help me to bed? I'm feeling nauseous."

"Oh, of course, mom."

You near her and offer your arm. She gets up and you help her around the couch. She doesn't even have the energy to doubt you. She has bigger problems. She's staring down that abyss and you're worried about a little white lie. She doesn't need to know, she doesn't need to worry. She just needs to get better.

🦋

S arrives at nine. You're outside waiting. You're anxious, not excited. You feel bad enough leaving your mom for work, but this feels wrong. Not just that you're lying to her, but about what.

You get in the car as he smiles at you. "Good morning, I brought coffee," he announces proudly.

You look at the paper cups. You smile back. It feels strangely normal. This is what you see on TV. Real couples do this. This isn't real.

"Thanks, that's so nice," you say. You buckle in and peer around. You feel like you're being watched. Like one of the neighbours will tattle on you. "H--How was your night?"

"Not too bad. Watched a movie. Fell asleep before it ended," he snorts as he pulls away from the curb. "Old man hours."

"Ah," you nod. "I just read a bit. Checked on the butterflies."

"They getting close?" He asks.

"Yeah. Should be soon I think."

"Hm. Nice. You eat yet?" He asks.

"I had some toast." You answer.

"Cool. I hope you don't mind a bit of a road trip? I found this place in the next town. Has good reviews."

"Oh, it's totally up to you but... I don't want to be too much," you scratch your neck.

"This is the deal, right? Spending time together. So don't worry about being too much. Just try to enjoy yourself," he girds.

"Right, yes, I just... guess it's been a while since I did anything for fun. God, that sounds lame, doesn't it?" You ask.

"Lame or it means you've been working hard." He says.

"I guess so," you agree.

He drives on and you stare through the window. It's better that you leave town. It's not like you're well-known but you don't need to chance anyone seeing you with him. Out-of-towners always tend to inspire gossip. Mom doesn't go out much but...

Your mind won't stop. You try to calm it as the minutes tick by. Your worries are replaced by curiosity. Where exactly is he taking you?

Before you can assume the worst, you recognise the large stone behind the town sign. You haven't been around this way in years. He steers past the green park and through town square.

As he pulls in at the vaguely familiar yellow brick building, you can't help but pinch yourself. How could he know? Maybe just a lucky guess. You went to the conservatory once as a child. You realised later how expensive that birthday trip was.

"Here we are," S says. "I know it's nothing fancy."

"It's... it's great," you say. "I love this place."

"You've been here?"

"Not in ages but once," you answer.

"Ah, I should've figured."

He grabs his phone and wallet as the engine quiets. He gets out and slides them into his back pockets. You undo your belt and climb out as he comes around the car.

We waves you ahead of him toward the arched front doors. He pulls one open and lets you through first. He approaches the desk and takes out his phone. He has them scan his passes and puts it away again.

He turns to you and offers his hand. You stare for a moment before you accept. His skin is warm.

He takes you through the entryway to the first wing. Here they have all the antiquated inventions; funky looking glasses with stacked lenses and scientific tools you couldn't guess at the purpose of. You stop to read the placards as S leans in to admire the objects.

"Probably not your favourite part," he says.

"I don't mind. I like old things."

"Ah, me too. Maybe one day... well, who knows, I might take you to the museum in New York... but... who knows," he shrugs.

"Maybe," you say. You don't know about all that. That's a long way away.

You continue on around the winding exhibits and into the room with the live exhibits. Insects of all kinds. You let go of S and stop to watch the bees in the hive with a tunnel to the outside world. There's a little sign explaining that the conservatory houses the hive as a protective effort.

"They have a new part to it," S says. "I saw it on the website. Down that way."

"Oh," you back up. "Sure, whatever you want to do."

He leads you on. You admire the windows that look onto colonies and tunnels of different insects. You stop short at the next door. 'Butterfly Room.' You look at S. The last time you came, you remember there was one tiny little exhibit of unhatched chrysalis.

You rush through ahead of him in excitement. A blue flutter brushes over your forehead and another flap of yellow sweeps by. You spin as the lazy wings beat around you, others still as butterflies rest on petals or branches. It's a menagerie. A garden full of colours.

You turn and look all around. You're breathless and amazed. In that moment, there's nothing else but the beauty of those creatures.

You smile and tilt your head up. A monarch lands on your nose and you freeze. S laughs and you look over at him as he aims his phone at you. The butterfly flees.

He turns the screen to show you the picture. You blush and rock bashfully. "That's cute."

"It is," he agrees."

"S," you gasp, "this is amazing."

"It is." He looks around and lowers his phone. "It's nice to have someone to enjoy it with."

"It is," you cheep. You turn and follow the path of a white flutter.

You go to the bench and sit. It's bittersweet. It's nice to not be alone, but you wish it was your mom here with you. She's all you have but with her being sick, it only sinks in then, how lonely you've really been. She's there but not really. She's fighting a battle you can't understand.

S sits beside you. He's quiet. You blink away a glaze of tears.

"It's really beautiful," you say. "Thank you so much. I can't... I can't even begin to tell you how much..." You sniff. "How much I appreciate this."

"You don't have to say it," he assures you.

"But I should. There's so much I never say. So much to say. So much I might never have the chance..." you lower your head. "I'm really trying. I don't want to be sad. I don't want to ruin this day." You exhale. "You didn't pay to watch me mope."

"I did. I paid to be close to you. To be with you," he shifts closer. "And whatever that means, is fine with me." He puts his hand on yours, like the day before. It doesn't feel as strange anymore. "I don't want you to think about that. The money. I want you to have a nice day. With me."

You nod and gulp. You breathe out the emotion and look at him.

"Why?" You croak.

He stares at you. His cheek dimples. "I got lucky. I took a chance... and I met you."

He squeezes your hand and you look down. His hand wraps easily around yours. It makes you feel safe. It's been so long since you felt anything close to that.

[psformybss]

hiii! i saw your post saying to send drew asks so i thought i would send one! feel free to not do this it's just an idea :) anyways my idea was angsty with a fluffy ending and drew and reader have been dating privately for about a year and hes been getting more distant lately, and you see a lot of paparazzi posts about him and odessa hanging out together and everyone online is shipping them because they are unaware of his gf. as drew pulls away more reader starts to really second guess their relationship and she breaks down one night when he says hes going out and then he apologizes and comforts her and then he hard launches their relationship :) dont worry if you dont want to do it!

Just Say Something

drew starkey x reader

warnings: angst, miscommunication, emotional breakdown, jealousy, secret relationship, comfort, fluff ending

an: hiii, i absolutely loved this idea! sorry it took me so long to post i had something like this written for my hidden vows series and couldn’t remember if i posted it or not (still not sure about it) but i decided to post this anyway because i loved it.

You always knew dating Drew wouldn’t be simple. Not in the everyday kind of way where you fight over what to watch on Netflix or argue about which coffee beans to buy. There was never going to be quiet normalcy. Not when his life moved under a spotlight that only seemed to get brighter.

But what you have—had—was yours. Quietly, privately, entirely yours.

Until it started to feel like maybe it wasn’t anymore.

It wasn’t one big thing. It was small things. The first time he didn’t call when he said he would. The unread messages. The short replies. The way he came home and kissed your cheek like a habit, not a choice.

You let it go. People get busy. People get tired.

But the distance didn’t fade. It grew, slow and steady, and it settled between you like fog—hard to see through, harder to name.

And then the pictures started.

You weren’t even looking for them. They just showed up. Pushed onto your feed, trending under his name. Drew and Odessa on a sidewalk in Silver Lake, coffees in hand, smiling at something only they could hear. Her hand on his arm. Him leaning in like no one else was there.

The next day, it was Melrose. Different clothes. Same closeness.

The comments were the worst part.

People shipping them like it was written in the stars. TikToks to soft indie music. Edits that made it look like they’d been together forever. Everyone falling for the idea of them. The chemistry. The “meant to be.”

Not one person asked who he might actually be with.

Not one mention of you.

And Drew? He didn’t bring it up. Didn’t joke about the headlines. Didn’t reassure you. He just walked through the door each night and acted like nothing had changed.

But it had.

It had changed, and you could feel it in the space between his hands and your waist, in the way he looked at you like he was somewhere else.

You tried to push it down. You really tried.

But the longer he stayed quiet, the louder the doubt got. It kept you up at night. It followed you through your days. And eventually, it started to sink into your bones like cold water.

The night it all broke, it was raining hard. One of those loud, relentless storms that makes the windows rattle and the air feel heavy. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in his hoodie, sleeves pulled down over your hands, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. Your phone was face-down on the nightstand. You already knew what was on it.

He walked in, already grabbing his jacket, keys clinking in his hand.

“I’m heading out,” he said without looking at you.

You blinked slowly. “Where?”

He shrugged. “Wes called. Might be some people out. I don’t know.”

You stood up before you even realized you were moving.

“Is Odessa gonna be there?”

He looked up then, finally meeting your eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice tight. “Maybe.”

Your heart sank. Not because of the answer. But because he didn’t even flinch giving it.

“Do you know what it feels like,” you asked, each word quiet and sharp, “to watch the whole world think you’re with someone else while you act like I don’t even exist?”

He didn’t speak.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, forcing the next words out before they dissolved.

“I see the pictures. Everyone does. I see how people talk about you two. I see how you let them.”

His brow furrowed. “You think I’m doing this on purpose?”

“I think you stopped choosing me a while ago,” you said, voice shaking now. “And I think I’ve been pretending not to notice because I didn’t want to lose you.”

Something in your chest cracked open, and it all came pouring out before you could stop it.

“I’m tired, Drew. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who remembers what we have. You don’t tell me what’s going on anymore. You come home late and kiss my forehead like a chore. You don’t look at me like you used to.”

His face softened, the edges of his frustration fading. He opened his mouth, but you kept going.

“I’ve been holding it together, trying not to seem insecure, trying not to ask for too much. But this? This is killing me.”

The tears came fast after that. No slow build. Just a sudden wave you couldn’t stop.

“I’m not some secret you keep in your back pocket,” you whispered. “I’m not a placeholder.”

He stepped forward, then hesitated, his hand hovering just above your arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. But you did.

His eyes were glassy. His voice dropped.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this.”

You pulled back a little. “Then what were you doing?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly.

“I thought I was protecting us. Keeping you away from all of… this. The noise. The press. The comments. I wanted us to stay ours.”

You shook your head. “But you didn’t protect anything. You just left me out in the cold.”

He stepped closer again, slower this time, and when you didn’t move away, he reached for your face. His fingers were gentle, tentative, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him touch you anymore.

“I got scared,” he said quietly. “Scared that if I showed the world what we have, they’d ruin it. They’d pick it apart. I’ve seen it happen. But I didn’t see what it was doing to you. That’s on me.”

You closed your eyes. The storm outside felt like it had moved into your chest.

“I don’t care about their opinions. I just care about you being honest with me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ve been a coward. I thought I could keep you safe by hiding us, but that just made you feel invisible. And I hate that I did that to you.”

You opened your eyes. “So now what?”

He was so close you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t hesitate this time. His hands framed your face, steady and warm.

“Now I show up,” he said. “Now I stop hiding.”

And then he kissed you.

Not to fix it. Not to shut you up.

It was slow and full of everything he hadn’t said until now. His fingers slid into your hair. Your hands curled into the front of his shirt. The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was messy and wet with the salt of your tears, and it hurt a little, in the way healing does.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, breathing each other in, letting the silence fill with something softer.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms. His chest was warm against your back, and his hand stayed wrapped around yours like a promise he wouldn’t let go.

You didn’t talk about what came next. You just let yourself rest.

Two mornings later, you wake up to your phone buzzing off the nightstand.

Drew’s already up, standing by the kitchen window in an old shirt, coffee mug in hand. He looks calm. Steady. Like the man you fell for.

“Morning,” he says when he sees you, soft and simple.

“Why is my phone exploding?”

He smiles, a little sheepishly.

You unlock it, scroll instinctively to Instagram, and freeze.

It’s the two of you. A blurry photo, definitely from his phone. You’re tugging him down mid-laugh, half cut off by the frame, hoodie sleeve bunched around your fist where it clutches his shirt. He’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

Caption:

Not my co-star. My whole world.

You’re tagged.

You sit down slowly on the couch, phone still in your hand.

“You okay?” he asks.

You look up at him. “You posted this?”

“I meant what I said. I’m done hiding.”

The notification count is ridiculous. Your DMs are a mess. You don’t even want to look at Twitter.

But you don’t care.

Because he’s looking at you the way he used to. The way he always should have. And he didn’t just say it this time. He meant it.

You set your phone down and cross the room to him. He sets his mug aside as you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek against his chest. His arms fold around you like they were always meant to.

“I love you,” he says, quiet against your hair.

You close your eyes.

“I love you too.”

And for the first time in a long time, it feels safe to say it.

[konigsluv]

DOMESTIC!Sukuna x Reader

MDNI ꒦꒷ Domestic!Sukuna forgets your birthday, but a surprise picture at work with a 🎀 and donuts makes you forgive him

contains: down-bad Sukuna, dick picture, fem!reader

"Fuck off, Ryomen,"

Sukuna remembers your exact words as you left the house this morning. He had fucked up. He knew all too well.

Sukuna had forgotten today was your birthday.

It was like any other day when the two of you woke up in bed together. He had pressed kisses to the back of your neck to rouse you from sleep, but not once did he whisper the words "happy birthday, baby,"

You had expected anything, just anything. Flowers, chocolates, maybe even a nice diamond necklace, or even better a ring...

But no.

You walked out into the living room to see it the same as it was the night before. Even with the dishes still in the sink that you asked Sukuna so nicely to take care of a day ago!

You didn't even bother giving him a kiss on the way out of the house, or listen to his excuses as you dressed as fast as you could. Sukuna was even baffled that you pushed his hands off of your waist when he tried talking sweet to you. You never resisted his sweet voice...

Now he knew he was screwed.

Especially when you didn't respond to his texts, and ignored his calls. In all, it made Sukuna a little pissed. Not at you though, just as himself for being such a fuck up. Seriously, how bad of a boyfriend was he to blank on your birthday?

"Fuck, please baby, i'm sorry," he growls into his phone as he collapses onto the couch, "just answer me- answer the god damn phone already," he then hangs up, hoping you'll at least listen to the voicemail.

You don't.

You're at work now, staring down at your phone with furrowed brows. The countless texts:

10:23AM || Ryo: baby i'm sorry

10:23AM || Ryo: i'll take you out to dinner, get you something nice

seen 10:23 AM

10:34AM || Ryo: fuck i'm already pissed off, don't ignore me

10:35AM || Ryo: i'm sorry, tell me what to do to make it up to you

seen 10:35 am

You couldn't believe the audacity of that man. For him to get mad?!

After ignoring him, Sukuna stopped spamming you, which made you feel even shittier.

You kind of wanted him to fight for your attention on your birthday, even if you were mad... and weren't responding...

bzz-bzz

You almost ignore the notification from your phone, thinking you should punish him more. Though you couldn't, you wanted to see what else he had to say for himself.

11:14AM || Ryo: i'm sorry baby. I got your present, just forgive me already

*photo attached*

You purse your lips in suspicion, you wonder what he got you that could make up for forgetting your fucking birthday.

Clicking on the photo you immediately turn your phone off at the speed of light and almost fling it across the room.

Was he crazy?!?! Sending that to you at work?!

Your cheeks flush as you whip your head around, wondering if anyone saw your phone screen. Of course Sukuna sent you a fucking picture of his dick.

11:15AM || You: why the fuck are you sending me dick pics at work?!

11:15AM || You: I'd be dead if someone saw that

11:15AM || Ryo: did you see it

11:16AM || You: your penis? yes Ryomen.

11:16AM || You: I know what it looks like.

11:16AM || Ryo: you didn't, open it again

Groaning internally you wondered what he was on about. You glance around once more before walking into the bathrooms and shutting yourself in a stall.

Clicking on the photo again your eyes widened.

It was Sukuna's cock alright but... he had tied a pink ribbon around it in the shape of a bow. And was that a box of donuts?...

11:19AM || Ryo: i'll let you stack donuts on it. I can get those fruit roll ups if you want me to

You huff a sigh from your nose, running a hand down your face as you try to calm your erratically beating heart. This man was going to be the death of you.

After a minute of conflicted emotions and staring at your phone screen, you respond.

11:20AM || You: you're forgiven.

m.list

please do not copy or repost on any platforms without my permission

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

When I'm Sixty Four (Remastered 2009) · The Beatles

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

Producer: George Martin

"This was the most romantic thing even though he was only 16 at the time."- Lan~*

⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣄⣀⣾⣿⠟⠛⠻⢿⣷⠀ ⢰⣿⡿⠛⠙⠻⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⣶⢿⡇ ⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠏⠀⠀⠀ 🦋 Love this song ♫ ⠀⠻⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠻⣿⣄⣴⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠟⠁

When I'm Sixty-Four ‧ The Beatles /1967 Composer Lyricist : John Lennon / Paul McCartney

When I get older losing my hair Many years from now Will you still be sending me a Valentine Birthday greetings bottle of wine If I'd been out till quarter to three Would you lock the door Will you still need me, will you still feed me When I'm sixty-four You'll be older too And if you say the word I could stay with you I could be handy, mending a fuse When your lights have gone You can knit a sweater by the fireside Sunday mornings go for a ride Doing the garden, digging the weeds Who could ask for more Will you still need me, will you still feed me When I'm sixty-four Every summer we can rent a cottage In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear We shall scrimp and save Grandchildren on your knee Vera, Chuck and Dave Send me a postcard, drop me a line Stating point of view Indicate precisely what you mean to say Yours sincerely, wasting away Give me your answer, fill in a form Mine for evermore Will you still need me, will you still feed me When I'm sixty-four

◠‿◠ I love this movie "Up"and "When I'm Sixty-Four" the song reminds me about them... ღ♡

══════  ✾  ══════

「真愛就像鬼魂，每個人都在談論它，但很少有人見過它。」

"True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen." 🤣

— Erica Jong /b. 1942 American novelist, satirist, and poet, known particularly for her novel Fear of Flying (1973).

The Beatles - When I’m Sixty-Four

[melwnst]

Hiiiiiiii! We haven't interacted much but you show up quite a bit on my feed. I have a scenario that I just don't feel like I can do justice for myself, so I'm entrusting it to someone else to help with your writer's block. (And yes I'm reading this directly from the pin/tweet that made me want to see it written)

You know those scenes in romance books where she hits and punches his chest repeatedly in complete agony until it all gets too much for her to bear so she just slumps into him and sobs and he embraces her like she would disappear if he let go?

Dean x reader pretty please <3

────── ⋆⋅☆ GUILT TRIPPER, D.W

⭑.ᐟ Thanks for the request hun- not sure if this is what you had in mind but I was fighting for my life I needed to write angst. He’s such a fucking cunt in this I actually hate him. Pls interact and send requests if u have any<3

word count. 1k

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

You find yourself cursing someone, anyone. Hoping and praying this is just a sick joke. That this isn’t what’s left of it- that this isn’t the final blow. That maybe, it’s just the universe getting back at you, but it’ll come back to normal eventually after it’s taught you a lesson.

It doesn’t.

It probably never will, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

It starts slowly.

It starts with you noticing the looks from across the room at the bar. You see the way she looks at him, but you refuse to acknowledge the way he looks back at her.

Then he stops holding your hand from across the table at that same bar- because she’s there. You know it- deep down, that something’s happening. But you tell yourself that it’s stupid- maybe you’re imagining things. The case is about to be over anyway- and you’ll be on your way, far away from her.

Then- his hand doesn’t lay at the small of your back when you walk into the bar. He doesn’t kiss- look- laugh anymore.

No-he stares. He stares at the same blond, tall, beautiful woman that makes you feel so small, you might shrink to death.

Sam notices it. You know he must’ve told Dean to stop- to pay attention- must’ve cursed at him, because he has you- but you also know it’s no use. When Dean sets his mind to something- someone, he gets it. Because he’s Dean Winchester. Anyone would be crazy to say no to him.

When the case is over- you’re packing your bags, the silence fills the room. It’s so loud- it’s almost scary because all you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat, and Dean’s footsteps.

‘What are you doing?’ He asks, his arms crossed, leaning on the bathroom door.

‘Packing. Why aren’t you?’ You ask, sniffling, because you know exactly why he isn’t.

‘I figured we could use a vacation, maybe stay here a couple more days?’

Then you straighten your back. Your hands go on your waist. And you laugh.

You laugh and turn around to see dean’s confused face looking back at you.

‘We could use a vacation? Seriously? You couldn’t come up with anything else?’ You stare him down, hoping to make him feel the way he’s been making you feel since that first night at the bar although you’re this close to breaking down.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dean walks closer to you, but you stop him.

‘Don’t.’

‘What are you doing right now?’ His arms wave in the air, like he’s so innocent he has no idea.

‘What’s her name?’

Dean blinks. He blinks- but he doesn’t answer.

‘I know, Dean. I’m not fucking stupid.’ You confess. His eyes still move-erratically. His breath quickens as if he’s scared he got caught.

The silence fills the room again. But this time it’s a quiet silence. The one that doesn’t sound too harsh in your ears. The one that cuts deep. The one that makes you want to die.

It’s your turn to blink, but you blink tears- not guilt. The tears fall- faster, your heart feels like it’s being ripped out of your chest, and soon enough, he talks again.

‘It was one night. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’ It’s faint. Barely audible like he’s ashamed.

The sigh you let out is enough to break his heart.

His heart that didn’t mind breaking yours. Or that didn’t think it would anyway- because for him- it’d stay a secret, hidden deep inside of him, you’d never find out.

‘Right. So you stuck your tongue in her mouth but you had no control right? You were in her but you weren’t thinking? You expect me to believe that bullshit?’

‘Liste-‘

‘No you listen. You’re a fucking coward. I left my whole life behind so I could do this with you. For you! You begged me, Dean. You told me you wouldn’t do this without me. You guilt tripped me into becoming a hunter. Who does that to a person they’re supposed to love? This whole thing was a damn lie!’ You’re closer to him without realizing it. You choke through the tears he’s letting you shed.

‘It was never a lie!’

Then you hit him.

You hit him, again.

And again.

Until your writs, your fists hurt because he deserves it.

‘Yes it was!’

You hit him because you’re breaking. And because he deserves to be hurt.

He deserves to never be loved by anyone ever again because of what he did to you.

Because of all the promises he swore he’d never break but eventually did.

‘I hate you!’ Your fists pump against his chest, the bruises form, he tries to make you stop but figures there’s no point. He deserves it. Maybe he is a coward. No-he definitely is. So he lets you.

He lets you lash out. He lets you hit him so hard your hands are this close to bleeding.

Then the strength fades out. You can’t hit him anymore. You’re trying, but the hate and pain you feel is enough to make you collapse.

You don’t see it, but Dean cries. He cries for you- for what he did to you. He cries because he hates that he’s put you in this position- this state. So the moment you give out under your feet, dean’s right here to hold you. He finds himself on the floor with you. His chest burns, his heart aches, his arms hold your frame like you’re so fragile you might just die because of him.

He’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. He’s scared you’ll hate him for the rest of his miserable life. But he gets what he deserves right? This is all on him.

The worst part is, he’s not sure he regrets it. The only thing he regrets is that he let you find out. That he wasn’t subtle. That he let you get hurt- not because he cheated, but because he could’ve been more careful. Hidden it better.

You’re not sure you can think anymore.

Your brain is fuzzy, your entire body hurts, you feel like your heart’s not working anymore. Or it might give out soon. It’s unfair.

He promised he’d stick with you.

He promised he could love you more than anyone with a normal life could.

He promised he wouldn’t go anywhere.

His first promise was that he wouldn’t let go. He’d be here- it’d be just you, him and Sam.

He lied.

Dean Winchester is a damn liar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @bluemerakis @blossomingorchids @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

[cacoetheswriting]

we can't be friends | chapter five from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.7k

summary: He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, this chapter is their fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

When morning light sneaks in through the half-opened blinds, you slowly blink awake, taking in your surroundings and a smile creeps up on your features.

You slept on the couch. Actually, you slept on top of Eddie who slept on the couch. Legs tangled together under the fleece blanket, one strong arm draped over your body, chin pressed to the top of your head, holding you close.

Someone clears their throat, interrupting your momentary bliss. You jolt as if you’d been caught doing something illegal and sit upright as your head snaps to see Steve leaning against the arch frame, smirking at what he’s just witnessed.

“Well, isn’t this a sight to behold.” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “Nice to see you two really made up.”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” A grumble comes from beneath you. Low. Territorial.

When you look down, Eddie’s eyes are still closed, so you focus yet again on Steve. His grin an inch wider than before as he raises a brow at you. He mouths something intangible, although you have a feeling it’s inappropriate and your cheeks bloom with blood at the insinuation.

In the meantime, Eddie moves a hand to your hip. His right. The one close to the couch. The one Steve can’t see because it’s hidden behind you. A lingering secret that sends a shiver through your entire being, while also making you hyper aware of your current position. You are practically sitting in the metal-heads lap. The sudden reshuffling due to Steve’s presence caused this development and because you don’t hate it, the feeling of Eddie’s groin beneath your pelvis, you hurry off. The brunette, the sofa.

This causes Eddie to open his eyes. Your back is to him and he wonders for a moment what you’d do if he reached for you again, pulling you onto him once more because he already misses the feeling. Instead, he stretches.

“Coffee?” You quip and without waiting for an answer from either of the guys, you disappear into the kitchen.

The eavesdropping is unintentional. They just start talking, rather loudly, before you get a chance to turn on the fancy coffee machine.

“I meant what I said, dude.”

“What?”

“About you two making up. It’s nice to see.”

A beat of silence. Your finger hovers over the ON button in wait for Eddie’s next words. Unintentionally, of course.

“It never should have taken this long.”

Your heart skitters behind your ribs. The coffee machine lights up, whirring into life. Eddie’s voice fills every inch of your brain as you watch the dark liquid pour into a mug, smiling to yourself. They join you a second later. The topic has changed, but you don’t care to listen in anymore because you got what you wanted. 

Steve asks if you feel like coming with him for a smoke. You shake your head and tell him later, after coffee. Eddie says the same, so Harrington slides out the back door, leaving you alone with the metal-head once more.

“Morning,” he says with a smile, approaching where you stand. “How’d you sleep?”

‘Never better’ seems like too loaded of an answer for this unchartered territory. You opt for a politically correct, “Not long enough.”

Eddie laughs. “You could say that again.”

You slide the full cup on the counter, in his direction, and grab another one. He thanks you, bringing the brim to his mouth as the machine starts buzzing. It scalds him, the coffee. He grimaces briefly, dabbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but goes back in for another sip because you’re the one that made it and as ridiculous as it may be, he’ll drink molten lava if you were ever to offer.

He leans against the counter and drinks his burning coffee. Soon, you do the same. Your arm brushes against his and the silence stretches on. Nothing but the sound of birds chirping outside and Harrington’s voice coming in through the parted door, presumably on the phone to his mom.

“Or Henderson,” Eddie says because apparently now he can read your mind.

You look up at him. His side profile. The dotted freckles like a sprinkle of cinnamon and you begin to count them, like you did last night when he leaned in to kiss you. At least you think that’s what he wanted to do. He stopped himself with an inch of space between your lips and his, and redirected to peck your forehead instead.

Then he sprung off the couch, asking if it would be okay that he have another beer. You sat there for a moment, after Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, replaying his incline in your mind until you wanted to scream. All of this was too confusing, too raw. You needed a cigarette, so you robbed one from Steve’s packet, poorly hidden inside the pocket of his jacket, and barefoot, stepped out the front door into the starry night.

Eddie found you a couple of minutes later and asked if you were okay, in that soft voice of his. The one that makes you weak in the knees — always has. Not really knowing how to answer honestly, you nodded your head and exhaled some smoke.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Eddie wonders, catching your eyes.

You nod again.

“You said you wished I told you about seeing Billy that night, because maybe things would have gone differently.” He pauses, intentionally leaving out the ‘us’ part since he’s slightly afraid to get the answer to his own question. “What did you mean by that? I asked, but we were… interrupted.”

Exhaling another puff of smoke, you briefly chew on your bottom lip, pondering how to word your thoughts on the matter in a coherent way and not like the ramblings of a girl pathetically obsessing over her ex-best friend, his feelings, and her own feelings towards him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left,” you say.

“It would have been that simple?”

When your throat starts to close up and the tears threaten to bubble up to the surface, you put out your half-finished cigarette and wordlessly head back inside. Your first instinct is to say goodnight, without answering his follow up question, and go sleep in your own bedroom. You linger in the hallway, considering, until the metal-head’s fingers intertwine with yours and he leads you towards the sofa.

The question remains unanswered in the morning and you’re hoping he doesn’t bring it up again. 

And Eddie doesn’t. 

Not while you finish your coffee, not while he helps you with breakfast, not while the group saunters in one by one, not while you all eat. The answer remains a secret, just like knowing whether he actually wanted to kiss you or not.

When you go upstairs to get ready for the day, Eddie doesn’t follow. For all of five minutes, you’re grateful to be alone. Under the shower however, as the hot water scalds your skin and as you lather yourself with orange-scented body wash, you wish he was here with you, talking to you, touching you. A lot of force is required to push those thoughts deep. To drown them, down the drain with the soapy water of your morning rinse.

Despite being friendly, somewhat friends, there’s now an awkward tension between you and the curly-haired brunette. He sits in your car for the drive into town, although he makes himself comfortable in the back and doesn’t say a word the entire drive. Just steals glances through the rearview mirror. Once parked, he walks off with Steve and Jonathan in the opposite direction, when you hoped he’d go with you, and a few hours later, when the group meets for lunch, he sits at the far end of the restaurant table and only converses with Nancy.

You feel like you’re going insane.

He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

The group doesn’t split again after the bill is settled and the waiters thanked. You walk together through the main street, looking in the windows of the local stores, talking, laughing. Robin’s babbling in your ear about her girlfriend while you nod along, her happiness radiating through you, if only momentarily. You tell her how you’d love to meet her and she says, “soon”, because it really is that simple and you’d forgotten how long it’s been when life was easy.

Someone tugs at your jacket, pulling you backwards. You barely get a chance to apologise to Robin and suddenly the group is twenty-or-so steps ahead while you remain, with Eddie holding onto you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, tone pressing, eyebrow raised.

You blink, taken aback since he’s the one who’s backing weird, not you.

“Did something happen?” Eddie questions further and you force yourself to shake your head.

“You tell me?”

“Me?”

“Eddie…” It’s more of a sigh. A huff.

He furrows his dark brows. Confusion spreads through his features, matching the expression on your face, and you stare at each other for a whole minute.

His ring-clad fingers are still holding onto your jacket, clinging onto the hem. He doesn’t pull you closer and he doesn’t make any effort to take a step forward either, to lessen the gap. He just stands there, holding a piece of your clothing, and staring at you with those big brown eyes. For some reason, this feels a whole lot more intimate than sleeping together on the coach.

You clear your throat, the dryness becoming unbearable.

“Eddie,” you say his name again, “You’re the one that’s been ignoring me since breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” he protests, “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Well, it seems like you have.”

And then the unexpected happens: he laughs. Loud and pure. Head hanging, swaying side to side, as the giggles carry through the light breeze. It further deepens your confusion, but the sound is infectious and sure enough, you’re laughing too.

“One night of open communication must’ve drained the batteries,” he says, grinning. “We really must get better at that.”

“Talking?”

“Talking even when there’s nothing to say.”

And he finally pulls you close, swinging one arm around your shoulders. He places a tender kiss on your temple and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“You smell nice,” he mutters into you and your heart pitter-patters.

“Oranges,” you tell him, although you’re not sure why.

He hums, kisses the top of your head, and eventually pulls away. His touch lingers. Imprints of his fingertips, his kisses, burn into you and you’re unsure now more than ever if you’re misreading this whole thing because he’s never been this affectionate before. Then you have to remind yourself again that a lot of time has passed and people change. He’s just being friendly, you think. Staying friends is what you need to focus on. Not the hammering of your heart or ringing in your ears whenever you look at him.

Itching for some composure, you find an AA meeting. A quick Google search reveals the local groups and as luck would have it, one is about to meet.

You throw your car keys at the metal-head and ask him to collect you in about an hour. He nods in agreement and your friends walk you to the door of the building. No one asks about it, which you’re grateful for because how would you even explain to someone who’s not an alcoholic why you suddenly need a meeting.

Inside, the chairs are lined in a circle. Different from your group in Vegas where they face the podium, but then again this is a small town and everyone knows each other anyway.

You’re not nervous as you sit and you don’t feel any sort of way when people start gathering, nodding in your direction to acknowledge this newcomer.

One by one, they speak. Share stories from their day, week, month. Experiences and turbulence. Mention people, faces. Reason why they may have wanted to reach for the bottle and clarify why they didn’t, in the end. An elderly lady fought with her daughter. A new dad is battling sleepless nights and the feeling of helplessness. Someone lost their job. Someone else got a new job. Life happens for these people — for you — and it makes hard liquid appealing. To elevate, to numb.

When it’s your turn to share, you wipe the palms of your hands on your linen trousers and crack your neck.

“My ex-boyfriend gave me my first drink. He died. Unrelated, but at the same time, not really,” you begin, a timid smile circling your lips as you speak, “I found out recently he was cheating. I mean, I had my suspicions but never had any eyewitnesses to corroborate the rumours, so I continued to walk in my relationship with rose-coloured glasses. Finding out the guy I uh, loved, was indeed a lying scumbag is a tough pill to swallow. It sucks, you know? I drank myself to sleep every night after his funeral and now I can’t help but wonder if I found out back then, whether I would’ve cared so much to mask the pain of his death. Or whether I’d just grieve like any other normal girlfriend would — crying, with friends and family by my side.”

“Grief isn’t linear,” someone points out. “Neither is sobriety.”

You bop your head in agreement. “There’s just the issue of the person who told me. The one that caught my ex. The one I can’t stop thinking about today, yesterday, the last few years. He’s been there for me, then he wasn’t, and now he is again. Seemingly. I don’t know. I’m a little confused about the whole thing and this feeling of uncertainty makes me itch.”

Once the hour is up, you saunter back into the afternoon sunshine. Eddie’s waiting for you, as instructed. He’s leaning against the side of your Jeep and smiles when he sees you. Small, happy. He hugs you briefly before opening the passenger door. You don’t protest by telling him it’s your car therefore you can drive back, instead you watch him jog around the front and hop in, starting the engine.

For the first few minutes, it’s quiet.

“How was it?” Eddie asks, eyes darting to you briefly, then back on the road ahead.

“Good,” you answer plainly since there’s not much else to say about AA.

He hums a note of understanding and keeps driving. Momentarily, it’s quiet again.

“Do you think you would’ve gotten sober if you stayed?”

You tilt your head in his direction.

“I don’t know.” Honest. You want to leave this topic there, but you can see the wheels inside his mind are spinning. He’ll never say, out of respect for your journey, but he wants to know more. “Probably not. Hawkins reminded me too much of Billy, that’s why I drank in the first place.”

The metal-head notes the use of past tense, but doesn’t point it out.

“Have you ever taken an ice-cold shower?” You wonder.

Eddie’s curious eyes meet yours as he pulls up to a red light. “On purpose?”

You nod.

“God no.”

The borderline disgust in his voice, at such a trivial thing, makes you stifle a laugh. You turn to look at the road ahead and an idea pops into your mind — because it’s the only way you know how to explain what sobriety feels like for you.

“Take a left at the next light,” you instruct.

Eddie does as you say. He proceeds to follow your directions, off the main road, avoiding potholes and fallen tree branches. He drives down the windy road, through the woods, until the car comes up on a clear. A parking lot, of sorts. Except there’s no other cars around.

After the metal-head cuts the engine, you tell him to follow and he does, still without protest or question why. You lead him down the bushy slope, drop from grass to pebbles in the least ladylike fashion and hear him say: “Mind your step, angel.”. Your cheeks burn instantly. 

Once you reach the water, Eddie not far behind, you stop. There’s a tree straddling the lake’s edge. Large roots, weeping branches, fine lines on the bark that tell stories older than anyone could even begin to comprehend. A hole in the leaves above makes it the only tree illuminated by sunshine. The edge of the water near it glistens with tiny dancing fairies. A sight to behold, you think.

“Wow,” the metal-head breathes. “How do you know about this place?”

“Robin,” you answer him, “She told me she came here the first night. Said it was a good place to clear one's head.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitches upwards as he takes in the view. This small, secluded lake. Barely seen by the sky. Known to a few, now to him — thanks to you. A girl that’s been in his orbit seemingly forever, yet a mystery all the same.

He doesn’t get to ask why you brought him here because the answer starts to reveal itself when suddenly, you’re stripping off your clothes.

“Shit,” he exhales sharply, snapping his head in the direction of the forest behind. “What are you doing, angel?”

“What does it look like?”

There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes Eddie’s pulse pop. He relishes in the sound, heart strumming like a well-tuned guitar, blood rushing to all the wrong places, (or maybe the right ones). And so the metal-head joins, standing now at the edge of the water in nothing but his boxers and various metal chains. He’s still not looking at you, however. He doesn’t — a gentleman — until he hears a splash and his name being called.

“Come on, hot shot!”

Surrounded by the lake and shadow of the trees, Eddie can barely see you. He follows nonetheless, one foot in front of the other.

The water is unwelcoming. Frigid, crisp. Numbing to the skin. He winces as he glides towards you and the closer he gets, the wider your smile grows.

“Is this some sort of test?” He shouts across.

You giggle and ask loudly, “How do you feel?”

“Oddly, like I’m on fucking fire.” Eddie replies, his voice growing quieter as he stops a mere foot away.

After an inhale of a single breath, you nod.

“This is why I stop myself from drinking.”

Eddie’s brow shoots up. “So you can dunk yourself in freezing cold water?” He asks, bewildered.

“So I can feel alive while doing it.”

His insides contort at your words. There’s something raw about your admission. Like you’ve just exposed a certain part of yourself that you haven’t shown anyone prior to right now. The metal-head has the sudden urge to reach for you, hug you. He wants to shield you from your own demons, your own pain. Protect you from bad memories and bad habits, and take back every single horrible thing he’s ever said to you. Eddie wants to go back in time, to the night of Chrissy’s party, and tell his past self to give you more grace because he finally realises your actions weren’t specifically to hurt him. You were just numb.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, breaking him away from his thoughts.

After he nods, your arms weave around his neck as your legs kick together under the surface, barely brushing. You instruct him to hold his breath and counting down from three, you pull him along, heads underwater.

Panic attacks his nervous system then dissipates just as fast. He can feel everything. Every cell in his body, every muscle. The blood pumping in his veins, the steady stream of energy flowing from his head to his toes. 

And the metal-head can feel you too. In the darkness of the water, his fingertips work the outline of your body. Memorising each dent and curve, each crease and how they all connect to create the perfect shape. 

When your legs wind around his waist, bringing you two chest to chest, Eddie can feel the push and pull of your working lungs. He can no longer hold his breath, a thought crossing his mind: this is the closest he’s ever been with anyone, even physically. Sex doesn’t compare to what he’s after experiencing, although he allows himself to wonder if with you, even that act would be otherworldly.

“Are you alright?” You ask, coming afloat.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

The slight shake of his head sends his locks on a journey, droplets falling from each end and gently splashing against your face. You don’t move. Remain firm with your hands and legs wrapped tightly around the brunette, afraid to let this moment slip — because once you’re back ashore, there’s no safety of deep waters to harbour deep feelings.

Eddie doesn’t intend to move either. His brown gaze latches onto yours again as his fingers continue to dig into your flesh under the confines of the ripples. He’s no longer cold. Hasn’t been for a while. The water has transformed from frostbite to sauna and all it took was a heavy admission, plus your body pressed against his.

There’s a split-second, a breath, an impulse, during which Eddie wants nothing more but to dip his head and kiss you. Hard. Like he’s dreamed of doing for as long as he can remember. Like he should have last night until he chickened out at the last moment — since, at the end of the day, he’s mostly been the opposite of confident when it comes to acting on his feelings towards you.

So instead, Eddie smiles.

“I’m still not going to take cold showers.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, hot shot, I won’t ever make you do this again.”

���That’s not what I said, angel.” The metal-head points out after shaking his head. “This, I’m actually enjoying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then he clears his throat, grin fading to something softer. “I appreciate you bringing me here. I can imagine this wasn’t easy, opening yourself up like this.”

You shrug in his arms.

“It’s different when it’s you,” you admit, voice almost a whisper, while dropping your gaze to his mouth. 

It’s brief, this slip, but Eddie catches the motion of your eyes instantly. By design of some higher power, his grip on you tightens in that moment. His internal turmoil subsides, if only for a moment long enough to do this:

“Fuck, baby.”

And just like that, Eddie’s lips are on yours.

You don’t hesitate to kiss him back. Mouth instantly parting as his nails dig into your sides. He tastes of heaven — disguised by tar from the Lucky Strikes he smokes and the minty aftertaste of blue-packet Mentos. A whole new meaning to the word: intoxicating.

The tips of your fingers tangle themselves in his dark-brown curls, tugging gently with every tilt of your heads. Tongues dancing together, fighting to obtain dominance although you know it’s pointless because the longer Eddie is kissing you, the more you know he’s got all the power and you feel elated.

An explosion of emotions. Love, lust, hurt, betrayal, forgiveness, friendship. They’re all there, swimming together with you and the metal-head. They fuel the kiss further, deepening the intensity. He bites your bottom lip, hands trailing up your bare back until they reach the strap of your bra. That’s when he pulls away. 

“Holy shit,” you breath, heart beating like it’s on a rampage and Eddie’s only matches the tempo.

“Holy shit,” he repeats.

For a moment, you float. Continuously holding onto one another as the sun moves away and the implication of what you just did dawns.

Eddie has the same thought. He hates that it’s the first one after such a magnificent performance, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this — you — for as long as he can remember and now that you’re in his arms, now that you kissed him back, he wonders if it’s all too good to be true. He reasons that the worry is warranted because when tomorrow ends, you’ll be on your way back to Vegas and he’ll be licking his wounds once more, waiting for you to change your mind and come back.

The irrational part of him however, wants to taste your lips again. That’s the part that wins.

This kiss is softer. He’s then trailing along your cheek, the tip of your nose. His hands move to cup your face and he forces your eyes closed with his thumbs, then pecks each of your eyelids. He’s committing your features to memory and you shiver under his delicate touch.

Whenever you silently swim back to shore, Eddie’s lips are on yours for the third time. Smiling against his parted mouth, you try to tell him that you two should talk about this, that only a few hours ago you both agreed your communication can be lacking, but he brushes you off. One hand splayed on the small of your wet back, the other holding your jaw, he’s insisting to continue grazing your lips until they’re chapped.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters in between catching his breath, “Tomorrow, before we say goodbye, we can talk about what this means. In the meantime, please let me enjoy you, angel.”

And you don’t argue. Only nod at his request and let him kiss you all the way back to the car. Pushing you up against every other tree, then the bumper of your Jeep, nothing but hunger in his mahogany gaze.

It’s really quite the miracle you get dressed. Breathless and dizzy, reddened lips. Eddie watches you (pretends he’s not) pull the cotton t-shirt over your bra, also concealing the red guitar pick around your neck, and something in him twitches. An urge to rip it back off you and throw you in the backseat. He has to remind himself of your group of friends who are probably wondering what’s taking this long.

The metal-head kisses you once more after helping you into the car. A peck. Short and sweet. Then he drives. Back down the windy trail, through the forest, and out onto the main road. He does so in silence, but it’s different than any quiet you’ve shared before. Filled with a certain four letter word.

Your phone rings. Connected to the sound system of your car, the speakers vibrate as Jax’s name illuminates on the Apple CarPlay. You don’t think when you answer.

“Hey there, lonesome soul.” His voice is chipper, as usual.

Eddie shoots you a glance and mouths ‘lonesome soul’ like a question and you wave your hand to signal you’ll tell him that story later.

“How’s your weekend going?”

“Good.” Then a smile circles your lips. “Great, actually.”

On the other end of the line, you can hear Jax chuckle. “I take it that friendships have been mended.”

“Something like that,” you say and briefly meet Eddie’s eyes. The brunette smirks, licking his lips.

“That’s good, Miss Lonesome.” You can hear the clacking of dishes and you think of the time difference, then of his habit to sleep in at the weekends, and think he must be making a late breakfast.

“Listen, confirming that you still need me to fly out, meet you in Fort Wayne for the trip back home. I know you hate flying alone.”

Home. That word makes Eddie tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Knuckles whitening. He acts before he can change his own mind and presses the mute button.

“Say no.” The metal-head tells you.

You arch a brow. “What?”

“I’ll fly with you. Tell him no.”

A certain sense of satisfaction washes over you as you nod at the metal-head, then unmute.

“I’m glad you called to check,” you begin, “But plans have changed, so you can stay in cosy ol’ Vegas. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay.” Jax says, mid bite of something. “I am glad to hear that ‘cause I did say yes to this date, completely forgetting about you. Not intentionally, of course. I’d never intentionally forget about you, lonesome.” He’s babbling and you playfully roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Bye, Jax.” You call out to the speaker, “I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ends, you sit back and tilt your head to look at the metal-head.

“What about your radio show?”

“What about it?” He asks, staring at the road ahead.

You suppress a smile. “Are you sure Dustin is up for covering a couple more slots? Not to mention all of the widows and wives trapped in loveless marriages waiting to hear you on the other end of their radio’s, how will they ever survive?”

Eddie snorts a laugh. “Good one, angel.”

He turns into the driveway, the beautiful lake house coming into view. He parks the Jeep next to his own, more beat-up vehicle, and cuts the engine. As the buzzing of the car dies down, with a hand on the door handle, Eddie turns to you.

“It’ll be fun, no? Give us more time to, I don’t know, catch up.”

“Catch up, huh?”

He smirks. “Among other things, if you’d like?”

You lean across the gear shift knob and kiss him earnestly, as pleased as Punch. 

Steve asked you the other day if you were ‘happy’, you told him yes. Now, sitting here with Eddie, following the afternoon you just spent together, you weren’t so sure if what you’ve been feeling this whole time was indeed happiness. Comfort maybe, disguised as elation, because you had built yourself a good life in Las Vegas. A college course you are passionate about, a job that keeps you busy and pays quite well, new friends who keep your mind and timetable full. None of that seems to matter when Eddie’s lips touch yours. None of that equates being happy.

“Eddie—” You mutter against his mouth.

“Mhm…”

“We should talk earlier than tomorrow.”

The metal-head sighs and pulls away. Then he nods, one long drop, because he doesn’t seem to have any other option. 

Rationally, Eddie knows talking this through is the right thing to do. A lot has happened since your arrival and even more since your late-night conversation last night. A lot changed: especially  feelings, unspoken or otherwise. The kiss(es), plural. Eddie knows talking about what it all means going forward is the right thing to do. He knows and he desperately doesn’t want to do it.

What if you tell him he’s misread the situation and you’re not interested in him like that? He could barely handle it once. A second time and he might just land in bed with one of those lonely middle-aged women that are always chasing him around town — a desperate attempt to forget you after finally having a taste.

What if you tell him you like him too? That’s a whole other can of worms. Can you do long distance? He for sure can’t. He hasn’t seen you for over three years, he can’t handle not being able to see you for a minute longer. However, which one of you is ready to uproot their lives? He presumes the answer is neither.

The questions pile up in his brain and Eddie knows he should get the answers.

“Later?” He proposes, “Today, but later.”

And later it has to be since the metal-head hops out of the car before you get a chance to respond. He helps you next, always the gentleman, and follows you to the front door without saying another word on the matter.

Luckily, your friends don’t question where the two of you have been. Nancy offers some food, considering you’ve missed dinner, so you and Eddie eat outside, watching the rest of them play cards. 

Rummy is their game of choice, although they’re all quite shit and the Vegas girl in you can’t help but make fun of their lame attempts. You offer some tips and even help Robin cheat a couple of times, which gets a rise out of Steve and he makes you “help” him next.

The sun has long set. Jonathan lights some candles while Robin jokes how she didn’t peg him for an ambiance guy. He flips her off. Subtle, but it makes everyone else giggle. Argyle and Steve sneak off to share a joint down by the water, they ask Eddie to join but the metal-head just shakes his head. You wonder if that’s got anything to do with you, but you don’t ask. Instead, you press into his side, arm to arm, and place your head gently on his shoulder.

Robin is eyeing the sight from across the table. She winks in your direction then mouths, “I told you so.”, and you’re in half-a-mind to flip her off too as blood rushes to your face, cheeks burning hot.

Once everyone else has had a few drinks, Rummy becomes even more difficult to grasp and gets exchanged for Uno. Rulebook aside, because you’ve all played by your own ever since you can remember, Nancy deals the first hand. Steve and Argyle return in a fit of joy. They say they won’t play, just observe, so Nancy reshuffles as you whisper to Eddie that he should keep his eyes on his own deck. He nudges your side, a smirk circling his perfect face.

This is the beginning, you let yourself think.

As the game continues, you slip into a momentary feeling of peace. That should have been your first clue of what’s to come next since good things never last. But you ignore the vibrations coming from your phone and they keep piling on. 

Voice notes.

Earlier that morning, on her way out the door, Chrissy Cunnigham spots you on the couch, cuddling in your sleep with her ex-boyfriend. You, the girl she always worried about, despite Eddie’s insistent stance on the matter. The sight before her pale-blue eyes fuels Chrissy’s rage and she decides the highroad isn’t something worth taking.

Received to your old Instagram account, a clear-headed Chrissy Cunningham spills her sorrows into the microphone and shares them with you. The message is clear. Eddie Munson is not who he says he is.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

@ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc @cyressluvy @mango-slush-boba @iyskgd

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

New Friend (Bob Reynolds x Reader)  

word count: 1k

part 2 of ?

previous part: part one

masterlist

Bob decides to text you that night. After all, if he wants to form more friendships, he should probably reach out to you. So after a quick discussion with Yelena of what he should text you, he sends you a message. 

Hi, it’s Bob from book club :) 

“Okay, now you have to put the phone down and don’t check it until it dings,” Yelena plugs the phone back in.

“Why can’t I just wait?” Bob asks.

“Oh, Bob, we all do this. We stare at the phone and we reload the page, or we open and close the app or phone, and we wait and we wait for a reply that doesn’t come, and then we get sad and then—” Yelena is cut off by the phone dinging. Bob glances at the phone then back up at Yelena, who shrugs. You texted him back.

Hey Bob, good to hear from you!

“What…what do I say next?” Bob questions aloud. 

“Oh, c’mere,” Yelena picks up the phone, types a message, and sends. 

“Wha…? Yelena,” Bob complains. 

“It’s going to work,” Yelena assures with a nod. 

Bob picks up the phone to read the text that Yelena had sent from him to you. 

Yeah! Really liked book club so far. Have you read any other good books later?

Bob looks back up at Yelena. “How is this good?” Yelena shrugs. You respond a moment later. 

Totally! I just finished The Midnight Library. Kind of heartbreaking but hopeful, you know?

Bob stares at the message. “What do I say to that? I haven’t read that one.”

Yelena, arms crossed, suggests, “Say you haven’t read it, but you’d like to. Because you’d like to talk to her more. That’s how books work, right? Brains… talking.”

“…I guess?”

He types, deletes, retypes, and finally sends:

I haven’t read that one. Should I? I trust your taste.

Yelena whistles. “Smooth, Bob. You’re learning.”

The next text comes. 

Definitely! I have a copy if you want to borrow it :)

Bob reads that line four times.

“She wants to lend me a book,” he whispers. “That’s…a good sign, right?”

Yelena nods like it’s obvious. “Next step: hangout. Suggest a time. Offer snacks. Everyone likes snacks.”

He hesitates, then types:

That would be great. Maybe I could bring coffee or something and we could read together?

“I like it! Everybody loves coffee!” Yelena cheers. 

Alexei pokes his head in through the door. “Are we making coffee or…?”

“No, Dad, it’s six pm. No coffee. I’m helping Bob right now,” Yelena informs, and Alexei nods and leaves. 

Your text arrives a second later. 

I would love that!

“Good, good. Come up with a time and a place. Go to the bookstore, you know she goes to the bookstore,” Yelena suggests, leaning over Bob’s shoulder to read the text conversation and what he types as he types it. 

Bob nods, and begins wording his reply back to you.

Can we meet at the bookstore café?

A moment. Then your answer.

Yeah! Tomorrow afternoon good?

Bob grins. Definitely, yes. 

“I’m so proud of you, Bob!” Yelena cheers and wraps her arms around him, hugging him so tightly that Bob feels like he might just die. But it’s nice, coming from Yelena. She’s awesome. 

You two meet at a quiet corner table in the bookstore café the next afternoon. Bob shows up ten minutes early, already rereading the text thread like a study guide. He brings a small notebook, pens, and his phone—just in case.

When you arrive, he stands too quickly and knocks over a chair. But you laugh instead of flinching. That helps.

“It’s good to see you again!” you smile. You hand him the book. 

“Oh, thanks,” Bob replies softly, happy but really, really nervous. 

You sit, read, and talk a little between chapters. There’s a gentle peace about it. Bob doesn’t feel the Void tugging at the edges of his mind. Not here.

When you have to go home, you give him a side hug. After all, you’ve only recently met him. But it makes butterflies dance in Bob’s stomach. And it definitely doesn’t help that he’s got Can’t Touch This stuck in his head. Why are the butterflies dancing in sync…?

When he gets home, Bob finds Yelena already waiting with Alexei, both sipping tea suspiciously.

“I thought that was a British thing,” Bob says, putting his tote bag down on the ground next to him. 

“It’s a me thing now,” Yelena informs. 

“Oh, okay.”

“So…?” Yelena prods with an excited smile. 

“It was nice,” Bob nods, smiling a little. “It was nice.”

“Would you care to elaborate, share some more details with us maybe?” Alexei asks hopefully. 

Yelena cocks her head, then leans toward Alexei’s cup and smells it. “That’s not tea, that’s alcohol!”

“IT IS A LIQUID EITHER WAY.”

Bob laughs—a real laugh, full and warm, the kind that surprises even him. Yelena grins, victorious. Alexei shrugs and takes another sip of “tea.”

“I think we’re going to hang out again soon,” Bob admits, settling into the armchair. “She lent me a book. We read together. It was… really peaceful.”

“That’s so wholesome I could cry,” Yelena wipes an invisible tear, then immediately grabs Bob’s arm. “You like her, don’t you?”

Bob looks down at the cover of The Midnight Library. “I think I could,” he says honestly.

Alexei leans back in his chair. “Just don’t mess it up. Or bring shame to our coffee.”

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He once tried to impress a girl by deadlifting a vending machine.”

“It worked,” Alexei mutters.

Bob clutches the book closer to his chest, smiling softly to himself.

He doesn’t know exactly what this is—what it could become—but for once, the unknown doesn’t feel terrifying.

Bob feels now like he’s opening up a new chapter in his life, one that seems to involve reading a lot of chapters in books from you.

taglist

@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts/bob

@papitas-con-sal @yesshewrites1

[sramoonlight]

Superstar

How is Conner as your boyfriend?

Content you’ll see here: Gn!reader, 90’s Conner Kent, nsfw

English it’s not my first language so please be patient

Let me tell you something, everyone thinks Conner is the fuck boy who doesn’t care about you and would only want you for a night, he isn’t.

I see this man having to develop a deep relation with someone for him to let his guard down

Like seriously, Conner is someone with a big ego but at the same time he’s a insecure boy so you have to wait for him to stop his whole act.

He’s a yearner, a hopeless romantic even if he doesn’t show it much.

His love language? Words of affection, but not the “u r pretty” nah, this man is giving you nice words about how smart you are, do you care about strength? He’s pointing it out every time he has the chance, you work out? He’s already telling you how good you do, seriously, he would tell you he wouldn’t take you in a fight even if he can.

That means he enjoys when his partner tells him something nice, his appearance is fine, he would accept being called handsome with a big smile

He also enjoys to give his partner gifts or do something from them, I can see him giving you a rock from another country only because you said you liked the culture

I know what you are thinking, yes, he loves your touch, I see him having a hand on you all the time, either holding yours or hugging your shoulders.

I don’t see him caring about your appearance, maybe he loves a partner that can fit on his arms but if you don’t, he would be more than happy to fit in your arms!

He doesn’t forgive anything, older? Hell yeah, he loves it, younger? That’s his little cutie pie! Feminine? He’s drooling for your delicate figure, masculine? He is holding you tightly so you can’t see how his heart is beating faster than ever.

Speaking of heartbeat, he has yours memorized by now, not in the weird way

It happened one night, he’s paying attention to you even if he’s away and suddenly he started tapping his feet at the rhythm of your heartbeat

You know what that implies, if your heart is going faster than before he would text you to see if you are okay, you don’t answer? He’s flying to you,

I see him cuddling, he’s a yearner so when he’s feeling too tired he’s laying his head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat like it’s his drug

You need put your hands on his ears, oh god how you need to do it, that’s literally being trapped on his favorite sound over and over again.

He texts you, so much you are surprised when the new notification isn’t a text from him

He would send you pics of whatever he is doing, he’s fighting crime? That’s a selfie of him with a criminal. He also sends you pictures of the sky wherever he is always with “it’s beautiful like you <3”

Speaking of pics, he is active on social media, he has a instagram profile where he used to post photos of him but once he started dating you that became your profile

His pfp? A childhood photo of you, every highlight are photos or dates with you or just you looking cute

He does post selfies or photos of him, he likes doing it but every since, there is a small text mentioning you like “Damn, does (Reader) eat all this?” Or “ready to marry (Reader)”

You are private, well, that is what he says but at this point everyone knows he is your man, he would be mad if someone doesn’t know it!

His friends started to joke how dumb if for you, and him? He nods with a smile, Tim once asked him if he would put a collar for you and he accepted it with a smile.

He is a good boy, he does it for you, I’m not lying

He would be play fighting with Bart and he would absolutely stop if you are around.

I see him calling you his woman/man, like, “my woman/man and I went to this place” he isn’t ashamed, why doesn’t he call you his girl/boy? Damn no, that would mean he just wants you for a moment, he wants you for eternity.

He is the type of boyfriend that shivers whenever you call him “Conner” don’t get him wrong, he enjoys when you call him but it’s usually “love” or “Kon” but his full name? God no, that’s nor him.

NSFW minors do not interact

Don’t mind me but this man doesn’t fuck you, he does love, seriously, it’s almost disgusting how his voice changed when he tells you to “make love”

You see him as a fuck boy, he is not, he can be with whenever he wants but you are the only person he would hug and kiss

He hugs you, he does, he can’t do it if he isn’t touching you in a intimate way, at least he needs to be holding your hand or he is stopping everything.

I see him telling you how cute you look and how good you are for him, if he isn’t telling you sweet words that is not him.

You know that moment where he is so close he can’t think? He’s whispering “I love you” like a mantra.

He doesn’t see sex as a important thing, he used to have a lot of partners before you but if you don’t bring the topic he wouldn’t even know he is in celibate for you

But if you are active, damn that man is on his knees for just a little of you.

He fucks until he is dumb, when he can only remember your name and no more, that’s when he knows he did good