#fuck if I don’t think about patients that have walked out right before we finally got a diagnosis for them

[apolloes]

.

[pucksandpower]

Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

Summary: Logan drowns his sorrows after being dropped by Williams and passes out in 2024 … he wakes up slightly hungover and very much in 2022 (aka the time travel fix-it fic)

Logan’s hands are shaking.

He’s staring at the email on his phone, reading it over for the third time, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something different. But they don’t. The screen doesn’t lie, and neither does the cold, detached tone of James Vowles.

Logan, I’m sorry to inform you that Williams Racing has decided to terminate your contract effective immediately. Your performance this season has not met the team’s expectations, and the decision has been made to move forward without you for the remaining races. We believe this is in the best interest of the team as a whole. You’ll find the details of the termination and the necessary steps moving forward in the attached document.

His eyes blur, and he forces himself to blink, trying to hold it together. He knows what this means — his F1 career, the thing he’s worked for his entire life, is over. And it’s not ending with a bang, but with a fucking email.

A knock on the door snaps him back to the present. He looks up, swallowing hard as James walks in without waiting for permission, just like he always does.

“Logan,” James begins, his voice calm, almost clinical. “We need to talk.”

“I got the email,” Logan mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Is this really how it’s going to end?”

James’s face is unreadable. “We’ve discussed this at length. The crashes, the lack of progress … it’s just not working out. The engineers and mechanics are frustrated. We’ve been more than patient.”

Logan feels a wave of anger rising in his chest, but he pushes it down. He knows it won’t help. “So that’s it? Nine races left, and you’re just … dropping me?”

“It’s not an easy decision,” James replies, crossing his arms. “But we have to think about the team. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“Setbacks,” Logan echoes, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That’s all I am to you? A setback?”

James hesitates, his expression softening for just a moment. “Logan, you’re talented, but this sport is ruthless. You know that.”

“Don’t,” Logan snaps, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to soften the blow now. You could’ve at least told me in person, before sending the damn email.”

James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it seems cold, but this is the reality of Formula 1. You’ll land on your feet. You’ve got potential.”

“Potential,” Logan mutters under his breath. “That’s not going to get me back in a car, is it?”

There’s a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them. Logan feels like the walls are closing in, the air in the room growing thicker with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” James says finally, and for the first time, he sounds genuine. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” Logan replies, his voice hollow. “Me too.”

James lingers for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can make it right. Finally, he nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Logan stands there, staring at the door, his mind racing. This can’t be happening. It feels like some kind of nightmare, one he can’t wake up from. But the harsh reality is setting in. It’s over. All those years, all that effort, and it’s over just like that.

He sinks down onto the couch, his head in his hands. His chest feels tight, like he can’t get a full breath. He needs to get out of here, but he has no idea where to go. Where do you go when your dreams have just been crushed?

His gaze falls on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the small kitchen counter. He bought it a few years ago, intending to open it after a win that never came. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Logan pushes himself up and walks over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and a glass. He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and puts the glass back. What’s the point of pretending there’s any dignity left in this?

He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink, the burn of the alcohol offering a brief distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leans against the counter, staring out the window at the darkening sky. How the hell did it come to this?

He’s replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every race where he could’ve done better. It’s a torturous cycle, one that he can’t escape. He takes another drink, then another, hoping to drown out the thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest.

But it doesn’t work. The alcohol just makes it worse, amplifying the guilt and the regret. He feels like a failure. No, he is a failure. The team didn’t even have the decency to let him finish the season. That’s how little they think of him.

The room starts to blur around the edges as the whiskey takes effect, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. This is the only way he knows how to cope, the only way to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.

Hours pass, or maybe minutes — he’s lost track of time. The bottle is nearly empty now, and he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What’s the point?

The apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. It’s eerie, this quiet, and it makes the emptiness inside him feel even more profound.

Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked from a previous fall — one of many — but it still works. There are messages from friends, from his family, but he doesn’t open them. He knows what they’ll say. They’ll be supportive, encouraging, but it won’t change anything. They can’t fix this.

Instead, he opens his camera roll and scrolls through the photos. Pictures of him in the car, of the team, of moments that once meant everything to him. Now they’re just reminders of what he’s lost.

He stops on a photo of himself, taken just after he signed with Williams. He looks so damn happy, so full of hope. He barely recognizes that person now.

“What a joke,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurred. “What a fucking joke.”

He takes one last drink from the bottle, then tosses it aside, not caring as it rolls across the floor. He feels the darkness closing in, pulling him under, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it take him, lets it drown out the pain, the regret, the fear.

And as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought that crosses his mind is that maybe — just maybe — he deserves this.

***

Logan wakes with a start, his head pounding, the taste of stale whiskey thick on his tongue. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of the light streaming through the windows. His whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender — sore, achy, heavy. But it’s not just the hangover, it’s the weight of everything, of what happened yesterday.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he sits up, his hands pressing into the bed beneath him. Except, the texture’s wrong. It’s not the rough fabric of his apartment’s couch or even the smooth, cool sheets he’s used to.

Logan’s eyes snap open, and he looks around, confusion crashing over him like a cold wave. He’s not in his apartment. The walls are different — cleaner, the color a familiar light blue he hasn’t seen in years. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable, with plain white sheets. There’s a desk pushed against the far wall, a locker in the corner with his name printed on it in block letters.

This isn’t his apartment. This is … his driver’s room. The one he used when he was driving for Carlin in Formula 2.

“What the hell …” Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. He must still be drunk. Or maybe he’s dreaming. But no — he can feel the dull ache in his temples, the dryness in his throat, the uncomfortable press of the mattress beneath him. This is too real to be a dream.

But it doesn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembers is passing out in his apartment after finishing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey. He was a mess. He is a mess. But here he is, waking up in a place he hasn’t seen since 2022, a place that shouldn’t exist in his present reality.

Panic starts to set in. He fumbles for his phone, which is miraculously still in his pocket. The screen lights up, showing the date and time.

September 10th, 2022.

His heart stops. That’s impossible. It’s been two years. Two years since this date. His mind races, trying to piece together what the hell is happening, but nothing fits. He’s not in 2024 anymore. Somehow, he’s back in 2022.

It’s the only explanation, but it’s insane. None of this is possible. It’s not even like those vague dreams where everything’s familiar but distant. This is his life two years ago, down to the worn fabric of the team jacket hanging on the back of the door.

Before he can spiral any further, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Logan barely has time to react before it swings open, and Gary Catt, his manager, strides in with his usual briskness, already talking before the door is fully open.

“Logan, I just got off the phone with Jost Capito,” Gary says, his voice all business, not noticing Logan’s stunned expression. “Williams wants you. They want to lock you in for next season. It’s the best possible scenario. This is it, Logan — this is what we’ve been working toward.”

Logan feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. This conversation — he remembers it. It happened. Gary, standing in this very room, telling him the exact same thing, with the exact same excitement in his voice. The memory is vivid because it changed everything. It was the start of his F1 career. And also … the start of everything that led to that email.

“Logan?” Gary’s voice cuts through the fog in Logan’s mind, pulling him back to the present. “Are you even listening? This is huge, mate. You’re going to be in F1.”

Logan’s throat is dry, his mind racing with possibilities, with consequences. He remembers how he felt the first time he heard these words — pure elation, followed by a rush of nerves. But now, with the knowledge of what’s to come, all he feels is dread.

This is his chance to change things. To make sure it doesn’t end the way it did yesterday. He’s been given a do-over, a second chance, and he can’t afford to mess it up.

Logan takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Gary,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and the alcohol, “I don’t think I should take the offer.”

Gary stops mid-stride, turning to face Logan with a look of utter disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t think I should take the offer,” Logan repeats, more firmly this time, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “It’s too soon.”

“Too soon?” Gary looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “Logan, this is Williams. It’s F1. There is no such thing as ‘too soon’ when an opportunity like this comes around. What are you talking about?”

Logan stands up, pacing the small room, trying to gather his thoughts. How does he explain this without sounding completely insane? He can’t tell Gary what he knows — what he’s seen, what’s happened. But he also can’t go down the same path again. Not when he knows where it leads.

“I just … I don’t think I’m ready,” Logan says, finally turning to face Gary. “If I rush into F1 now, it could end badly. I need more time. More experience.”

Gary’s expression shifts from disbelief to concern. “Logan, listen to yourself. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You’re as ready as anyone can be. If you pass this up, there’s no guarantee another chance like it will come along. You know that.”

Logan shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but … I have a feeling that if I take this now, it’ll be a mistake. A big one. I’ll end up in a situation where I’m not able to deliver, where the pressure is too much. And that’s not good for anyone — me, the team, my career.”

Gary is silent for a long moment, studying Logan with an intensity that makes him squirm. “Where’s this coming from? You were over the moon about this before. What changed?”

Logan hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. About what I want my career to look like. And I don’t want to be one of those drivers who gets rushed into F1 and then crashes out because they weren’t ready. I want to do it right. I want to be fully prepared.”

“You don’t get to be fully prepared in this sport,” Gary says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “This is Formula 1. It’s sink or swim, and you know that. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this, Logan.”

Logan feels a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He knows Gary is right, in a way. This is F1. It’s not supposed to be easy. But he also knows that if he takes this offer, if he goes down the same road, it’ll end in disaster.

“I get that,” Logan says, his voice firm. “But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to take the seat. Not this time.”

Gary stares at him, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Logan, this could be career suicide. You understand that, right?”

Logan nods, swallowing hard. “I do. But I’d rather take that risk than go into something I know I’m not ready for and crash out in a blaze of failure. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Gary runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “This isn’t like you. You’re not one to back down from a challenge. Why are you doing this?”

Because I know how it ends, Logan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Because I want to do this right. I want to have a long career in F1, not a short one that ends in disappointment. And to do that, I need to be smart about the choices I make now.”

Gary lets out a slow breath, clearly conflicted. “This is … I don’t even know what to say, Logan. You’re turning down a seat in F1. That’s not something you do lightly.”

“I’m not doing it lightly,” Logan assures him, though his heart is racing. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and it’s the right decision for me.”

There’s a long silence as Gary processes this. Logan can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the weighing of options. He knows how hard this must be for Gary to accept — hell, it’s hard for Logan to accept, and he’s the one making the decision. But he has to stick to his guns. He has to believe that this is the right choice.

Finally, Gary lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Logan. If this is really what you want, I’ll back you. But you need to understand the risks. This could close doors for you. Big ones.”

Logan nods, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “I know. But I also know that if I take this now, it could end up closing even more doors in the long run.”

Gary studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll let Jost know. But don’t expect him to be happy about it.”

Logan feels a mixture of relief and dread. “I won’t. But thanks, Gary. I know this isn’t easy.”

Gary gives him a tight smile, still clearly grappling with the decision. “No, it’s not. But you’re the one driving the car, Logan. Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Logan nods, watching as Gary turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stands there for a moment, taking in the silence, the surrealness of what just happened. He’s just turned down a seat in F1. The one thing he thought he wanted more than anything. But as the anxiety ebbs, a new feeling takes its place — determination.

This time, things are going to be different. He’s going to do it right, even if it means making the hard choices. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. This is his second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

***

The 2023 F2 season ends in a flurry of champagne, confetti, and flashing cameras. Logan stands on the top step of the podium, the P1 trophy clutched in his hands, a grin splitting his face. He’s done it. He’s proved to everyone — most of all to himself — that he was ready. This time, he didn’t rush, didn’t let the pressure consume him. And it’s paid off. He’s the Formula 2 Drivers’ Champion.

But as the celebration winds down and reality sets in, Logan faces a new challenge. Despite his victory, the F1 grid is full, and F2 champions can’t return to the series. He could take a reserve role, bide his time, wait for a seat to open up. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not willing to spend another year on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity that may never come.

So when the offer from IndyCar comes, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He’s heard the stories — about the speed, the fierce competition, the thrill of racing on ovals. It’s not Formula 1, but it’s still racing at the highest level. And right now, that’s what he needs.

The decision surprises everyone. The media buzzes with speculation, but Logan remains focused. He knows what he’s doing. This is a new path, one that he’s chosen for himself, not because it was expected of him. He’s determined to make it work.

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself in the heart of Indianapolis, standing outside the office of Mario Andretti. The legendary name still carries a weight of history and reverence, even in this new world of racing. It feels surreal, like stepping into a different era of motorsport.

Inside the office, Mario is all business. The contract is laid out on the table between them, a simple piece of paper that represents Logan’s future. Mario goes over the details with the kind of thoroughness that only comes from years of experience, but Logan can barely focus. His mind is racing, thoughts darting between the past season, the unknown future, and the thrill of what he’s about to embark on.

“Everything looks good?” Mario asks, breaking Logan from his thoughts.

Logan blinks, then nods, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Mario slides the pen across the table. “Then let’s make it official.”

Logan takes the pen, feeling the weight of the moment as he signs his name at the bottom of the contract. It’s done. He’s an IndyCar driver now.

Mario nods in approval, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the team, Logan. We’re excited to have you.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, meaning it. This is a new beginning, and he’s ready for it.

They shake hands, and Mario stands, motioning towards the door. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to head out. My granddaughter’s picking me up for lunch.”

Logan heads out of the office, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the person rounding the corner until it’s too late. They collide, and Logan’s first instinct is to reach out, steadying the person as they stumble backward.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, his hands gripping her arms as he helps her regain her balance.

“It’s okay,” you reply, laughing softly as you look up at him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you, the apology dying on his lips. You’re beautiful — stunning, even — with eyes that seem to sparkle with life and a smile that’s warm and inviting. For a moment, all he can do is stare, struck by how perfect you seem, like someone who’s stepped straight out of a dream.

“You alright?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study him.

Logan snaps out of it, quickly releasing his hold on you and stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again. I didn’t see you there.”

The door to Mario’s office opens, and the man himself steps out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. “Everything okay out here?”

You turn to your grandfather, smiling brightly. “Just a little bump, Grandpa. Nothing to worry about.”

Mario’s expression softens as he looks at you, the sternness replaced by affection. “Good. I don’t want anyone getting hurt before lunch.”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and Logan finds himself smiling along, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“Logan,” Mario says, turning to him, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat. This is Mario’s granddaughter? Of course, she is. It makes sense now, the confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. You’re part of a racing dynasty, just like Mario.

“Logan Sargeant,” Mario continues, introducing him to you. “He’s going to be racing with us next season.”

You offer him your hand, your smile never faltering. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Logan takes your hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as your fingers brush against his. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”

You glance at Mario, then back at Logan. “We’re heading out for lunch. You should join us.”

Logan’s mind goes blank for a second, and all he can do is blink at you, trying to process what you just said. “Lunch? With you and … Mr. Andretti?”

You laugh again, and Logan thinks it might be the best sound he has ever heard. “Yeah, with us. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, no,” Logan stammers, trying to regain some composure. “I’d love to join you.”

Mario claps Logan on the shoulder, his laughter booming through the hallway. “Looks like you’ve made an impression already, kid. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of this.”

Logan nods, still somewhat dazed as he follows you and Mario out of the building. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — about the contract he just signed, the new chapter he’s stepping into, and now, about you. He can’t quite believe his luck. Not only is he starting a new adventure in IndyCar, but he’s also just met someone who, in the span of a few minutes, has completely captivated him.

As they walk to Mario’s car, Logan steals glances at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. You seem so at ease, chatting with your grandfather, your laughter punctuating the conversation. There’s a lightness about you, a warmth that’s infectious, and Logan finds himself drawn to it, to you.

“Logan,” you say, turning to him as you reach the car. “So, what made you decide to join IndyCar? It’s not every day an F2 champion makes that leap.”

Logan pauses, caught off guard by the directness of your question. “Well, uh,” he begins, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted something different. F1 wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a seat to open up. IndyCar seemed like the right challenge. Something new, but still competitive.”

You nod, clearly intrigued. “That makes sense. It’s a bold move, but I think it’ll pay off.”

“Bold,” Logan repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you assure him, your eyes sparkling. “I admire people who take risks. Especially when they’re as calculated as yours seems to be.”

Mario clears his throat, a knowing grin on his face as he watches the two of you. “Alright, kids, enough shop talk. Let’s get some food.”

You and Logan exchange a smile before sliding into the back seat of the car. The conversation flows easily, despite Logan’s initial nerves. You ask him about his time in F2, what it was like racing on the different tracks, how he handled the pressure. Logan finds himself opening up more than he expected, the words coming easily under your encouraging gaze.

Mario chimes in every now and then, adding his own insights, but it’s clear he’s content to let the two of you do most of the talking. He watches with an amused glint in his eye, as if he’s already figured out something that Logan is just beginning to realize.

By the time you reach the restaurant, Logan feels like he’s known you for much longer than the short time you’ve actually spent together. There’s an ease between you that he’s rarely felt with anyone else, a connection that seems to have sparked almost instantly.

Inside the restaurant, Mario insists on taking the head of the table, leaving you and Logan to sit across from each other. As you settle in, you continue to ask Logan questions, but now they’re more personal — what does he do outside of racing? What’s his favorite movie? Does he have any hidden talents?

Logan answers as best he can, though he’s still reeling a bit from how quickly this day has turned into something he never expected. He’s just signed with IndyCar, but more than that, he’s sitting across from someone who makes his heart race faster than any car ever could.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Logan,” Mario says suddenly, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve seen a lot of young drivers come and go, but you … you’ve got something special. Just keep your focus, and you’ll go far.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andretti,” Logan says, his voice sincere. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Call me Mario,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We’re family now, after all.”

Logan smiles, feeling a warmth spread through him at the word “family.” It’s strange, how quickly things have shifted, how he’s gone from a solitary driver trying to make his way in the world to someone who might actually belong here, in this new place, with these new people.

As the lunch continues, Logan finds himself growing more comfortable, the initial awkwardness fading away. You keep the conversation lively, sharing stories about your grandfather, about your own life, and Logan can’t help but be drawn to your passion, your intelligence, your warmth. It’s clear that you’re not just Mario Andretti’s granddaughter — you’re your own person, with your own dreams and ambitions.

Eventually, the meal winds down, and Mario excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but charged, filled with the unspoken things neither of you have quite put into words yet.

“So,” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips, “what do you think of Indy so far?”

Logan grins, feeling a boldness he didn’t expect. “Well, it just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You laugh, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice softening as he looks at you, really looks at you. “I think I am too.”

You hold his gaze, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels almost like fate.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Mario returns, his phone call finished. He glances between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes Logan’s ears burn. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, standing up and giving Logan one last, lingering smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Logan stands as well, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you and Mario head out of the restaurant, Logan lingers for a moment, watching you go. He can’t quite believe what just happened, but one thing is certain — his life just got a lot more complicated, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he walks out into the bright sunlight, Logan can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He’s taken a leap into the unknown, and it feels like the start of something incredible.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through the very core of the Speedway as Logan crosses the finish line first. It’s the 107th running of the Indianapolis 500, and he’s just won it. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, almost knocking the breath out of him. He’s an Indy 500 champion. In his rookie season, no less.

The engine growls as he coasts to a stop, and for a moment, all he can do is sit there, hands trembling on the steering wheel. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he lets out a breathless laugh, disbelief and elation mingling into something indescribable.

“Logan Sargeant wins the Indy 500!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. He hears it, but it still feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

The pit crew rushes over, the celebration already in full swing as they haul him out of the car. He’s immediately surrounded by a sea of people — team members, media, officials — everyone wanting a piece of this historic moment. But through it all, there’s one thing on his mind. One person.

You.

He’s searching the crowd, trying to spot you among the chaos. His vision is blurred with sweat and tears, but then he sees you — pushing your way through the throng of people, a look of pure joy on your face. You’re clapping, laughing, your eyes shining with pride, and all Logan can think is how he needs to get to you.

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

One of the crew hands him the iconic bottle of milk, the symbol of victory. Logan takes it, still in a daze, and tilts it back, taking a long swig. The cold liquid is refreshing, cutting through the heat of the moment, and he can’t help but laugh as he lowers the bottle, milk dripping down his chin.

Without hesitation, he lifts the bottle above his head and pours the rest over himself. The milk runs down his face, soaking into his race suit, and the crowd goes wild, the noise level somehow reaching new heights. He feels on top of the world — unstoppable, invincible.

And then he spots you again, closer now, just on the edge of the crowd. Logan doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to consider anything else. He just moves, pushing through the throng of people until he’s standing right in front of you.

You’re smiling up at him, eyes bright with something that makes his heart race faster than it did on the final lap. Before he can stop himself, Logan reaches out, pulls you in, and kisses you.

It’s the kind of kiss that’s been building for months — the culmination of all the moments, all the glances, all the unspoken words between you. You taste like the victory he’s just claimed, like the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, like everything he’s been chasing since he first set foot in this world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, milk dripping from Logan’s face and onto yours. You laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” you tease, licking the milk from his lips with a grin that’s both playful and suggestive. “But honestly? It’d be worth it even if I was.”

Logan laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that comes from a place of pure, unfiltered happiness. He feels like he’s floating, like nothing in the world could possibly bring him down from this high. Not now, not ever.

“Best win of my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, still holding you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment disappear.

You tilt your head, still smiling up at him with those eyes that have captivated him from the start. “I’d hope so,” you say softly. “You just won the Indy 500.”

He shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “No, I mean this.” He gestures between the two of you, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.

For a second, you just stare at him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then you’re laughing, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

This one is softer, sweeter — less about the heat of the moment and more about the connection between you, the way everything just seems to fit when you’re together. Logan loses himself in it, in you, in this moment that feels like the culmination of everything he’s ever wanted.

When you finally break apart, the noise of the crowd floods back in, the celebration continuing around you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters except the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world.

“Come on,” you say, tugging him towards the podium. “You’ve got a trophy to collect.”

Logan follows, still holding onto your hand, not willing to let you go just yet. The team is waiting, cheering him on, and as they hoist him up onto their shoulders, Logan realizes that this — this moment, this feeling — is what he’s been racing for all along.

Standing on the podium, the trophy in his hands, Logan looks out at the sea of faces, at the fans cheering his name, at the team celebrating their victory. But his eyes find you in the crowd, and that’s where they stay.

You’re smiling up at him, and Logan knows, deep down, that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something incredible, something he never saw coming but can’t imagine living without.

As the anthem plays and the confetti rains down, Logan lifts the trophy high, his heart full to bursting. He’s done it — he’s won the Indy 500. But more than that, he’s found something, someone, who makes all of it mean so much more.

And as he looks down at you, standing there with that bright, beautiful smile, Logan knows that he’s not just a champion. He’s the luckiest guy in the world.

***

The soft hum of the office fills the silence as Logan sits across from Mario, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The past year has been a whirlwind — plenty of IndyCar wins, that unforgettable victory at the Indy 500, and the life he’s built with you by his side. It’s been everything he didn’t know he needed, but now, as he sits in Mario’s office, there’s an air of something significant, something life-altering in the way Mario looks at him.

Mario clears his throat, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped. “Logan,” he begins, voice steady, serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking — planning, actually — and I need to talk to you about something important.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat, the weight of Mario’s words sinking in. He nods, leaning forward slightly, feeling the anticipation coil tight in his chest. “What is it?” He asks, voice steady despite the flurry of nerves.

Mario takes a deep breath, then looks Logan squarely in the eye. “We’re buying Haas F1 Team. The deal’s already in motion, and we’ll be restructuring everything from the ground up to make our entrance into Formula 1 in 2026.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Logan’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he’s heard Mario correctly. “Formula 1?” He echoes, almost disbelieving. His mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as it gets,” Mario replies, his expression unwavering. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Logan. And now, with everything coming together, it’s finally happening. But here’s the thing-” he pauses, his gaze locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, “I can’t think of anyone better suited to lead this team as our driver than you.”

The words hit Logan like a freight train. He stares at Mario, unable to speak, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Formula 1 has always been the dream, the pinnacle of everything he’s worked for. The chance he thought he’d lost — twice, if he counts the strange twist of fate that had brought him here in the first place.

“Logan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Mario continues, his tone softer now, understanding. “But I believe in you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, in F2, in IndyCar — hell, you won the Indy 500 in your first season. And I know you still have that fire for F1. This is your shot, kid. And I want you to take it.”

Logan feels the lump in his throat as Mario’s words sink in. The room seems to close in around him, the gravity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. He’s had a lot of success in IndyCar, more than he ever imagined, and it brought him you — his reason to smile, his anchor in the storm. But Formula 1? That’s the dream he’s never fully let go of, even when he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He swallows hard, forcing the words out past the emotion threatening to choke him. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, his voice thick. “I mean, this is … I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance like this.”

Mario smiles, the kind of smile that’s equal parts pride and encouragement. “I know it’s a lot, Logan. And it’s not an easy decision, especially considering everything you’ve built here in IndyCar. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the right person for this. You’ve got what it takes to succeed in F1, and I’m not just talking about talent. You’ve got heart, determination, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. That’s what makes a champion.”

Logan’s mind races, the possibilities spinning out in front of him. He thinks about everything he’s worked for, everything he’s achieved. And then he thinks about you — how you’ve been there with him through it all, supporting him, believing in him even when he doubted himself.

He takes a deep breath, his decision already forming in his mind, solidifying with each passing second. “Okay,” he says, meeting Mario’s gaze head-on. “I’ll do it. I want this, Mario. I want to prove to myself that I can do it right this time.”

Mario’s grin widens, and he stands up, offering Logan his hand. “Welcome to Andretti F1 Team. We’re going to do great things together.”

Logan shakes his hand, the reality of it all starting to settle in. He’s going to be a Formula 1 driver again. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, everything he’s ever wanted all over again. As he stands there, absorbing the magnitude of what’s just happened, he feels a strange mix of emotions — elation, fear, anticipation, and something else that he can’t quite name.

Mario walks him to the door, still talking about the next steps, the plans they have for the team, but Logan’s mind is half-focused on something else, someone else. As the door swings open, the conversation comes to a halt. The sight that greets them both brings a grin to Mario’s face and a burst of laughter from Logan.

You’re standing there, your ear pressed to the door, looking guilty as hell when you realize you’ve been caught. You straighten up quickly, trying to play it off, but the blush spreading across your cheeks gives you away.

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Logan teases, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. There’s a lightness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, the news already settling into a place of excitement rather than apprehension.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably. “I, um … I might have been curious,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

Mario chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a new team spy, Logan. Better watch out.”

Logan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He steps out of the office, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You know, you didn’t have to spy,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I would’ve told you everything.”

You look up at him, your smile fading slightly as something more serious takes its place in your eyes. “I just … I wanted to know if it was good news,” you say quietly. “I know how much F1 means to you.”

Logan feels his heart clench at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. You’ve always understood him, always known what drives him, what keeps him going. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “It’s great news,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting a second shot at F1, and I’m not going to mess it up this time.”

Your smile returns, bright and full of the same determination he feels. “I know you won’t,” you say confidently. “You’re going to do amazing things, Logie. And I’ll be right there with you.”

Logan’s chest tightens with emotion, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Good thing you won’t have to find out,” you reply, your tone teasing but laced with affection.

Logan’s heart swells, and before he can stop himself, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in a circle. You yelp in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the hallway.

He sets you down gently, your laughter fading into a soft smile as you look up at him. There’s a moment of quiet, the world around you fading away as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Logan leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate, a promise of what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and smiling, Logan feels a sense of calm settle over him. Everything is falling into place, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

With you by his side, he knows he can face whatever comes next.

“Ready to take on the world?” You ask, your voice light but your eyes serious.

Logan grins, squeezing your hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, he leads you down the hallway, the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

***

The sun is barely up, casting long shadows across the Albert Park Circuit, but the air is already alive with anticipation. It’s the first day of preseason testing for the 2026 Formula 1 season, and the paddock is buzzing with the usual mix of excitement and nerves.

Teams are unpacking crates, engineers are huddled over laptops, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber is already in the air. But for Logan, walking through the paddock with you on his arm, it feels like stepping into a dream — one he’s worked too damn hard to make a reality.

He adjusts the collar of his Andretti jacket, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This is it. His second chance — though, thanks to the bizarre twist of fate, no one else knows it’s his second. Everyone around him sees a rookie, an American hopeful making his debut with Andretti’s new F1 team. But Logan knows better. He’s here with experience that no one can fathom, and he’s determined not to waste it.

As you walk beside him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, he can’t help but steal a glance at you. There’s a brightness in your eyes, a mix of pride and excitement that mirrors his own. “You okay?” He asks, squeezing your hand gently.

You look up at him and smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart do a little flip. “I’m more than okay,” you reply. “I’m with you, and we’re about to watch you live your dream. What could be better than that?”

Logan grins, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. You’ve been his rock through everything — the highs, the lows, the strange, unexplainable journey that brought him back here. He’s never been more certain that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As you make your way through the paddock, heads turn. It’s not just because Logan is here with the legendary Andretti team, but because of the woman at his side. He catches a few curious glances, some surprised, others appreciative, and he can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold, and he’s proud to be walking in with you.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spots a familiar face. Oscar Piastri, decked out in McLaren colors, is standing near the entrance to the pit lane, chatting with a few team members. It’s been years since they last spoke properly — back when they were both climbing the ranks in the junior series, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of track.

They were close once, but life pulled them in different directions — Oscar to McLaren, Logan to IndyCar. And now, here they are, both in Formula 1, albeit on different paths.

Logan feels a wave of nostalgia, and before he can overthink it, he’s steering you in Oscar’s direction. As you approach, Oscar looks up, and for a split second, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into a wide, genuine smile.

“Logan Sargeant,” Oscar says, his Australian accent as thick as ever. He steps forward, hand outstretched, and Logan takes it, shaking firmly. “I’ll be damned. You actually made it.”

Logan chuckles, the sound more relaxed than he feels. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s been a long road, but here I am.”

Oscar’s smile widens, his grip on Logan’s hand lingering for just a moment longer. “It’s good to see you, mate. I was wondering when you’d show up in F1. Figured you were having too much fun in IndyCar to come back.”

“There was a lot to love about IndyCar,” Logan admits, glancing at you with a fond smile. “But F1 was always the dream, you know? Couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”

Oscar nods, understanding clear in his expression. “I get it. And with Andretti, no less. That’s a hell of a team to start with. You’re going to shake things up around here, I can tell.”

Logan shrugs, trying to play it cool even as his heart pounds with the reality of it all. “That’s the plan. But enough about me. How’s life at McLaren? You guys ready to give us a run for our money?”

Oscar laughs, the sound light and easy. “Always. McLaren’s been working their asses off, and I’m feeling good about this season. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re old friends.”

Logan grins, feeling the competitive spark that’s always driven him reignite. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve gone wheel-to-wheel. I’m looking forward to it.”

Oscar’s gaze shifts to you, his curiosity evident. “And who’s this?” He asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.

Logan’s grin softens as he looks at you. “This is my better half,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “She’s the one who keeps me sane.”

You smile at Oscar, offering your hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Oscar. Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

Oscar shakes your hand, his smile warm and welcoming. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” you tease, throwing Logan a playful glance.

Logan laughs, feeling a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s good to be here, good to be surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie that he’s missed. He knows the road ahead is going to be tough — F1 is nothing if not ruthless — but with you by his side and old friends welcoming him back, he feels more ready than ever to face whatever comes his way.

Oscar steps back, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Well, I’d better let you guys get settled in. But hey, we should catch up properly later. Maybe grab a drink after testing?”

Logan nods, appreciating the offer. “Definitely. It’s been too long.”

As Oscar walks away, Logan watches him for a moment, the memories of their shared past mingling with the excitement of the present. It’s surreal, being here again, but this time with the weight of everything he’s learned, everything he’s fought for.

You tug gently on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You ask, your voice soft and curious.

Logan smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. “Just how different things are now,” he admits. “But in a good way. I’ve got a second shot at this, and I’m not going to waste it.”

You nod, your eyes shining with the same determination he feels. “And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

Logan feels a swell of emotion, gratitude, and love that he can’t quite put into words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you continue walking, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you focus on each other. The day ahead is full of unknowns — testing, strategy meetings, the inevitable pressure of proving himself — but with you by his side, Logan feels ready for anything.

As you make your way to the Andretti garage, the team members greet Logan with nods and smiles, and he can see the mix of curiosity and expectation in their eyes. They’re all in this together, building something new, something that has the potential to be great. And Logan is determined to be the driver they need, the one who can lead them to success.

You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re going to do amazing, Logan. I can feel it.”

He smiles, the confidence in your voice bolstering his own. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

As the day progresses, Logan finds himself falling into the rhythm of the paddock. The familiar sounds of engines roaring to life, the chatter of engineers discussing data, the focused intensity that permeates every corner — it’s like he never left. But this time, there’s a new layer to it all, a sense of belonging that he didn’t fully grasp the first time around.

He exchanges nods and brief conversations with other drivers as they pass by, some offering congratulations, others sizing him up as the new competition. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken dance of respect and rivalry that defines the sport. But through it all, Logan keeps you close, your presence grounding him in the midst of the chaos.

As the day draws to a close, Logan finds himself back in the garage, the car stripped down and the team poring over the data from the day’s sessions. He’s tired, the kind of exhaustion that comes from both physical exertion and mental focus, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that tells him he’s exactly where he needs to be.

You’re standing nearby, chatting with one of the engineers, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the garage. Logan watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. You’ve always had a way of fitting in, of making everyone around you feel at ease, and he’s grateful for that — for you.

As if sensing his gaze, you look over at him and smile, that familiar warmth in your eyes. You make your way over to him, and when you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you close. The noise of the garage fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

“You did great today,” you say.

Logan holds you a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. “You’re the one out there driving, Logan. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”

He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “It means everything to me that you are,” he whispers.

For a moment, the chaos of the garage and the world outside fades, leaving just the two of you standing together, ready to face whatever comes next. Logan knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but with you by his side, he’s more than ready to take on the challenge.

***

The media room is buzzing with the usual pre-race energy, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling in the air as the drivers settle in behind the table. Logan’s seated between Oscar and Charles, the bright lights overhead casting sharp shadows across their faces. The backdrop behind them, plastered with sponsor logos and the official F1 emblem, feels almost like a stage, the press in front of them the audience waiting for their performance.

Logan shifts in his seat, glancing down at the bottled water in front of him. The press conference has been the usual mix of questions so far — how the cars are handling, expectations for the season, the general camaraderie between the drivers. But there’s an undercurrent, a sense that something more pointed is coming.

A journalist from the back finally stands, her voice clear and direct as she catches Logan’s attention. “Logan,” she begins, holding her recorder up, “there’s been some observation that every time you see James Vowles, your expression seems to … change. Almost like you’re not too thrilled to be around him. Any comment on that?”

There’s a moment of silence in the room, a collective breath held. Logan feels the gaze of every person on him, including the drivers beside him. He lets out a quiet laugh, trying to play it cool, but he can’t help the way his mind flashes back to the last time he’d faced Vowles, the man’s condescending tone, the cold dismissal that had sent him spiraling.

Oscar shifts beside him, giving him a sideways glance, probably wondering where this is going. Logan catches the edge of his own reflection in the shiny surface of the table and forces his expression into something neutral, even though the old bitterness is clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach.

“Bad vibes,” Logan says finally, his voice carrying just enough humor to keep it light, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what my girlfriend would say. He just … gives off bad vibes.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the room, the tension breaking slightly. But the journalist isn’t done yet. “Bad vibes? Care to elaborate on that?”

Logan shrugs, trying to brush it off with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “You know, it’s one of those things. Sometimes you just don’t click with someone, right? It’s nothing serious.”

Charles, on his other side, leans into his mic, flashing a grin. “You’re not going to make us all paranoid about our vibes now, are you?”

The room laughs again, and Logan takes the opportunity to sip his water, hoping the moment will pass. But he can feel the weight of the past pressing against him, the memories of how it all went down before he’d found himself in this second chance. He knows better than anyone that this sport is a game of perceptions, of how you carry yourself, and he can’t afford to let the past taint his future.

Another journalist jumps in, steering the conversation toward safer waters — questions about the new car, how he’s adjusting to the Andretti team. Logan answers on autopilot, the usual lines about feeling confident, about how the team has been amazing. But in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about that flash of disgust he couldn’t hide, the way his skin prickled when he saw Vowles earlier that day.

When the press conference finally wraps up, and the drivers are ushered out of the room, Oscar hangs back, falling into step beside Logan as they head toward the paddock. “So,” Oscar starts, keeping his voice low, “bad vibes, huh?”

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is,” he says, trying to keep it light, though he knows Oscar can see right through him.

Oscar just nods, not pushing any further, and Logan’s grateful for that. They walk in silence for a moment, the din of the paddock growing louder as they approach, engineers and team members bustling around them.

“Honestly, mate,” Oscar says after a beat, “if anyone’s going to bring some good vibes into F1, it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Logan glances over, and there’s sincerity in Oscar’s expression that makes Logan’s chest tighten, the weight of everything he’s carried with him lightening just a bit. “Thanks, Oscar. That means a lot.”

They reach the Andretti motorhome, where you’re waiting for Logan, your eyes lighting up the moment you spot him. He feels a warmth spread through him at the sight, a reminder of what really matters.

You push off the wall you’d been leaning against, falling into step beside him. “So, how’d it go in there?”

Logan smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as they walk. “Let’s just say my reputation for honesty might have gotten a bit more solidified.”

You tilt your head up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That bad, huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, just … honest.”

You glance at Oscar, who’s still walking beside you, and give him a knowing look. “He always has to make things interesting, doesn’t he?”

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “Never a dull moment with this one.”

As you make your way back into the motorhome, Logan feels the tension of the day starting to ebb away. The familiar scent of coffee and fuel, the low hum of conversations around him, and the comforting presence of you by his side — it all feels right. Despite everything, he knows this is where he belongs.

Once inside, the motorhome offers a brief respite from the chaotic energy outside. The team is prepping for final checks, and Logan knows he should be focusing on the task ahead, but there’s something nagging at him, a need to explain himself, to make sure you understand.

You catch the way his brows furrow slightly, the way his grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets go. “What’s up?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “I just … I don’t want to come off like I’m carrying a grudge or anything. That comment about Vowles — it probably sounded harsher than I meant it.”

You step closer, your hand finding his, grounding him. “Logan, it’s okay. Everyone has people they don’t vibe with. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

He nods, the tightness in his chest loosening as he looks into your eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s a gift. Plus, you make it easy.”

Oscar clears his throat, and both of you look over to see him trying not to grin. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Just don’t forget we have a race to focus on.”

Logan laughs, shaking his head as Oscar heads out. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right out.”

When Oscar’s gone, Logan turns back to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for being here. Really.”

You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Always.”

As you both make your way out to the garage, the sounds of the team preparing for the weekend reach your ears, and Logan feels that familiar rush of adrenaline, the anticipation of what’s to come. The memory of the press conference, of Vowles, fades into the background. What matters now is the race ahead, the chance to prove himself once again, and the knowledge that whatever happens, you’re right there with him.

He glances over at you as they approach the car, and you catch him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Logan just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile playing on your lips. “You better believe it, Sargeant. Now, go out there and show them what you’ve got.”

He nods, feeling more centered than he has all day. With a final squeeze of your hand, he steps into the garage, ready to take on whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, he’s already won in the ways that truly matter.

***

The roar of the engines reverberates through the paddock, a constant hum that thrums in Logan’s chest as he steps into the Andretti garage. It’s yet another race weekend, and the energy is electric, a mix of anticipation and nerves hanging in the air.

The team is buzzing around him, mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers buried in data, but Logan’s focus is on the familiar figure leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the hustle with an almost serene smile.

Logan stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising in surprise. It’s not that Mario isn’t around — he’s a constant presence in the team, always keeping an eye on things — but he usually doesn’t show up this early in the weekend, and certainly not with that look on his face.

It’s a smile Logan recognizes all too well, a mix of pride and mischief that means only one thing: Mario knows something that everyone else doesn’t, and it’s going to shake things up.

Logan weaves his way through the garage, sidestepping the organized chaos until he’s standing in front of Mario. “You look like you’re up to something,” Logan says, crossing his arms to mirror the older man’s posture. “What’s going on?”

Mario’s smile widens just a fraction, his eyes glinting with a secret. “Now, what makes you think I’m up to anything, kid?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Because I know that look. You’ve got news.”

Mario doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pushes off the wall and motions for Logan to follow him to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the team. Logan follows, his curiosity piqued. Whatever Mario’s about to tell him, it’s big.

When they’re sufficiently out of earshot, Mario leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You remember how I told you a while back that we were working on something big for the team?”

Logan nods, his interest fully captured. “Yeah. What’s up?”

Mario’s smile turns almost wicked. “Well, it seems that James Vowles and Williams think they’re going to secure Adrian Newey for next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. Newey is a legend in the sport, the kind of designer who can turn a good team into a championship-winning one. If Williams were to get him, it would be a game-changer. “Wait, you said they think they’re going to get him?”

“Exactly.” Mario’s grin is practically gleeful now. “What they don’t know is that Adrian’s already in talks with us. In fact, we’re just about ready to sign the deal.”

Logan lets out a low whistle, the magnitude of the news sinking in. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. By this time next week, Adrian Newey will be working for Andretti.”

Logan can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. This is huge, a move that will send shockwaves through the paddock. With Newey on board, Andretti’s chances of becoming a front-runner in F1 just skyrocketed. “I can’t believe it,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s going to change everything.”

Mario nods, satisfaction evident in his expression. “It’s a big deal, no doubt about it. But we’ve still got work to do. We can’t get complacent, not with what’s at stake. But this … this is a big step in the right direction.”

Logan’s mind is already racing ahead, thinking about what this means for the team, for his own career. The idea of driving a car designed by Newey is almost surreal. “When are you going to announce it?”

“Not until everything’s signed and sealed,” Mario replies. “But once it’s done, we’ll make sure the whole world knows. And Williams … well, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Logan laughs, the sound coming out more exhilarated than he intended. The idea of one-upping Vowles, especially after everything that’s happened between them, is deeply satisfying. “I can’t wait to see the look on Vowles’ face when he finds out.”

Mario pats Logan on the shoulder, the gesture filled with a camaraderie that Logan has come to cherish. “Neither can I, kid. Neither can I.”

As they walk back towards the main part of the garage, Logan’s mind is still reeling from the news. He’s been focused on the present, on making sure he performs at his best every time he’s out on the track, but this … this opens up a whole new realm of possibilities. With Newey on board, there’s no telling what they can achieve.

When you spot him from across the garage, the look on his face must give away that something’s up because you immediately make your way over, your expression curious. “What’s going on?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

Logan glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, and then leans in, his voice low. “Mario just dropped a bombshell. Andretti’s about to sign Adrian Newey.”

Your eyes widen in shock, and Logan watches as a grin spreads across your face, mirroring his own excitement. “No way. That’s … huge!”

“I know,” Logan says, still barely able to believe it himself. “This changes everything.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your voice filled with pride. “You’re going to be driving a car designed by Newey. Do you realize how amazing that is?”

Logan nods, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. It’s … I can’t even put it into words.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.”

For a moment, Logan just stands there, soaking it all in. The garage is still bustling around them, the team oblivious to the monumental news that’s just been dropped in their laps. But Logan knows that soon enough, everything is going to change. This is the kind of move that can define a career, that can take a team from being contenders to being champions.

But more than that, it’s a chance for redemption. A chance to prove to everyone — including himself — that he belongs here, that he’s capable of more than anyone ever gave him credit for. The past is behind him now, and with you by his side, and Newey in the garage, the future looks brighter than ever.

Logan glances over at you, seeing the pride and excitement in your eyes, and feels a surge of gratitude. For the second chance he’s been given, for the team that believes in him, and for you, the person who’s been there through it all.

“We’re going to do something amazing, you know that?” Logan says, his voice filled with conviction.

You nod, your smile soft but full of certainty. “I know. And I can’t wait to see it.”

Neither can Logan.

***

Logan’s heart is still pounding from the rush of the race as he stands on the podium, feeling the weight of the Miami sun on his shoulders. The crowd roars below him, a sea of red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see, their energy pulsing through his veins. He can hardly believe it. A podium at his home race, in front of a crowd that feels like family, is something he’d dreamed about since he was a kid.

He turns, looking out over the crowd, his eyes scanning for you. You’re there, as you always are, standing with the Andretti team, your smile brighter than the sun. The mechanics are cheering, patting each other on the back, but Logan only has eyes for you. It’s like everything else falls away — the noise, the cameras, the pressure of the season — all of it fades into the background. All that matters is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s your entire world.

He takes a deep breath, the realization of what he’s about to do washing over him. His hands shake, just slightly, as he reaches up and touches the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the ring that’s been hidden there for weeks, waiting for this moment.

Without another thought, he drops to one knee, right there on the podium. The world seems to stop as he looks up at you, the crowd going silent in his mind. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the Andretti crew, sees the shock on your face as you register what’s happening.

“Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I … I don’t know if I can put into words what you mean to me. You’ve been with me through everything — the wins, the losses, the crazy twists and turns. And I can’t imagine going through any of it without you by my side.” He pauses, the weight of the moment sinking in. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you marry me?”

Your eyes widen, and for a second, you’re frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, you laugh, a sound that’s pure joy, and nod vigorously. The next thing Logan knows, you’re being lifted onto the podium by the mechanics, tears of happiness streaming down your face as you launch yourself into his arms.

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, of course, I will!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise deafening as Logan slides the ring onto your finger. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tastes like victory, love, and everything good in the world. The mechanics are going wild, chanting your names, and someone — Logan thinks it might be Mario — pops open a bottle of champagne, spraying it over everyone.

It’s chaotic, it’s perfect, and it’s a moment that Logan knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. As he holds you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he realizes that this — right here, with you in his arms, and his home crowd cheering around him — is the true victory. The rest is just a bonus.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “You know,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear, “I always knew I was lucky. But this … this is something else entirely.”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart skip a beat, and lean in to kiss him again. “We’re both lucky, Logan,” you whisper against his lips. “And this is just the beginning.”

***

The paddock is buzzing with activity, the hum of engines and the chatter of mechanics creating a familiar symphony that Logan finds oddly comforting. It’s the start of another race weekend, but this one feels different. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that has nothing to do with the cars or the track.

Logan slips away from the Andretti garage, his eyes scanning the bustling paddock as he makes his way toward the Williams garage. He’s done his best to stay clear of them ever since re-entering Formula 1, but today is different. Today, he has a reason to be there — a reason that brings a small, almost mischievous smile to his lips.

The Williams garage is a flurry of motion, mechanics and engineers huddled over laptops, surrounded by toolboxes and tires. The sight brings a wave of nostalgia crashing over Logan, but he quickly pushes it aside. He isn’t here for a trip down memory lane.

Spotting Alex Albon near the back, Logan weaves through the chaos, his steps light and easy despite the tension he can feel crawling up his spine. Alex is engrossed in a conversation with his race engineer, but when Logan steps up, he looks up in surprise.

“Logan!” Alex greets, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What are you doing here? Slumming it with the backmarkers?”

“Something like that,” Logan replies, his tone light as he pulls a small, cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to Alex, who takes it with a curious tilt of his head. “Figured I should deliver this in person.”

Alex flips the envelope over, his eyes widening slightly as he reads the names printed in elegant script on the front — his and Lily’s. He breaks into a grin, already understanding what it is before he even opens it.

“No way,” Alex says, pulling out the invitation and quickly scanning the details. “You’re really doing it, huh? Getting hitched?”

Logan chuckles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. “Yeah, we are. And we’d love for you and Lily to be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alex replies, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Congrats, man. You two are great together.”

Logan nods, grateful for the genuine well-wishes. He’s about to say something else when a flicker of movement catches his eye. Glancing up, he sees James Vowles standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Logan and Alex.

For a brief moment, the past rushes back — the frustration, the disappointment, the sense of being discarded like a broken part. Logan feels a familiar pang of bitterness, but he quickly tamps it down. He isn’t that person anymore. He’s moved on, and he’s got better things — better people — in his life now.

Still, he can’t help himself.

He meets James’ gaze head-on, his smile shifting into something a bit more pointed, more deliberate. “Oh, James?” He says, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the noise of the garage. “Seems like your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Real shame.”

James’ eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. The tension between them is almost tangible, thickening the air around them. Logan holds his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugs exaggeratingly before turning his attention back to Alex.

“Anyway, hope to see you there,” Logan says, clapping Alex on the shoulder before stepping back. “Tell Lily we’re looking forward to it.”

“Will do,” Alex replies, still smiling but with a touch of unease as he glances between Logan and James.

Logan doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and strides back through the garage, the small, satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t care. Let him stew, Logan thinks. He’s got more important things on his mind.

As he exits the garage and steps back into the sun-drenched paddock, Logan takes a deep breath, feeling lighter, freer. The thought of the wedding, of you waiting for him back in the Andretti garage, fills him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he’d find in the world of Formula 1.

He spots you before you see him, standing with Mario and a few other Andretti team members, animatedly talking about something. Your laughter rings out over the noise of the paddock, and Logan feels his heart swell with affection.

It’s funny how things work out, he thinks. How life has a way of surprising you, of turning things around when you least expect it. He’s come a long way from that lost, angry kid who thought he’d never get a second chance. And now, here he is, standing on the cusp of a future that’s brighter than anything he could have imagined.

He picks up his pace, eager to get back to you, to tell you about the exchange with Alex and the little jab he couldn’t resist throwing at James. But as he draws closer, you turn and catch sight of him, your face lighting up in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, you,” you call out, stepping away from the group to meet him halfway. “Did you get it done?”

Logan nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I did. Alex and Lily are in.”

“And Vowles?” You ask, a knowing glint in your eyes.

Logan chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s just say … he didn’t make the cut.”

You laugh, the sound pure and full of joy, and it’s the best thing Logan’s heard all day. “Good. You don’t need that kind of negativity at our wedding.”

“No, I don’t,” Logan agrees, feeling a rush of relief that you’re by his side, making even the most awkward encounters bearable. “And anyway, we’ve got more than enough people who actually care about us.”

You nod, your expression softening as you look up at him. “Yeah, we do. And I can’t wait to celebrate with them — with you.”

Logan feels a warmth spread through him, the same warmth he’s felt ever since the day he realized just how much you meant to him. It’s a feeling that never gets old, no matter how many podiums or victories he racks up. Because at the end of the day, it’s moments like this — simple, shared moments with you — that matter the most.

As the two of you head back toward the Andretti garage, Logan can’t help but think about how far he’s come. From the chaos of that first season in Formula 1, the heartbreak of being dropped, to the wild success of his time in IndyCar, and now, back in the sport he loves, with you by his side.

He knows there will be more challenges ahead — there always are in this world. But for now, he’s content to focus on the here and now, on the love he’s found and the life he’s building with you.

And as you walk together through the paddock, the sun casting long shadows on the ground, Logan can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Not because of the cars, or the fame, or even the victories, but because of you — because you’re the one thing in his life that makes all the twists and turns worth it.

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes against Logan as he stands on top of the podium. His hands grip the trophy tightly, the cold metal grounding him as the reality of it all sinks in. He’s done it. Logan Sargeant, the kid from Florida who almost lost everything, is now the World Drivers’ Champion.

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

He’s fought hard for this moment, clawed his way back from the brink of obscurity, and now here he is, at the pinnacle of motorsport. The champagne sprays around him, but all Logan can focus on is the sight of you, beaming up at him from the edge of the podium. You’re standing beside Mario, who’s wearing a grin as wide as Logan’s ever seen. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and joy.

He barely registers the other drivers beside him, the interviews, or the flashes of cameras. Everything narrows to you and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. You’ve been there through it all, from the moment he took that leap of faith into IndyCar, to the sleepless nights before his first season back in Formula 1. Every high and every low has led to this, and you’ve never wavered.

Logan can’t help the way his gaze shifts slightly to the left, where James Vowles stands at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a tightness to his expression, a bitterness that Logan recognizes all too well.

But as much as he’d love to revel in that small victory, he finds that he doesn’t care. Not really. The vindication is sweet, sure, but it pales in comparison to the sight of you and the emotions radiating from you like the warmest of suns.

You notice him looking at you, and you blow him a kiss, laughing when he pretends to catch it, holding it to his chest. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here, right now, with you by his side.

The ceremony starts to wrap up, and as the photographers move in closer for shots, Logan can see Mario nudging you forward. You’re waving your hands at your grandfather, as if to say no, you’re fine where you are, but Mario’s having none of it. The mechanics and team members part to let you through, and Logan watches with an ever-growing smile as you finally make your way up onto the podium.

When you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms without hesitation, lifting you off your feet as the crowd goes wild. He spins you around, feeling the way you cling to him, your laughter ringing out in his ear.

“You did it,” you say when he finally sets you down, your voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Logan corrects, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no hiding the way your eyes glisten. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Logan teases, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

The moment is interrupted by Mario clearing his throat, and Logan turns to see him holding a bottle of champagne, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, are we celebrating or what?”

Logan laughs, grabbing the bottle and popping the cork, spraying the contents over you and Mario, who both shout in surprise. The rest of the team quickly follows suit, and soon, the podium is a chaotic mess of laughter, champagne, and pure, unfiltered joy.

As the celebrations continue around him, Logan takes a step back, watching the scene unfold. His heart swells with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before. He’s always been driven, always had his eyes set on the next goal, the next race, the next win. But standing here, with you by his side, he realizes that he’s found something even more important than all of that.

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

The night carries on in a blur of congratulatory hugs, media obligations, and team celebrations. But as the crowd starts to thin and the energy begins to mellow, Logan finds himself sitting on the edge of the podium, his legs dangling off the side. The cool night air brushes against his skin, the sounds of the city in the distance providing a soft backdrop to the dwindling celebrations.

You find him there, sitting in silence, and without a word, you join him. You lean into his side, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s still sinking in,” Logan admits after a while. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve earned it, Logan. Every single bit of it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He nods, resting his chin on top of your head. “It just feels … surreal. Like I’m living in a dream.”

“Well, if this is a dream,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “then it’s one I never want to wake up from.”

Logan chuckles softly, his heart swelling with affection. “You and me both.”

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, watching as the final remnants of the celebration begin to fade. The stadium lights dim, and the night sky takes over, a blanket of stars twinkling above you. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and Logan can’t help but feel grateful for this quiet moment with you.

“I used to think winning was everything,” Logan says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing else mattered as long as I crossed the finish line first.”

“And now?” You ask, your tone gentle, inviting him to continue.

“Now I know that it’s not just about the win,” Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s about the journey. The people who stand by you, who lift you up when you’re down, who make the victories sweeter and the losses bearable. It’s about finding something worth fighting for, and never letting go of it.”

You smile, your fingers intertwining with his. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.”

Logan nods, turning his head to look at you. “I have. And it’s all because of you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Not at all,” Logan says, his voice firm. “You’ve been my rock, my anchor. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

You look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “Logan …”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You don’t respond with words; instead, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss filled with promises, with unspoken words, and with a love that has grown stronger with every challenge, every victory, every moment shared.

When you finally pull away, Logan rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his heart full. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying the weight of all he feels.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as soft, just as full of emotion.

The world fades away as the two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other. Logan knows that there will be more challenges ahead, more races to win, more obstacles to overcome. But as long as he has you by his side, he knows that he can face anything.

Because, in the end, it’s not just about the racing. It’s about the people who make it all worthwhile.

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

As the night deepens and the city quiets, Logan realizes that this is just the beginning. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey, with you right beside him. And whatever the future holds, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

[bloatedandalone04]

To The One I Love - 2

Series Masterlist

➪in which you wake up with no recollection of how you ended up in the hospital, and tyler’s worst nightmare begins when you don’t have any of the answers to his questions.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.5k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Tyler’s body went a bit stiff at the nurse’s words, his hand pausing on the door. “Memory loss? How much? Is it permanent?” 

The nurse gave him a pitiful smile, “It’s hard to say. It can be temporary, a few days or a few weeks. But it also could be more permanent. It depends on the extent of the damage and how her brain reacts to the trauma,” she said softly. “I know it’s not good news and it’s hard to hear, but I just wanted to prepare you for the possibility that she may not remember certain things.”

Tyler felt his face heat up and his ears started ringing, and he tightened his hold on the doorknob to feel some sort of stability. “Right, yeah. Thank you,” he managed to say as he looked back at the door, now hesitating. “What am I supposed to do? If she doesn’t remember me?”

He hated even thinking about that. You’ve been his girl since you were fourteen years old, even if you didn’t know it yet. You’d been by his side since the first day of high school, and his girlfriend for a little less than half of his high school experience. He didn’t think he could handle it if you didn’t know who he was. But would you really forget that much of your life? Is that even possible?

“Just be patient with her. Let her memories come back on their own time and don’t try to force it or push her too hard,” she answered, giving him a reassuring smile that did fucking nothing to calm his racing heart. “I don’t want to worry you since we won’t know if she will have memory loss until she wakes up, but if she does, just remember that she is still the person you know and care about, and she’ll need you to help guide her.”

Tyler nodded slowly, knowing he would be there for you every single step of the way. “Okay,” he muttered, “Thank you.”

He watched as she gave him a final smile before turning away and walking down the hall. He hovered outside the door for a few more seconds, somehow even more nervous now, even though he knew you were somewhat okay.

The fear of you not knowing who he is was plaguing his mind, making him hesitate. But he couldn’t stay out in the hall forever, and even though he was scared, he needed to see you. He needed to see that you were still here. 

Tyler turned the handle and pushed the door open, and right away things felt off. It was too quiet, too calm. In the fourteen years he’s known you, he’s never seen you so motionless. So void of life. 

His eyes swept around the room, taking in the plain walls, the tile on the floor, and the beeping of the heart monitor. It comforted him, because it was proof that you were still here, but he hated the fact that you were even connected to it in the first place. 

Slowly, Tyler’s eyes drifted over to you, and his heart fell. You were lying completely still on the bed, your eyes closed and a white bandage wrapped around your head. You looked a bit lifeless, despite the fact that you were very clearly alive, and the sight of you broke his heart. 

He quietly closed the door behind him, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. It was cold in the room, and his still damp clothes didn’t help provide him any warmth, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

Tyler crossed the room and sat down on the chair next to your bed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. He could see a few scrapes and cuts on your arms, but none of them looked too bad. Still, he knew you’d hate them when you woke up and saw them, but he already loved them, because they were now part of you. There were also various bruises on your arms, but they, too, didn’t look too horrible. He knew the real issue was your head injury, the one that might cause you to have memory loss.  

He gently grabbed your hand, his thumb brushing against the small scrapes on your knuckles. “Hey, babe,” he whispered, holding onto your limp fingers like a lifeline. The moment felt a bit too intense, too intimate, so cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Of course, his words were met with silence. He wasn’t a big believer of that kinda thing, but he secretly hoped you could somehow hear him. 

It was too calm, too quiet, and soon it would start to make him go crazy. Some people would joke that Tyler is quite a fan of his own voice, and he was about to test that theory out for as long as he could, because the silence he was currently sitting in isn’t helping him at all. 

“Remember our first date? The one at that big fair that came into town? Remember how I had to steal twenty bucks from my dad just so I could get us tickets? I’d never seen him that pissed in my entire life,” he started, blurting out the first memory he thought of that he shared with you. “That was a good night, though. I tried showin’ off for you at that gun game, but I was terrible at it. All because I wanted to win you that dumb stuffed rabbit.”

Tyler was embarrassingly bad at that gun game, but he still tried it six times to win you a stuffed animal since you won a ring toss game for him. He hadn’t expected you to be so good at carnival games when he asked you, and you ended up winning a lot that night, including the stuffed rabbit that you gave to him. Then you told him to give it to you and pretend he won it, and he was all in from then on. 

But you weren’t cocky about it at all, and he ended up falling even harder for you that night. Oh yeah. He was way past the point of being in love with you before he even took you on your first date. 

“Remember when you and I went lookin’ for cars? You kept gettin’ drawn to all the red ones, even though I told you I wanted somethin’ more subtle. But you know how I could never deny you anything,” he started a new memory, this one taking place a few years after high school. “The next day I picked you up in that old, shitty, red Chevy truck, and I’d never seen you look so happy. That’s what started the red truck phase of my life, and it’s still goin’ strong.”

Back when Tyler first started driving, he wanted a simple black or gray truck, but you were a ray of color in his life, so of course you immediately started looking at the red and blue trucks when he took you to a dealership in his dad’s old Ford. He told you he wasn’t going to get a colored one, then dropped you off at your place before immediately going back with his dad and buying a red one. 

The smile you gave him when he went and picked you up the next morning was one he’d never forget. You gave him that same smile the night of your first date, and every once in a while throughout the years of your relationship. It was special, even if you couldn’t even tell the difference half the time. 

He could. 

“I don’t even know if you can hear me,” he mumbled after a while, his hand still holding yours. “Somehow it helps thinkin’ you can, though.”

More silence filled the room as he looked at your face, the way your eyes moved behind your lids made him believe you were dreaming. His thumb rubbed random shapes onto the back of your hand as he gazed over at you, his mind still a mess as he tried to keep the negative thoughts at bay, but he was never really good at that. 

“The doctors are sayin’ you might not remember much when you wake up,” he murmured, looking down at your hand. “You don’t know how much I’m hopin’ that that’s not true. You and I have too many memories, babe. Too many perfect moments to forget. I know I could never forget you, and I hope you feel the same way because…” he trailed off, glancing down at his blood stained shirt with a grimace. He wanted to throw the shirt out, to burn the reminder of the state he had to see you in after he left you alone. “Because I can’t live without you.” He finished, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your fingers. 

Tyler felt a bit pathetic right now, but he didn’t really care. He had no idea what the others were up to, had no idea what was going on outside, and had no clue when you would wake up and finally let him know if you were really, truly okay. 

Never had he ever felt this lost. 

“You’ve been in my life fourteen years, baby,” he whispered against your skin, his lips pressing another kiss to your hand. “It’s still not long enough. I know I probably ask for too much too often, but this time is different,” he lowered your joined hands back down to the bed, his eyes flickering up to look at your face again. “Please. Please, don’t forget about me or about us.”

At some point after that, Tyler fell asleep, his head next to your hip on the bed. He literally talked himself to sleep, though his anxiety and stress probably helped, too. 

He felt like he got maybe an hour of sleep when the feeling of fingers running through his hair registered in his mind and made him wake up. His hand was no longer in yours, and when he lifted his head and turned to look up at you, he saw that your eyes were open, barely, and your hand fell from his hair. “Y/n,” he said quickly, sitting up and ignoring the pain in his back from being hunched over for so long. “You’re awake.”

You closed your eyes as you swallowed harshly. “Yeah,” you whispered, blinking a few times. “I woke up a few minutes ago.”

Tyler felt his heart beginning to beat quickly as you talked to him like you knew him, a sure sign that you didn’t lose your memory. “Are you okay? How are you feelin’?”

You closed your eyes again and groaned quietly. “My head’s killing me,” you grunted. “What happened?”

Tyler grabbed your hand, his mind not registering the way you looked over at him with a confused expression as he answered you, “There was a surprise tornado that hit the town. You got hurt pretty bad,” his fingers laced with yours, and he noticed the way you glanced down at his hand with a furrowed brow. “You’ve been in here for just under a day.”

Your eyes met his again as your brows raised in surprise. “And they called you?” You asked, your tone one of disbelief. “That’s kind of a surprise, Owens.”

Owens. 

You hadn’t called him that since your second year of high school. 

Tyler’s smile faded a bit as he moved closer to you. “No, they didn’t call me, babe, I brought you here. I found you after the storm hit,”

You gave him a disoriented look, your eyes flickering all over his face as if you were taking in every inch of it. “You sure it’s only been a day? You look like you aged ten years,” a quiet, pained laugh escaped your lips, but he wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling anymore. “And ‘babe’? That’s new.”

Tyler’s heart fell to his stomach for the second time in twenty four hours as he tightened his hold on your hand. “Yeah, babe…It’s not new,” he trailed off, his heart loud in his ears as he looked up at you with desperate eyes. “That’s what I’ve been calling you for years…because you’re my girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened a bit as a crease formed on your forehead. “I’m your what?” You asked, looking at his face, then your joined hands, then back to his face. “Are you messing with me? What is happening?”

Tyler shook his head, his whole body tense now as he stared at you. “No, I’m not messin’ with you,” he whispered, his heart aching a bit now as you gave him another confused look. You clearly knew who he was since you called him Owens, the name you gave him in high school when you two first met. You hadn’t called him it since you got together, so to hear it now was so confusing. 

He didn’t have an answer for that last question of yours since he had no fucking clue what was happening right now. 

“They said you might not remember certain things,” he continued, “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do,” you answer quickly, giving his hand a hesitant squeeze. “You’re Tyler…you’re my friend.”

Fuck. 

Tyler’s heart sank as he processed your words, and he looked down at the tiled floor for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’m your friend,” he agreed quietly, afraid he might actually start crying if he were to speak any louder than that. “But we’re more than that, baby, we’re…We’ve been together for eleven years.”

Your brows furrow even more as you try to pull your hand away from his. “What? What are you talking about?”

How was he supposed to explain this without overwhelming you? He didn’t even know where to start, or if this will just end up making your memory worse, but he was slowly starting to lose his grip on reality. 

“We’ve been together for eleven years. I know it’s confusing right now and probably weird for you, but I promise you,” he started, his voice shaky and a bit all over the place. “I promise, it’s real.”

“Tyler, I don’t understand,” you groaned, closing your eyes again as he lets you pull your hand free. “I think I would remember if we started dating, and for eleven years? That’s impossible, we met when we were fourteen.”

Tyler shook his head, starting to feel as confused as you were. “Y/n, how…how old do you think you are right now?”

You kept your eyes closed as you gave him a half shrug. “I don’t know, twenty? Maybe younger? I don’t know, Owens, my head is killing me right now.”

“I know, I know, just-” he cut himself off by running a hand through his hair and letting out a quiet grunt. He knows the nurse told him not to force anything, but how was he supposed to do that and also try to lessen the confusion for you? “Remember our senior year? That night when we, you know… And our graduation?”

“Yeah, of course I remember that night,” a blush took over your face as you opened your eyes again. “But nothing ever came from it, we’re still friends. And I remember us dancing together at our graduation, which is kinda weird to think about right now.” 

Your memories were clearly all over the place right now since you remember the night you slept together for the first time after senior prom, but not when he asked you out after, and you remember being with him at your graduation, but didn’t know that you and he had been together for nearly two years at that point. 

“After prom we started dating and then we fell in love,” he murmured, feeling his eyes sting, but he wouldn’t cry right now. It would just confuse you even more. “We were happy, babe. We’re so happy together, but you don’t remember any of it. And I’m terrified I might never get you back.”

His heart felt heavy. You don’t remember falling in love with him. 

You raised a hand to your head and winced, “Look, I’m trying to remember, but I-”

Tyler reached over and gently pulled your hand away from the bandage on your head. “No, don’t. It’s…it’s okay. I’m going to go get the doctor, okay? He’ll explain it a lot better than I can,” he mumbled and stood up, but you grabbed his hand again, making him pause. 

“You’re coming back, right?” You asked, looking up at him with nervous eyes. “You won’t leave?”

Tyler gave your hand a firm squeeze as he shook his head. “No, I’m not leavin’,” he answered quietly. “I won’t leave you.”

You seemed to relax a bit at that and you loosened your grip on his fingers. “Okay. Thanks,” 

He left the room after that and braced his arms on the wall next to the door for a few seconds after as he tried to think of where he could go from here. He couldn’t try to force your memories or keep asking if you remember certain moments. It could make it worse and he wasn’t going to risk that. But how was he supposed to help you? 

Tyler pushed himself off the wall and headed towards the nurses desk, where he asked if Dr. James was available since you had woken up. The girl behind the desk paged him, then glanced down at Tyler’s shirt and asked if he wanted to change into something from the donation bin, and it didn’t take a lot for him to agree. 

He didn’t want to wear your blood for another minute. 

The nurse gave him a very ugly patterned shirt he would never wear in any other situation, then he was making his way back to your room with his old shirt in his hand. He walked through the door and saw Dr. James talking to you and asking various questions, and Tyler quickly dropped his shirt into the garbage can by the door before returning to your side. 

James ran a few tests then asked a few more questions to see if you could remember anything, and you came up blank for most of them. You did remember a few things throughout the eleven years you’ve been with him, but nothing about being in love with him, and Tyler didn’t know how much more of this he could handle before he broke down completely. 

After the evaluation was done, the doctor told you to try and rest while he talked to Tyler outside, and he hesitantly left your side again and followed James out into the hall. “She’s got major memory loss,” he stated once Tyler had closed the door. “There are a handful of things she can remember, but for the most part she won’t know what you’re talking about if you try to force stuff on her.”

Tyler tugged at his hair again, which he is sure was probably a mess from the rain and how it dried without him brushing it. “So that’s it? She doesn’t remember me?”

“She remembers you, just not the key moments,” Dr. James corrected as he placed your chart on the shelf beside the door. “All those significant moments don’t exist to her right now, but that’s not me saying she won’t ever remember them down the road.”

Tyler looked around the hall as he felt his face heat up. “That’s the love of my life in there, on that bed,” he said in a raspy, uneven voice. “But she doesn’t even remember fallin’ in love with me. She thinks I’m still just her friend from high school.”

Dr. James gave him a look of pity, and raised his hand to touch Tyler’s shoulder but quickly stopped when he saw the look Tyler gave him. “Give it time,” he said, his voice firm. “Her memories might come back on their own, but if they don’t, are you prepared to live with that? To still be there for her?” 

Tyler dropped his gaze to the floor as he put his hands on his hips. “I can’t live without her,” he whispered. 

“Then she’s lucky to have you by her side,” James nodded and started to walk away. “Who knows, maybe you’ll make her fall in love with you all over again.”

Tyler watched as the doctor told the nurse to bring in your meds, then he went back into your room and waited until she was done giving them to you before he sat back down in the chair he had a feeling he would be spending a lot of time in. 

You hadn’t taken your eyes off him since he came in here, and Tyler could tell that whatever Dr. James talked to you about was still registering in your head. Just as he was about to tell you to get some sleep, you shifted on the bed and cut him off before he could say anything. “If what you told me is true, that we’re…together…tell me all about it,” you said in a quiet voice. “I wanna know everything.”

[macfrog]

if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)

long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different

warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 9.8k

terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.

You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –

Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.

He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.

Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.

Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.

His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.

He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.

That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.

But now he has it. Now he has you.

And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.

The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.

When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.

I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –

Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.

His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.

So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.

He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.

When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.

His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.

This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.

The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.

He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.

So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.

And then he’d bolt them back up.

Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.

He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.

“Joel? You down there?”

The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”

“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”

He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.

Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.

“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”

He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.

He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”

“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”

“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.

“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?

“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.

The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.

“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.

He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.

“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.

----------

He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.

The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.

There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –

I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.

He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.

Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.

He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.

The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.

He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.

But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.

Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.

And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.

He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.

You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.

He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –

You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.

“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.

He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.

This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?

And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.

So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.

He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.

But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.

No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –

You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.

You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.

“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.

“Then what’s your point?”

He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.

He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.

And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.

He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.

And then he leaves.

----------

Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.

He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.

Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?

He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.

Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.

He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.

And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.

His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.

She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.

She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?

And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”

He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.

No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”

“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.

She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.

The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.

The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.

You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.

He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.

His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.

But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.

Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.

“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”

“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”

She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.

Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.

“Not for you, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”

“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.

“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”

“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”

Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”

He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”

His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”

She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”

Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.

But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.

“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”

“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”

Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.

Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”

Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.

You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.

His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.

Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.

He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.

He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”

“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.

She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.

He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.

Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”

----------

He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!

His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.

He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.

“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”

Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”

“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”

“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”

Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”

“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”

His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”

It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?

Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”

He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.

He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.

But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.

And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.

His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.

----------

You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.

“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”

He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”

You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.

It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.

You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.

The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?

You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”

There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.

Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.

“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.

You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.”

It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.

“Don’t.”

There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.

Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.

You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.

Joel might not be done, but you are.

He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.

He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.

He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.

He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.

And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.

Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.

And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.

And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.

But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.

He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.

He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.

He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.

Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.

She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.

“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”

She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”

Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”

“Ha! No.”

She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.

“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”

He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”

Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”

“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”

It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.

Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”

“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.

Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.

His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”

He shakes his head again.

Nothing happened.

He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.

She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.

Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.

They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.

There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.

His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.

It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.

It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.

And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.

On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.

She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”

“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.

Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”

“Right. Right.”

“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”

Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.

Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”

“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”

She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”

“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”

“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”

Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.

----------

Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.

He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel’s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.

Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.

Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.

When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.

He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.

But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.

It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.

“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”

“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”

It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –

“Where is she?”

“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”

“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”

“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”

“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”

Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.

“He – say that again?”

“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”

“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.

Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”

He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.

“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.

He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?

There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.

He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.

----------

His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.

He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.

But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.

You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.

Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.

You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.

He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.

In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.

He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.

He’d love you. And you’d let him.

Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.

It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.

And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.

He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?

He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?

His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.

“Hello?” he murmurs.

“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”

He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”

“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”

Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”

He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.

He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”

“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”

Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.

The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.

He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.

He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.

In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.

His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.

Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.

He closes the front door gently on his way out.

----------

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[imaginespazzi]

Part 6: Leaps of Faith

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

I hope that you catch me, cause I'm already falling (you put your arms around me and I'm home)

(In which a writer who can see the end approaching starts building towards that ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good evening my lovelies <3. Happy Sunday and Happy Mothers day! First of all, I wanna thank y'all for being ever so patient with me. I know I've been pretty bad about updating lately and y'all have been so sweet with your asks and I really appreciate it. This fic is very close to its end. I probably could have ended it with this chapter but there's a very specific ending I want to write so this one is more of a self-indulgent filler but I think y'all will like this one. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue of sorts. Once again, there are most likely logistical inaccuracies. I'm not even gonna lie, the editing on this one is shoddy so there are definitely grammar errors/typos. For now, ignore them and I'll go fix them later. As always, even if we're near the end, feel free let me know what you liked, what you didn't and anything you'd like to see before we get to the end. Have a wonderful week my angels <3

April 2024 

“It’s a little early for ice cream hon,” Azzi jumps at the sound of her mother’s voice, startled eyes following the direction of the noise to find Katie leaning against the kitchen door, with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s a little early to scare the living bejesus out of me mom,” she says with a hand to her chest. 

If possible, Katie’s eyes roll even further at her daughter’s sarcastic tone as she makes her way over to the kitchen counter. She’s gotten herself a spoon and everything, ready to steal some ice cream for herself, when she notices the flavour. Next to her, Azzi stiffens. 

“You hate mint chocolate chip Az,” Katie says quietly. 

“I couldn’t find the strawberry ice cream,” Azzi defends stubbornly, her face taking on a guarded expression. 

Katie walks over to the freezer, opening it and pointing at the strawberry ice cream, Azzi’s favourite, that’s sitting in plain sight, “it’s right there.”

“Well,” Azzi splutters, “I’m trying something new,”. 

“You hate trying new things.”

“I’ve grown up I guess.”

“Azzi.”

“Mom.”

“Azzi, why are you eating ice cream you hate at 4 in the morning?” Katie finally asks in her best mom voice, sighing when she gets a mumbled response from her daughter, “in words Az, please.”

“Paige likes it,” Azzi admits slowly, and before Katie can say anything, before Azzi can dwell on what she’s said, she launches into a rant, “god knows why. Actually I know why because she’s stupid and weird and likes the dumbest shit. Who the fuck likes mint? Who the fuck likes mint and chocolate together? Gross. This shit is disgusting. It tastes all wrong. Paige is just-,” Azzi throws her hands up in the air, “she just doesn’t understand that some things don’t belong together. They can’t. They’re too different and it just- there’s a fucking balance to things you know? And she just- she doesn’t get that. It’s just- it’s not meant to be.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re eating it right now,” Katie says carefully. 

“Because I miss her,” the truth bursts out of Azzi like an erupting volcano, burning itself into every crevice of her skin, “because for some fucking reason I don’t hate the taste of mint chocolate chip. Because maybe they do go together and maybe I’ve been the stupid one this whole time.”

Since she’d stepped out of the hotel in Cleveland, all Azzi could think about was going back, saying fuck it to all the useless logic she’d come up with and going back to the only thing in her life that had ever made sense her Paige. But as it often did in that clichéd battle between head and heart, her head had won out. And she’s never questioned why her head wins so much, why she’s always chosen to listen to the practical side of her brain, until now. Until now when the urge to turn back time, to make herself stay in that hotel room, is all that’s consumed her for the last week. 

“Azzi,” Katie wraps her arms around the younger girl, “what happened with you and Paige?”

Azzi hesitates for a second and then everything’s spilling out of her lips, the good, the bad, the inbetween, all of it tumbles out like an uncontrollable waterfall. There’s something freeing about being able to say it all out loud, something freeing about the tears Azzi finally lets roll down her cheeks. She grips the edge of the counter to keep herself from keeling over, starting to feel herself crumble under the heaviness of all these stupid feelings. 

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Azzi whispers, “we used to be so easy.”

“Oh Az,” Katie rubs a thumb against her daughter’s cheek, “you used to be kids. You’re all grown up now. It’s always harder when you’re older.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I just want to be the way we were again.”

“So why don’t you?” Katie asks like it’s the most simple solution in the world and Azzi shoots her mother an exasperated look. 

“What do you mean? How do we even do that? We can’t be just friends again. We tried. Were you not listening at all?”

“Azzi, sweetheart, you’ve never been just friends.”

“That’s not true,” it’s a futile attempt at arguing against what’s become more of a fact than an opinion in Azzi’s life. It’s a truth she’d let herself acknowledge once and then buried deep within her, scared that once unleashed, it would ruin everything. Except, it turns out, even without it, things had still turned to dust.  

“Do you remember when you came home from Minnesota that first summer with Paige? You were either moping around or you were on call with her. There was no in between. It got better eventually, the moping stopped but the calls? I think you fell asleep on facetime with her almost every night. And you were tired every morning after, you barely had time to eat before school but every time I suggested that maybe you cut back, that was never an option,” Katie smiles fondly, “it’s when I knew.”

Azzi does remember, remembers talking about everything and nothing, remembers laughing and crying, remembers when Paige’s breathing was the only lullaby that could relax her into sleeping. And she remembers battling with that voice in her head, the one convinced there’s something more, silencing it with I’d do this with anyone. But that wasn’t true then and it’s not true now because Paige has never been just anyone, never been just a friend. Because even if Azzi’s never been brave enough to say it out loud, Paige is and has always been everything.

Despite knowing the answer and maybe dreading it just a little bit, Azzi asks it to her mom anyway, “what did you know?”

“That she was your person. You were too young, I couldn’t call it love just yet but I knew Paige was different then, she was yours in a way none of your other friends were. You were different around her,” Katie nudges her daughter, “Azzi you’ve always been just a little bit in love with her and she’s always been just a little bit in love with you too. The two of you have just been a matter of time.”

Azzi closes her eyes, and unlike other people, she doesn’t see darkness or little spots of light, she just sees Paige. Her mother’s words wash over her, like acid in her self-inflicted fight the feelings wounds and yet, the idea of she’s loved me too feels like a band-aid being delicately placed on the scars of her heart. 

“And place,” she whispers, eyes still closed, “we never seem to get time and place right.”

“Why do you need to?”

Another exasperated look is sent Katie’s way at that question, “we live on different sides of the country mom, what do you mean why do we need to?”

“I mean the two of you have barely ever been in the same place. But you made it work, when you had even less, when you felt even less. But you’re adults now. You have other resources now. And I know timing is difficult but- it’s you and Paige. What are you so scared of Azzi?”

Azzi sucks in a deep breath, “what if Paige runs away again?”

“What if you run away again?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Who was the last person to walk away, Azzi?,” Katie sighs when Azzi is adamantly silent, “I know she hurt you by leaving. I know she hurt you by pushing you away. But you did the same thing. You chose UCLA,” Katie holds up a hand when a frustrated Azzi tries to interrupt, “and it was the right decision for you Azzi and she should have supported it. But that doesn’t meant you didn’t hurt her and then you chose Zoe-”

“I didn’t choose Zoe-”

“Yes you did Azzi. Sweetheart you’re my daughter and I will always tell you the complete truth even if it’s not what you wanna hear. And the truth Azzi is that Paige might have hurt you in 101 different ways but that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her back in 99 different ways too.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azzi whispers, “that’s the problem mom. It hurts when she hurts me but it hurts even more when I hurt her. I don’t want that for us but I just- I just don’t know how to stop it without stopping us.”

“You haven’t even tried, baby. Paige held out a hand and you ran away.”

“She left first. How am I supposed to trust that she won’t just do that again," all that’s missing from Azzi’s stubborn whine is a foot stomp.

“Because she came back. It took her a little bit, I know, but she came back and she’s ready to fight, the question is, are you?”

��Why are you defending her?” Azzi splutters, “who’s side are you even on?”

“There are no sides to this sweetheart. The two of you are on the same side. So maybe instead of fighting against her, take that hand, fight with her.”

***

The WNBA draft is a momentous occasion this year. With a hyped draft class like no other, and the promise of even greater ones in the future, there’s a sense of celebratory hope dangling in the air. When the invite had first come in, Azzi had known the same one would be sent to a certain blonde in Connecticut as well. And a part of her had wanted to hide herself away from that possible collision, but every other part of her wanted nothing more than to get just a glimpse of the blonde.

One moment Azzi is surrounded by flashing cameras and the echo of her name on everyone’s lips, the next everything around her is fading away her eyes meet Paige’s on the other end of the WNBA draft orange carpet. It’s nothing new really. Since she’s met her, the blonde has commandeered all of Azzi’s attention whenever she’s nearby. Sometimes it feels like all of her other five senses fade away to give birth to a secret sixth one, one that’s solely dedicated to Paige, one that’s terrifyingly all-consuming. And yet, despite the heaviness of we’ve said too many goodbyes, for the first time in what feels like eternity, Azzi feels like she can finally breathe. 

And then Paige looks away. 

And Azzi’s back to struggling for air. 

It’s selfish of her, she knows, to expect something, not when she’d been the one to leave them stranded on different islands. But Azzi doesn’t seem to think logically when it comes to Paige and even as she tries to turn her focus back to posing for the camera, every inch of her body is dangerously aware of the blonde’s every move, just a mere few feet away from her. Her conversation with her mother is echoing in her head, giving rise to dangerous desires of what if i grabbed your hand and we ran away together. 

Paige is a natural on the orange carpet, all dazzling smiles and twinkling eyes. She glides through it, inching closer and closer to Azzi, but never giving away any sense of discomfort. And if it was anybody else, maybe they’d never catch onto the nerves hidden beneath Paige’s facade of calm, cool and collected. But once upon a time Paige used to be Azzi’s favourite puzzle and she has every part of the blonde committed to memory. It’s in the way Paige’s teeth gnaw at her lips for the briefest of seconds, in the way her right index finger is begging to tap a beat against where her hands rests on hips, in the way she’s blinking just one too many times. 

And then with one more heavy footed step from Paige, the distance between them is barely a couple inches and they let out identical breaths of air, both of them keeping their focus on the cameras in front of them. It’s loud, too loud, and still all Azzi can focus on is the sound of Paige breathing. The air around them is thick with tension. It feels a bit like they’re silhouetted against a sky made of words they’ve left unsaid and clouds of all the bitter mistakes they’ve made are hanging over their heads. And when their pinkies brush together, and a jolt of electricity sends shivers of I miss you more every day again her skin, Azzi questions if she’s ever made the right decision when it comes to Paige. 

“Wait wait wait,” Ari cuts in, as she squeezes herself in between the two of them, “I wanna get in between the two of you.”

A harsh cry of no sits heavily on the top of Azzi’s tongue as the older woman forces a break in whatever little bit of contact she’d had with Paige. She feels a little pathetic, the way every little inch of her skin is craving for that touch back. It had been nothing, a barely there moment and still Azzi thinks, when she goes to bed tonight, if that was all she’d get of Paige, then it’ll be the only thing that’ll feature in her dreams. 

“Alright one with just Paige and Azzi,” Ari directs the media, stepping out of the way and pushing the two younger girls together. And it’s laughable that a little brush of their pinkies had Azzi feeling any type of way because when they’re suddenly pressed together, every inch of Paige’s side fitting into Azzi’s like it belongs, the way the world suddenly bursts with light and colours makes Azzi wonder if every moment without Paige has simply been monochrome. 

It comes to them naturally how to pose together, arms winding around each other’s waist, heads involuntarily leaning against the other’s. And the smiles might be for the cameras but Azzi knows hers is the most real it’s been all night. It might be temporary, she might lose Paige in the chaos, but for now Paige is here and Azzi has learned how to be content with whatever little she can get. 

As the media moves to capture other people, the logical thing to do would be to separate, to let go of each other. But instead they stand there, still completely wrapped around each other, heart rates in sync as they breathe in each other’s presence. And then Paige’s hand falls from the small of Azzi’s back to tangle their fingers together and they let out identical sighs of relief, something so cathartic in the purposefulness of that touch. Everyone is too busy to notice that the two of them have fallen into a whole other world, one where there’s only two of them and every emotion that they’ve only reserved for the other. There’s no words exchanged as Paige guides the two of them out of the spotlight, somehow keeping their hands clasped together in secret, despite the ever growing crowd. And Azzi doesn’t know this building at all, doesn’t have the faintest clue where she’s being led to, but as long as it’s Paige pulling her along, she doesn’t care where, she thinks she’d go anywhere. 

Paige stops abruptly in a secluded corridor, turning to fully face Azzi. And the sincerity in the blonde’s crystalline blue eyes, as they roam every inch of Azzi’s body before coming to fixate on her face, steals the air away from Azzi’s lungs. Paige has gotten better over the years at building walls, but with every new lock she places on her emotions, there’s a key to open them that seems to always find its way to Azzi. In the delicate golden hue, Paige shines brighter than any star ever could and in the dim light Azzi can make out every bit of hurt and love and please can we just have this moment that Paige can’t put into words. 

“Hi,” Azzi whispers softly, hands itching to reach out and caress Paige’s skin. 

“Hi,” Paige says back, even quieter. She stares at Azzi as if she’s memorising every little detail and then her face crumbles. Azzi feels her heart drop at the single tear that trickles down Paige’s cheek as she lets out a broken whimper. And this, this unspoken power they seem to have over each other, the uncanny ability to just hurt each other without any bit of effort, is what scares Azzi the most. It’s too much. They shouldn’t be able to do this. 

“Paige,” Azzi’s fingers twitch but she hesitates, not knowing if it’s the right thing, “fuck- P what’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t reply, eyes wandering down to where Azzi’s trying to keep her hands still against her sides and when she looks back up, her eyes are bloodshot, “what’s wrong? What’s not wrong Azzi? You won’t even fucking touch me.”

“I didn’t-” Azzi struggles to speak, “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Can you just- fuck- can you just stop overthinking things for once in your life. Of course I want you to touch- you know what nevermind. This was a bad idea. You made yourself clear and I’m just- fuck- I should- I should just go.”

She sounds adamant enough but all it takes, when Paige moves to leave, is the strangled cry that leaves Azzi’s lips. The sound is enough to pull Paige right back in. She takes one look at the tears brimming in Azzi’s eyes. And then she’s pushing Azzi against a wall, hands on either side caging the younger girl between her body and the hard surface behind. She presses their foreheads together and Azzi feels like every part of her might just be a part of Paige too. 

“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. It’s barely been two weeks and I- fuck- Azzi- I’ve missed you every single second and now you’re here and I still miss you. And it really fucking hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispers, finally letting her hands cup Paige’s cheeks, and it’s worth it for the way Paige seems to completely melt into her touch, “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I keep thinking I’m doing the right thing but- I don’t know- I feel like I’m always doing the wrong thing when it comes to you. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

“Just let me be with you,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with desperation as she presses herself as close to Azzi as possible, “I’ll be your whatever- whatever you give me- whatever you want- I just- I just want you Az- whatever little bit you’re willing to give me- I’ll take it- and if you want me to wait- fuck Azzi- I’d wait forever- you know that right? However long it takes, baby. Just want you- just want us.”

Leaps of faith are scary. Azzi’s never been great at taking them, too cautious, too much of a worrier. She’s more of a step back from the cliff kind of person. If she doesn’t jump, she can’t fall. But here’s the thing, when she was fourteen, Azzi jumped off of her first hypothetical cliff. It had been on a plane, when after avoiding one too many deep questions, Azzi had admitted to a girl she barely knew,that maybe she could like girls. It was the first time she’d ever let herself acknowledge that truth about herself and the girl next to her was a stranger but there was something about her, something that screamed i’ll hold your hand and if you jump it’ll never be alone. And ever since then, that girl, Paige, has always been there. Hands outstretched, ready to jump off any ledge. Because if there’s hard ground underneath, then they’ll learn how to fly together and if there’s water, they’ll figure out how to swim. With Paige there has always been the promise that, whatever it is, they’ll figure it out together. And it’s with that promise in mind, that Azzi takes the leap of faith. 

“Me too,” Azzi whispers, heart beating erratically. 

“What?” Paige searches Azzi’s face, as if waiting for her to take it back. 

“Us. You. You and me. I want that too,” a ghost of a smile begins to creep onto Azzi’s face, and for the first time in god knows how long, she feels feather light, a little bit like she’s floating on a rainbow. 

“You mean it?” Paige asks earnestly, hands moving from the wall to clutch at Azzi’s waist, “don’t play-Azzi- okay- you mean it for real?”

“I do. I want this- I want this so much and I’m still- I’m still really scared and maybe it’ll be a disaster but I- I want to try. With you.”

Azzi used to think she knew all of Paige’s smiles. Her small, not quite fake, but only for cameras and people she didn’t quite know, smiles. Her just for my friends smile that was filled with mirth and childlike joy. Her basketball smile that transformed into a smirk when she got too cocky. Her only for Drew smile, soft and filled with so much adoration and pride. Her Azzi smile, the one only the brown-skinned girl gets to experience, a smile that made Azzi’s her heart swell with love. But the smile that stretches across Paige’s face now, is one Azzi’s never seen before. This one throws Azzi’s entire world of balance, so bright, so big, so full of emotions. If she could, she’d tattoo that smile onto her skin forever. 

“We’re really doing this?” Paige asks, still a little stunned. It wasn’t what Azzi had planned for tonight. She hadn’t really had any plans for what would really happen. But then Paige had walked in and all Azzi could see was forever she was tired of fighting against. 

“We should take it slow okay-” Azzi wraps her arms around the older girl’s neck, keeping their foreheads still against each other’s, “I don’t- I don’t wanna rush into things and fuck it up. I can’t- fuck- I can’t lose y-”

“You won’t,” Paige swears, squeezing at Azzi’s wait, “I won’t let you. We can take it slow. We can take it however you want- I just- we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Azzi can’t help the grin that fills up her entire face, “yeah we’re doing this.”

And as they surge forward to claim each other’s lips, and as they meld every inch of themselves into each other, and as they smile and cry into the kiss simultaneously, and as they etch promises into each other skin, and as they let themselves finally fall into each other, for each other, it feels a lot like coming home. 

***

July 2024 

The early morning sunlight casts a dark shadow across Paige’s face, causing the still asleep blonde to scrunch up her face in irritation. Azzi, who’s been awake for nearly half an hour now, can’t help the fond smile that creeps onto her own lips. She shifts herself to block the sun and Paige lets out a content sigh, burrowing herself further into her pillows. And the thing is every moment with Paige is special but there’s something about waking up to her in the morning. Azzi’s always awake first and it gives her ample time to just admire the girl in her arms, blond hair tousled all over her pillow, lips parted slightly open, and one arm always, always, splayed across Azzi’s torso, holding her close. Over the course of time, Azzi’s found out that the second she moves, Paige seems to feel her leave, waking up instantly. 

There had been an adjustment period if Azzi's honest. It had taken her a while to shake that fear of Paige not being there in the morning. The first morning, she’d been scared to open her eyes, even if she could feel Paige’s presence right next to her. That had been one of the few mornings that Paige was fully awake first, hovering above Azzi to wake her up. And when she finally did get the courage to open her eyes, the first thing Azzi had seen was Paige, blue eyes sparkling with unfiltered adoration, a smile filled with promises of every morning just like this. And that had been enough. 

Azzi reaches out to brush a hand through Paige’s soft blond hair, mesmerised by how pretty Paige looks in the morning glow. A lot of Paige belongs to the world now and Azzi’s not opposed to sharing really, because someone so fucking perfect, deserves to be celebrated like that. But there are some parts of Paige that belong to Azzi and Azzi only, some parts Azzi cherishes as being only hers. This is one of them and Azzi takes a snapshot of it, knowing she’ll need it to function in a few months, when she won’t get the real thing. 

“Are you watching Paige sleep?” Azzi almost jumps at the sound of Drew’s voice at the doorway, having been too immersed in Paige to have even heard the door open, “that’s kinda creepy Azzi.”

“Jesus Drew, whatever happened to knocking?”

“I forgot?” Drew grins, before he plops on the bed, the force of it making the whole frame shake a little bit. 

“Drew!” Azzi chides, “you’re gonna wake her up.”

Drew cocks his eyebrows, sparing his sister, who seems unphased by the sudden little bit of chaos around her, still fast asleep, an unimpressive look, “please she can sleep through anything. Besides, it’s already 9. I thought we were gonna do things. I been up for aaaages.”

“She’ll be awake soon,” Azzi smiles, ruffling the younger boy's hair. Drew rolls his eyes and it’s remarkable how much he resembles Paige, not just by face, but the mannerisms too. 

He huffs for a second before his eyes sparkle with an idea, “what if we pour water on her!”

“Drew!” Azzi chastises again, trying not to giggle. 

“Boo,” Drew crosses his arms across his chest, “you used to be so cool Azzi.”

Azzi laughs as she’s reminded of a younger version of herself, scheming with Drew on how to wake Paige up. And it’s not that she’s beyond that really, tucking the water idea for a rainy day, but Paige looks too peaceful this morning and she wants to preserve that look of serenity on the older girl’s face for just a little bit longer. 

“Hey Azzi,” Drew says after a while and Azzi hums in response, “when you and Paige get married, I can still be a groomsman right? Even if there’s no grooms?”

“Wha- where did that come from?” the brunette’s eyes widened at the question, sitting up a little straighter. 

Drew peers up at her with all the innocence of a pre-teen, “you are gonna get married right?”

“I don’t-”

“It’s too early for your yapping Drew,” Azzi’s saved from answering by Paige’s tired voice entering the conversation. She looks over to find Paige’s eyes already on her, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at Azzi. If Drew wasn’t sitting right there, Azzi would lean over and kiss her and let Paige deepen it until they were both satisfied. 

“Oh thank god,” Drew cheers dramatically, “I thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

Paige scoffs, the arm that’s still wrapped around Azzi’s torso tightening its hold, “I wish.”

“Well you’re awake now so get up,” Drew whines, moving from his spot on the end of the bed, to flop on top of Paige’s body instead, “get up, get up, GET UP.”

“Get off,” Paige groans but there’s no real force behind it. Azzi watches with a fond smile, as Paige flips Drew over so that she can tickle him, eliciting rounds of laughter from the younger boy. Something in her heart flutters, her mind going back to Drew’s question. She’s never really been one to think too hard about marriage and children and that domestic suburban life, leaving it up to fate, but now- well, maybe. 

“Okay aight aight enough. Go get ready for breakfast and we’ll be down in a second,” Paige says, ushering Drew off of the bed. 

“You can just tell me you want me to leave so you can kiss Azzi you know?” Drew scrunches up his nose, “you two are gross.”

Paige sends him a stern look and gets a dramatic eye roll in return but as he always does, Drew does as he’s told, mock saluting the two of them and skipping out of the room. 

“He’s right by the way,” Paige says softly, turning back to where Azzi’s leaning against the backboard, “I do want to kiss you.”

Azzi smirks lopsidedly, “what’s stopping you?”

She squeals in surprise when Paige pulls her, the force of it causing both of them to tumble onto the front-end of the bed. Azzi ends up on top of Paige, hands resting around her neck, the blonde’s hands holding her waist in place. 

“Good morning,” Paige grins, clearly proud of herself as she chases Azzi’s lips to pull her into a searing kiss.

“Good morning,” Azzi whispers back, thumb caressing Paige’s left cheek.  

“Just so you know,” Paige pulls away, a determined glint in her eyes, “we’re so getting married one day.”

***

October 2024

Azzi’s mood has been rancid for the last couple of weeks. It’s terrible she knows; it makes her irritating to play with and a nightmare to live with. But even if this had been expected, that she would be on one end of the country and her heart would be on the other side, it doesn’t stop her from constantly being in a state of missing Paige. And it’s different from before, now that there’s a certain surety of of course i’ll see you soon but soon never really feels soon enough. 

“Azzi can you please get the door,” Kiki calls from her room when the doorbell rings. 

“I’m busy,” Azzi grunts back, snuggling further into her pillow with a book she isn’t actually reading, “you go get it.”

“Azzi please, I’m literally in the middle of getting dressed,” Kiki yells exasperatedly. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s pretty sure her teammates are about this close to plotting her murder, and deservedly so, Azzi would sink back onto her bed and let the incessant doorbell noise continue. But she does love her teammates, thinks Kiki probably deserves to change in peace, and it forces her out of bed, grumbling away about annoying visitors. Until she actually gets a look at the visitor. Paige stands on the doorstep, confident as ever, a bouquet of roses and peonies and lilies in her hand. 

“You’re here,” Azzi breathes out, staring in awe. 

“And thank fucking god she is,” Kiki quips from behind her, “maybe we can finally get our old happy Azzi back and not this bitch.”

Paige laughs, “watch how you talk about my girl Rice.”

“You’re here. You’re really here,” Azzi whispers again. 

“I heard you missed me baby,” Paige says, her cocky smirk betrayed by the softness in her voice. And then Azzi is flying into her arms, throwing Paige off balance. 

“So fucking much,” Azzi admits into Paige’s neck, eliciting a giggle from the blonde, “Kiki’s right. I have been a bitch.”

“Just a little bit,” Kiki calls out again but there’s a new fondness in her voice. It’s funny how her team, even the haters, have slowly become Paige fans. They’d been hesitant at first, just like the UConn girls, but now well, it seems the basketball world’s Montagues and Capulets have learned to accept their star players’ relationship. 

“Missed you too Az,” Paige’s tone is vulnerable as they break away, “alright, go get changed, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Or…,” Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, “we could stay here and do something else.”

Paige shivers under her touch, stepping away to keep some semblance of control “n-no I have plans,” but she can’t help but kiss Azzi’s pout away, “it’ll be worth it, I promise. Besides,” she bites at Azzi’s ear, “there’s always later.”

***

“Your big plans are to bring me to the supermarket,” Azzi cocks an eyebrow as they walk down one of the many aisles, “you turned down sex for this? Should I be offended?”

Paige doesn’t say anything, concentratedly looking at signs, trying to figure out a specific section, before an aha! moment dances over her face, and she pulls Azzi with her, the younger girl going willingly, despite the eye roll. She stops triumphantly in front of the sushi section and Azzi looks at her quizzically. 

“I’m getting you supermarket sushi,” Paige says pointedly, “and then you can get me mac and cheese.”

And if you brought me sushi I’d have brought you your favourite mac and cheese. Oh. The realisation of what Paige is doing trickles around Azzi a little bit like rain after a long summer drought. She thinks back to the bouquet, everything suddenly making sense.

“You’re such a dork Paige Bueckers,” Azzi says softly, tapping the older girl’s nose. 

“Your dork,” Paige grins cheesily, “now hurry up and pick one. I don’t wanna miss the sunset.”

***

Once she catches on it, it doesn’t surprise Azzi to find that Paige has everything planned out perfectly, down to the exact spot in the park- the one by Paige’s recovery airBnB, the one they’d taken countless walks in trying to repair their friendship- where the two of them can be away from everybody else, in their own little bubble. And she has a picnic blanket, that’s a little small but they don’t really want space from each other anyways. They lean against a tree, food set up in front of them, Paige’s laptop, carefully piled on top of a couple of books to be the perfect height, set a little bit further away. 

“So what NBA game are we watching?” Azzi asks with a smile and Paige groans, “what? Was that not part of the plan?”

“Dude come on. It’s the beginning of October. Please tell me you know the NBA season isn’t happening yet,” Paige rubs her temple, only a little endeared by the comment, “are you sure you’re a basketball player?” 

“There are games in October. I swear I’ve seen them before,” Azzi says sceptically. 

“Yeah at the very end of the month, not right now.”

“Well then close enough,” Azzi says indignantly, “I don’t need to know the exact day.”

“Whatever you say baby,” Paige acquiesces with a smirk and it earns her an elbow to the stomach, “what the fuck? That shit’s domestic violence you know?”

“Big words Bueckers, didn’t think you knew them,” Azzi teases, placing a kiss against Paige’s offended expression, before settling herself against the blonde’s side, sighing contentedly when she gets a kiss on her temple in return. They’re cliché enough to put on Love and Basketball, but Azzi doesn’t really end up watching much at all. In between slow kisses, she almost falls asleep a couple of times, the comfort of Paige’s arms like a blanket wrapping her in the warmth of this is my fairytale. 

“THE POLAROID,” Paige’s shout breaks Azzi out of her haze as she feels her body being shaken off, the blonde rummaging through her bag for the camera, “we have to take the polaroid. My wall needs it.”

“Oh yeah a tiny polaroid picture of us inbetween all your Lebron posters, a perfect fit,” Azzi drawls only to be met with a scathing look from Paige. 

“It’s for important things and Lebron is the most important of them all,” Paige explains with complete seriousness, as she finally finds the polaroid camera and shimmies back to Azzi with it in hand. 

The sunset is beautiful. Pink, purple, orange and blue, all blending together to create the perfect picture. But Azzi thinks it’s not nearly as beautiful as the girl in front of her, not nearly as beautiful as the date Paige had planned, not nearly as beautiful as the future she can so clearly see now. Her mind drifts back to the night of the phone call, and she can almost hear Paige’s sobs again, can still hear her own voice breaking. Back then, they had seemed impossible, a butterfly like dream that danced out of their grasp. 

“Hey,” Paige captures her chin with two fingers, “where’d you go?”

Azzi shakes her head, “nowhere. I’m right here. With you. Where I should be.”

“Sappy goof,” Paige snorts but she kisses Azzi like she’ll take those words and hide them in the labyrinth of her mind, protect them there forever. 

Taking the picture is a task, both of them bickering about angles and lights. It’s unnecessary arguing, in true Paige and Azzi fashion really but there’s something so mundanely domestic about it that Azzi finds herself wanting to memorise this moment too. They finally get the frame just right, somewhere in between what they both wanted. Azzi smiles at the camera, her Paige smile, as the blonde in question presses her lips against her cheeks. 

Click. 

And Azzi hopes, that however many years later, when they have a home of their own, amidst all the photos that they’ll take over the next years, this one will be hung somewhere on their wall, a testament to finally realising every dream they’d dared to dream together. 

***

December 2024 

There are pebbles being thrown at her window and Azzi has to stop herself from laughing when she peers down to see Paige, freezing cold in the Virginia December air, staring up at her with a goofy smile. She shakes her head when her phone rings, knowing it’s Paige and answers it with her own foolish grin. 

“What exactly are you doing?” Azzi asks, “come back to bed.”

“You said I was unromantic. I’m trying to be romantic,” Paige’s teeth chatter in the cold, as she balances her phone in one hand, still throwing rocks with the other. 

“I didn’t say that and throwing rocks at my window is supposed to be romantic? You’re going to wake the whole house up.”

“That’s what they do in all the good rom coms. And you said and I quote ‘we’re kind of boring’. You might be boring Azzi Fudd but I most definitely am not.”

It had been a throwaway comment Azzi had made at dinner with some friends from high school. One of her friends had been going on and on about some adventurous trip that she and her boyfriend were going on, and then asked Paige and Azzi if they had any of that planned. To which Azzi had replied that they were a little too busy, considering they were college basketball players still in season, and besides they were “kind of boring” people. She hadn’t meant it in any type of way. Personally, Azzi likes boring. Paige however, seemed to have taken the comment to heart and Azzi had woken up at 2 a.m. to an empty bed and the sound of something being thrown at her window. 

“Okay I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You're really interesting baby and the most romantic person in the world. Now will you please come back to bed,” Azzi concedes, already missing the feeling of being cuddled up in her blankets with Paige’s body heat keeping her nice and toasty. 

“No,” Paige says indignantly, “come down here.”

“Paige, it's freezing. It’s gonna start snowing any minute.”

“Exactly. That’s exciting.”

“Sleep is exciting,” Azzi whines, but she’s already padding around her room looking for a warm sweater, grumbling under her breath about the warm California sun she’s missing. She tiptoes down the staircase, wincing at the one step that creaks just a little too much, before pushing herself out the door. And it’s freezing cold, there’s sleep in her eyes, but it’s all worth it Azzi thinks, it’ll always be worth it, just to experience Paige’s smile. 

“Knew you’d come,” Paige grins cockily, mittened hands pulling Azzi into her.

“Yeah yeah. What are we even doing?”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige bellows dramatically, “may I have this dance.”

Azzi stares at Paige’s outstretched hand wondering if this is some sort of cry for help, but one look at Paige’s face tells her that the girl in front of her is being absolutely serious. 

“This is your idea of exciting? Dancing in the street while it’s freezing with no music?” Azzi raises an eyebrow, but she takes Paige’s hand. 

“It’s spontaneous,” Paige says the last word with a flourish, as she spins Azzi, “why not dance in the street when it’s freezing with no music?”

And well, that’s a fair point. If anyone were to look out their window that night, they’d probably think the two girls were somewhat crazy. Laughing and giggling and tripping over each other as Paige hums a melody and Azzi occasionally joins in. It’s ridiculous and corny and cliché and perfect. And then the first little bit of snow falls, white drops circling around the two dancing girls, snowflakes catching on their eyelashes. The dim glow of the streetlight is enough to catch identical smiles on the two girl’s faces as they revel in each other. 

“You know some people say if you make a wish during the first snowfall, it’ll come true,” Paige whispers, still waltzing the two of them around, cheek pressed to Azzi’s, “you wanna try?”

And the thing is Azzi doesn’t really believe in all of that, in magic but something about Paige, something about this moment feels magical. It makes a believer out of Azzi. 

“Yeah,” Azzi smiles, “let’s make a wish.”

They stand still, holding hands, eyes closed, both a little breathless, as they make their wishes. And when they open them, if it feels a little bit like maybe their wishes have already been granted, well they’ll share it in a secret smile but never out loud. After all, wishes don’t come true if you speak of them. 

***

April 2025

7 seconds to go in the National Championship and Azzi’s UCLA Bruins are down by two points. It’s her last chance, having already declared for the 2025 WNBA draft, to win a national championship, to bring home their first basketball national championship since the 1978 team that had won the AIAW championship, to win their first NCAA championship ever. It had taken some sheer luck to get to this point if Azzi’s honest. As a two-seed in the Spokane region, they’d benefitted from their one-seed having been eliminated early and then getting to face a Cinderella six-seed in the final four. On the other side of the bracket, UConn, the favourites coming for a repeat, had been stunned by another team, the team that UCLA was now facing. That had caused a bit of a second-hand sting and Azzi’s not really trying to take revenge for Paige, but it'd be a lie to say the get back at them for me babe from earlier this morning isn’t ringing in her head. 

The play is simple, set screens for Azzi, get her open, get her the ball. A two would get them to a tie and three would win it outright. Either will do. It’s a little too reminiscent of last year when Azzi had failed at tying the final 4 game and she can still feel that loss on the tips of her fingers. They break out from their last timeout, breathlessly running to their spots on the floor. The whistle blows, Kiki inbounds the ball and everything is a blur. All Azzi knows is the shot clock is winding down. She runs off of what feels like a million screens. And then she’s open on the wing, for a millisecond. A perfect pass from Kiki makes sure the ball lands straight in Azzi’s hand. And she doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even notice the defender put up a hand, she shoots the ball. There’s two people on the court that know for sure that ball is going in the minute it leaves Azzi’s fingers, the shooter herself and her biggest fan in the stands, who’s been just a little bit in love with that shooting stroke, since before anything else had even begun. 

With a delicate swish, the ball falls through the net, the buzzer sounds around the arena, the crowd explodes in blue and gold, as the UCLA Bruins win the 2025 national championship. 

Everything stills in Azzi’s brain for a second, her thoughts taking a second to catch up to reality. She’s never really been one to emotion on the court, keeping herself steely guarded through most games, even at the very end. But now, triumph and pride and just utter happiness at finally achieving one of her biggest dreams, comes roaring to the surface, manifesting itself throughout her entire body, as she lets out a scream of joy. Her teammates engulf her and she gets lost in a sea of hugs and tears and bright, decadent smiles. 

As thing start to calm down, there’s really only one thing on Azzi’s mind and Paige’s words echo in her ears, because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. And Azzi thinks maybe Paige had discovered one of the biggest truths of their life with that, the truth that at the end of day, in any moment, big or small, happy or sad, the one person Azzi wants next to her, is her Paige. It’s been that way since she was fourteen, and too young to really understand the meaning of wanting someone forever, and she thinks if she has her way, it’ll be like that for the rest of her life, the rest of their life. 

Paige is beaming in the crowd, standing next to Jon and José, a #35 jersey proudly adorning her torso. She waves when she catches Azzi’s eyes, always her biggest cheerleader. And Azzi throws caution to the wind, fuck it, not caring that there’s still a large crowd or that cameras are likely to follow her every move. She pushes her way into the stands, stopping right in front of the blonde. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would kissing you right now be?” Azzi asks, still a little breathless. 

A myriad of emotions flicker through Paige’s face before settling on a mischievous smirk, “probably pretty bad but you should do it anyways.”

Azzi grins before merging their lips together and everything else fades to the background, until she’s consumed by nothing but Paige. They break apart far quicker than either of them would like and Azzi expects to feel just a little bit of fear at what she’s just done, likely given the media a spectacle they could run a million and one stories about but instead, with her forehead still pressed against Paige’s, she feels nothing but calm. 

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi whispers and Paige’s eyes widen. They’ve known it for a while now but it’s the first time either of them have said it. 

“Say it again,” Paige demands. 

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi says again, grinning so hard, she thinks it might become her permanent expression, “like really fucking in love with you.”

“I’m so in love with you,” Paige whispers, pulling Azzi into a bone-crushing hug. 

And this might not be the moment where everything finally comes together. There’s still so much life left to live, so much that they still need to work through, so much they’ve yet to deal with. But for now, Azzi has a national championship and she has the love of her life, the rest will work itself out, or so she hopes.

[loudstan]

Comforting Jisung

a/n: this is a little something I wrote for all those who kept checking on me and patiently waited! This scenario takes place after the dinner scene in moon makes no mistakes; Jisung feels a bit insecure and needs some reassurance. It's super short, but I hope you enjoy it!

warnings: angst, fluff, smut

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

“Sorry, what was that?” You asked as you turned your chair around. 

Jisung, who had been patiently sitting on your bed while you typed on your laptop, cleared his throat.

“Doyoung hyung is getting married,” he mumbled a bit louder this time. His eyes met yours and then he quickly looked away.

“What?! When did that happen?”

Doyoung wasn’t what you would describe as a romantic man. He overworked himself, rarely talked about his relationship, and he didn’t seem eager to tie the knot. But you guessed this is what happens when you meet the right one.

Jisung shrugged, still looking at his feet.

“Oh, boy, can’t wait to tease him—,” you joked lightheartedly but Jisung wasn’t in the mood for jokes today.

“What’s so funny about marriage?” He asked. He sounded calm, but there was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Nothing,” you said. “But Doyoung being the one getting married is kinda funny…”

“What if it was me?”

You snorted, because why was he suddenly talking about marriage when he hadn’t even graduated college, but you regretted it as soon as you saw his wounded eyes widen.

“Ji—“

“It’s fine…”

“No, that’s not what I—“

“Can we please forget I said anything?”

“Not until we clear this up. Listen,” you stood up and walked towards the bed, stopping once you were standing in front of him. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Right. Just at the idea of marrying me.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like it,” you quickly assured him, sitting by his side.

“Then what is it?” He whispered. He was still hurt, but he was at least making eye contact now and he didn’t pull away when you reached for his hand, meaning he was more open to hear what you had to say.

“I just hadn’t thought about it before…,” you confessed, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Why not?” He asked softly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it tenderly.

“Well,” you hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “Aren’t we still kinda young?”

Jisung sighed heavily and let go of your hand. “You mean I am young.”

“No, no, no!” You rebutted, grabbing his shoulders before he had the chance to get up. “I know I used to make a big deal out of it before, but I really don’t care anymore. This isn’t about your age. I’m still young too and we haven’t been together for that long—“

“It’s been long enough.”

“For marriage?” 

“Noona, I…” he stopped mid-sentence, groaned, and allowed his exhausted body to collapse entirely on your bed. He covered his face with his large hands and spoke with a defeated tone. “I’m serious about you…”

“I’m serious about you too,” you said, crawling towards him and gently pulling his hands from his reddened face.

“Then why don’t we just get married?” He asked hopefully.

“Just get married?” You echoed incredulously.

“Would you say yes if we’d been together for longer?”

“We can think about it when that day comes.”

“What day?!” He exclaimed, exasperated. “Why does there have to be a specific day? If we’re both serious about being together, then it doesn’t matter when we get married!”

“Then why can’t we wait and see?” You tried to reason.

“Fucking wait for what?!”

You stared at him in silence and saw the rush of emotions taking over him reflecting in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“…This isn’t about marriage,” you finally understood there was something deeper. “What’s really bothering you?”

Jisung closed his eyes when your fingers caressed his face. “The other day Jeno said…” he trailed off.

“Yes? What did he say?” You encouraged him, but he shook his head, refusing to speak or open his eyes. 

You leaned down, even closer to him, and kissed his cheek. “Ji,” you called for him, peppering his face with gentle pecks. “What did he say?”

“I can’t bring myself to say it,” he whispered. “But since then I can’t stop thinking and worrying that maybe it was a lapse of judgment that made you agree to be mine. That one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not what you want and you’ll leave me for... somebody else…”

You nodded even though his eyes were still closed and he couldn’t see you. So that’s why he was so moody: someone had reminded him of his biggest insecurity.

“Look at me, Jisung,” you pleaded.

He shook his head. He could feel a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks and he was afraid if he looked at you he would start sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please, Ji,” you whispered, pecking his lips. 

He still refused to open his eyes, but his lips parted slightly, inviting you to kiss him again. So you did. You molded your lips against his and kissed them agonizingly slowly. He sighed, chasing after your lips and deepening the kiss.

He was so weak for your kisses that he often lost track of what happened around him when you blessed him with one. And that’s how he didn’t even notice you had placed your knees on each side of his body, successfully straddling him. 

When you sat on top of him, the perfect amount of pressure against his groin made him finally open his eyes and gasp.

“Noona!” His voice cracked as his hands immediately grabbed your waist.

“Jisung,” you purred, looking into his tear-stained face as you rotated your hips slowly. “There’s nobody else for me,”

“Oooh…” your boyfriend moaned weakly, throwing his head back. “P-promise?”

“I promise,” you said, kissing his neck and pressing your hips harder into his, feeling him harden in his sweatpants. “I only have eyes for you.”

“Only… me…” he repeated, moving his hips to match your rhythm.

“Nobody is as good to me as you,” you continued, teasingly bouncing on his lap a couple of times.

“A-ah…haa… yes, y-yes… I’ll be good for y-you…”

“You already are,” you praised him before kissing him again. “You’re such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips.

 He shuddered and whined.

You should definitely praise him more often if this is how he got.

“I got all I need right here,” you purred, grinding your core against him harder.

“Noon–aah!” he moaned, his voice getting breathier. “Feels g-good…”

“Mm…yeah,” you agreed, allowing his hands to move your body faster. “ You always make me feel– oh… so good…”

“Wanna…,” he trailed off, inevitably stealing more kisses from you. “Wanna m-make you feel good… all the …aah… all the t-time…”

“You do, baby,” you breathed out, the friction against your clit making you lose your mind. “I’m already a mess and– fuck, your cock isn’t even inside of me…”

At this, Jisung planted his feet on the mattress and snapped his hips up abruptly, making you moan loudly. He wanted to be inside of you so bad, but he had been a little too rough the night before and he didn’t want you to feel any pain. He was okay with cumming like this too. Honestly, anything you were willing to give him was enough to make him feel in heaven.

“Y-you always reach so deep,” you babbled out, feeling yourself getting closer to your release. 

“F-fuck…” he groaned, the veins in his arms becoming more visible as he gripped your hips. He kept thrusting up, making your body jerk up and down with each impact. “You want me deep– mmh…inside?” he growled, imagining there weren’t any layers of clothes between you two.

“Y-yeah…,” you whined, arching your back. “Love your cock…”

“No one else’s?” he pressed, panting at the proximity of his own orgasm.

“W-whose name was I screaming last–ah!...n-night?” you asked as a reply.

“Mine,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Can’t h-hear you,” you had the audacity to tease him.

“Fucking mine,” he growled, moving his hips harder and faster, like the bed wasn’t squeaking already.

“Ooh–... Oh, god, J-jisung!” you moaned, your eyes rolling back at the stimulation.

Jisung’s lidded eyes paid close attention to your beautiful face. Your fucked out expression and your wetness staining his pants as you both dry-humped like horny teenagers finally sent him into a euphoric state. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he kept repeating against your lips, his breathy voice mixed with your loud moans of his name. “N-noona’s mine… gets this wet just f-for me… Mmh, can only be…satisfied w-with my cock…” 

“Aaah! Jisungie…want y-you, baby…Only– ah! Only you, Ji, oh fuck… oh g-od, Jisung…, Ji-jisung, fuck– Jisu—JISUNG!”

“Cum,” he held you in place to take his vicious thrusts, engorged cock rubbing your clit in the most delicious way as he talked you through your orgasm. “C-cum for me, noona, yeah…Just like that…for me…just for me–Oooh fuuuck!” he whined, as his body tensed and he released in his pants. He panted agitatedly as he slowed down his movements until he finally stopped, kissing your lips lovingly and pulling you into a gentle hug.

“...Is that a maybe for marriage?”

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 2 of 5: Gun

previous || Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake creates a second chance to get the job done

Or: Will you get a new toy to play with?

Word Count: 1.8k

Content: Read all series warnings on the miniseries masterlist! nsfw, mdni, more below the cut

Part 2: Power imbalance, kidnapping, violence, language, stalking, very extremely dirty gun play, danger, masturbation, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A week passed before you left your penthouse.

Jake’s boss was not a patient man, but Jake convinced him that you were unreachable for a few days, and that he was on it. He sent new surveillance pictures to calm the man down, assuring him he would take care of the problem.

He wanted to wait longer. You were hurt, after all. No way you’d completely recovered from a stab wound, but you seemed determined to get back to your life. Of course, why did he care if you were fully recovered or still hurting if he was only looking for another opportunity to kill you?

Unfortunately, your inept bodyguards Dumb and Dumber added a third. So…Dumb and Dumber and Dumbest?

He only made things worse for himself for letting you live, but you got under his skin, plain and simple.

Another week passed before he could get you alone again, and it took practically 24/7 stalking to find his moment.

So…he had definitely descended into creep behavior.

Time to get this over with.

He found you in the park again, walking instead of jogging this time. Maybe your side still hurt.

The Dummies lingered close by, but Jake could handle a challenge.

He walked right by you with a nonchalant stroll, and pushed a gun into your (not wounded) side, ushering you into his car before your idiot bodyguards could react.

Despite your fantasies about this man over the past two weeks, terror flooded your body as he steered with one hand and held you at gunpoint with his other.

His clean shaven face momentarily distracted you - perhaps his first intelligent decision. He should at least try to hide from your father, and even a slight alteration to his appearance could prove helpful. His strong, sharp jawline and pliable lips made him seem simultaneously more approachable and somehow deadlier.

“Got your present,” he smoothly intoned. The corner of his mouth curled. “Brought you a new one to play with.”

“Okay. Okay,” you gasped, holding out your hands defensively. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s working, all right? Just…do what you’re gonna do. You're scaring the shit out of me.”

Jake tutted, but kept his eyes on the road. “You really have a death wish, don’t you, Princesa?”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat. “My father calls me that. His princess.”

Probably not a great idea to bring up your father to the man who wanted revenge against him.

Jake held his tongue, driving in silence for another few minutes. Finally he pulled the car into a parking garage and drove down the bottom level, below street level, before turning off the engine and looking over at you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you with a certain tenderness in his coffee colored eyes, as if he actually might care.

“What? Why the fuck do you care how I’m feeling?” You snapped. “You have a gun in my face and you stabbed me. I feel like shit. Like - terrified, impatient shit, thank you very much.”

“There it is,” he appreciatively chuckled. “I didn’t think one little stab wound would turn you into a damsel.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you clapped back, feigning courage. “Shooting someone is a hard crime to cover up. But I’m sure you know that because you look like the kind of asshole who does my father’s dirty work. You really want me splattered all over the inside of this piece of shit you call a car?”

Jake shoved the barrel of his gun right between your eyes. “You’re calling my car a piece of shit? That’s reason enough to pull the trigger, muñeca. We don’t all have daddy’s blood money to buy us toys.”

Despite your feistiness, a loaded gun between your eyes did give you pause. Your lips trembled as Jake dragged the gun down your nose to your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, tracing the fullness of your parted, panting lips with his weapon. “Shame I have to kill you.”

If someone paid you a billion dollars, you would never be able to puzzle out why you did it: but your tongue darted out to lick the barrel of his gun.

Jake locked eyes with you as you swirled your tongue around the cool metal. “You know how to use one of these, baby?” He purred, pushing the gun into your mouth.

You nodded slightly, body trembling as you wrapped your lips around the barrel, accepting it all the way to the back of your throat until you gagged.

Jake groaned, easing the gun back toward your lips, almost completely removing it from your mouth before fucking it back into your wet, waiting cavern. You started to bob your head, sucking the weapon like a cock, eyes locked on his as he shoved it over and over again…

…to the back of your throat, gagging you, to the front of your lips until drool spilled out the corners of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he rasped, finally removing the offending metal from you completely.

Your lust-soaked panties didn’t prevent you from collapsing in a small measure of relief after your wild but dangerous display. He could have blown your head off, even by accident, and still probably intended to.

“You didn’t answer me,” he chided, using the gun’s barrel to lift your chin back up, forcing you to look at him. “I can see you know how to use that pretty mouth, but do you know how to use this?”

Shaking your head quickly, you wanted to scream as he condescendingly chuckled. “Of course not. You are a princess. Here.” Shoving the thing into your trembling fingers, he made sure to turn on the safety. He reached for your opposite hand, correctly positioning your grip in his gloved hands.

“Two hands, like this,��� he instructed. “No action movie bullshit.”

His eyebrows shot up, waiting for you to respond. You slowly nodded.

“It’s loaded, but - " Positioning your finger by the safety, he showed you how to use it correctly. “Safety first. Don’t ever take the safety off unless you have a plan to get rid of a body.”

“Why?” You gasped, your hands dipping under the weight of the weapon as he finally removed his own. “How do you know I won’t shoot you?”

And he smiled. “I don’t.”

“I will,” you huffed, shoving the gun into his chest. “I’ll do it.”

Jake wet his lips, his eyes darkening as he cocked his head to the side. “Take it. You need a new toy to play with tonight, when you’re thinking about me.”

“You asshole - "

“You started this,” he lowly growled, “by sending me that knife instead of giving it to daddy.” His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in, his breath ghosting your lips. “I bet you shove this gun in your pussy the way you let me shove it into your mouth,” he taunted, slowly reaching up to put his hand over yours before pushing the gun down between your legs.

You whimpered, thinking this was it. He was about to shoot you right now.

“Safety’s on, baby,” he leaned in and breathed on your ear, pushing the gun lower until it rested over your panties.

“You’re wet right now, aren’t you?” He taunted, slowly rubbing the gun back and forth.

“Dammit, I knew you were a pervert,” you whispered, unable to muster a convincing amount of guile.

Jake immediately removed his hands, holding them up as if surrendering. “I’m never going to touch you like that until you ask me to.”

“I’ll fucking kill you first,” You growled, shoving the gun back into his chest.

He easily disarmed you, pointing the gun right at your head. “Get out.”

Shit. Shit, this was it. “I-if those are my last words, I can do better.”

He actually laughed. “Get the fuck out.”

He waited until you opened the car door before deftly removing the magazine and tossing the pieces out behind you. “Keep it. Someone’s trying to kill you.”

Reaching over to close the door, he peeled out of the parking garage, leaving you there alone. And armed. Sort of.

“Asshole!” You screamed after him.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You dreaded your bodyguards questioning where you went and why you suddenly had possession of a weapon. But when they finally got your call, you decided to turn the tables, letting them know that if your father found out you were missing today, on their watch, he would use the gun in your hand to put holes in the backs of their heads.

They left you alone.

You were reeling by the time you got back to your penthouse, but inevitably, nighttime came.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The smooth velvet of his voice echoed in your head. “Good girl…I bet you shove it in your pussy…”

You weren’t about to shove a loaded gun anywhere in your body, so you left the magazine out and took off all your clothes, sliding under the sheets.

“Take it. You need a new toy to play with tonight, when you’re thinking about me..”

You dragged the barrel of the gun across your hard nipples, just the way you played with the knife. The simple memory of his voice had you soaked already.

“I fucking hate you,” you whispered into the dark, somehow wishing he could hear you as you plunged the gun’s barrel into your dripping cunt.

“Oh fuck…” The metal wasn’t as forgiving as one of your toys, but your pussy clenched and quivered just the same, knowing he predicted you would fuck yourself with his weapon - that he hoped you would.

With two fingers, you circled your clit, wishing you could pant his name as you writhed and fucked down harder, but…

you still didn’t know him.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake waited a few days, wondering if you’d send the gun back to him, covered in your juices, but maybe you’d wised up. If you had any sense at all, you’d give it to the police, but he was certain you wouldn’t.

His employer was growing impatient.

And even Jake didn’t understand why he was dragging his feet...except that seeing you sent a thrill jolting through him he couldn't understand.

But time to get this shit done or it would be him at the bottom of the river. The fire in your voice as you snapped back at him like a wounded animal...the memory of the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretended not be afraid of him - the misplaced desire in you to be brave, even though no one in your life cared enough to teach you basic self-defense or how to handle a firearm... You were not the victim here. Your family made victims. He couldn't be your savior.

It was you or him.

So no more games.

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

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[3xiles]

Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?

6:15

Y/n: Toj idk what you have planned but i’m super excited! see you soon❤️

7:23

Y/n: Hey is everything okay??

8:54

Y/n: Hello?

9:46

Y/n: Toji it’s almost 10 where are you?

10:27

Y/n: Toji?

You send your last text with tears falling from your eyes. You hate to think he forgot your birthday. It can’t be. He just got caught up in something. It has to be. You check the time one last time. 11:03. You then tell yourself you need to go to bed. As you stand up from the couch the door opens and the man you’ve been waiting for finally shows. You do nothing but stare at him, tears mixed with mascara running down your puffy cheeks. “The hell happened to you?” he says, taking off his shoes, tie, and blazer. He begins to unbutton his shirt, purple marks adorning his chest. That was in that moment when something in you just… snapped.

“Toji, what is today?” you slowly walk towards him. He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “Look doll, i’m beat. Can we talk tomorrow?” he begins to walk towards the stairs that lead to your shared bedroom “No. Absolutely the fuck not.” oh crap. did you just say that? he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “Excuse me?” Shitshitshitshitshit what do you say? why did u say that? “Toji i asked you a question. What. Is. Today.” you keep up the tough girl act, too deep to back out now. “Y/n.” he walks closer to you but you back away “Toji today is my fucking birthday. Today is my birthday and i’ve been home all day thinking my ‘husband’ was going to at least come home on time but you were out fucking some bitch!” You begin to yell, crying harder than you were before. “The fuck are you talking about?” You weren’t stupid, you knew he was cheating but who were you to say anything. You were nothing without him. You didn’t want to ruin things. You can’t lose him. “Toji, i know you’re seeing someone else but i at least thought you would have some type of respect or decency to not do this to me on my fucking birthday.”You’re falling apart in front of him.

The silence is strong. He walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Things just haven’t been right with me, i don’t know why i do the things i do. You know how much you mean to me baby, i never want to hurt you.” i never want to hurt you. Those words replay in your mind. He brings his hands to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “You know I love you and only you, right?” you wanted to yell at him. You wanted to kick and scream but something in you made you believe every word he was saying. Instead of doing any of those things you just nodded. Shame rose in you but it all started to fade away when his lips connect with yours. You know this isn’t right, this isn’t healthy but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his hands wander. “I’m so sorry baby.” his lips travel to your neck. You try to hold back sounds but he knows just what to do to get it out if you. “Gonna let me show my girl how sorry i am?” you just started at him. not wanting to say yes but you didn’t want to disappoint him by saying no either.

You have to draw a line somewhere. “I think i just wanna go to sleep…” Removing your hands from him and stepping back. His looks confused but he doesn’t press further. Is it bad that part of you wishes he did? You wished he would’ve showed some kind of kind want, not just wanting to fuck out of pity. You know why he didn’t tho, he already got his fix of pussy for the night and it didn’t come from you. What a shame.

That night you couldn’t sleep, you were up all night silently crying. Is this really what your life was? You had lost yourself in this relationship. Your 26th birthday was a wake up call. The next few days were rough, he was just coming home later and later. Not to mention he wasn’t even trying to hide his affairs, He started to be careless. Not bothering to cover the scratches or hickeys that covered his body, leaving his phone open when you could see messages from the multiple girls and having panties and various other items in his car that didn’t belong to you. It’s like he was trying to hurt you, but isn’t that what he said he never wanted to do?

[cntloup]

SUGAR

Mafia!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Rival's Daughter!Reader angst, toxic relationship

Simon was never a man for fancy ball events but as the right hand man of John Price, had to be by his side at all times especially at times like these, meeting with the rival. As they arrive at their destination and get the formalities of greetings and introductions out of the way, he goes to settle by the bar where he can have his eyes on the whole room, just in case. He orders his usual Kentucky Bourbon. As he stands there, drink in hand, his eyes searching the room for any kind of threat, that’s when he sets his eyes on her... and he should have taken her for what she really is... a threat; he should have ran right then and there but he never did. He had heard about her, the daughter of their rival, but never seen her beauty and grace up close. She looks elegant with a charming smile... and that’s when he knows he’s fucked. She feels a set of eyes on her and looks for them in the crowd and finally faces him. She's heard about him too. She starts walking towards him to greet him properly and that’s when it all started.

“This can’t happen.” he mutters in between kisses as they hide in the hallway “Why not? Cause we’re rivals? Who the fuck cares? If anything I’d be happy to fuck him over.” “who?” “My dad of course. Who else? I hate his fucking guts.” he’s surprised to hear that then replies with a chuckle “Why? Not the lifestyle for you?” “Fuck no! I feel like I’m in a cage. His puppet that he gets to play with and show off whenever he pleases.” he thinks that he can understand her struggles as he has his own trauma too.

And you play a twisted little game, But I know in a way, You need to complicate it, Believe that though we never eat, We still know how to feed, We still know how to bleed, oh

At that time he thought that she’s too sweet and innocent for this life, but that’s where he was wrong. The arguments, the push and pull, the manipulations started not too long after they first felt something for each other which he thought of as pure. He felt used and abused, he started to feel paranoid even more than before, never trusting anyone, even doubting his peers, sometimes even Price. His head full of thoughts like ‘Is she just using me for information?’ ‘Am I just a guard dog to him?’. But there was another side to her; so loving, patient and understanding of his pain and torment... also she was an enchanting seductress. Fuck, she was intoxicating. She had him completely wrapped around her finger.

My arms keep you in the room, Barely let you move, Show me what you do, oh, Tonight, we're second-guessed again, Let me wrap the chains, Addicted to the pain

As he pulls her into his room, never taking his lips off of her, nibbling and kissing any part of skin he can reach, he kicks the door close and corners her against the wall, not letting her move an inch. “What the fuck are you doing to me? My mind is in shambles cause of ya! Do you hate me or love me? One day you stay by my side through everything even when I’m at my worst but the next day you act like I don’t even exist as you come to the meeting with another guy on your arm!” he grunts as he puts one hand around her throat squeezing just enough to make her dizzy, just how she likes it. She smiles devilishly with no reply and pushes her lips against his and he can’t stop her, he never can. He’s addicted, fucking addicted to the pain she puts him through, addicted to her taste, everything about her. If she wants to see how far he can go, if she wants to test him, he’s more than willing to play this game with her.

Do you wanna see how far it goes?, Do you wanna test me now, my love?, You must be crazy if you think, that I will give in so easily, Things we buried low, Coming to the surface now, my love, You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game, Oh, whoa

Sugar, I've got a taste for you now, Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[bomertheshark]

Begging

A top male reader X Billy Lenz

Short

You’ve been working on putting together the final presentation to present to your sister companies boss. Both your company and its sister company had been working on putting together a new idea to bring both of the companies together, you so happened to be the team leader for the project and had been going through the presentation and preparations for days.

It wasn’t ideal but you had to make sure everything was perfect for tomorrow so everything you hadn’t finished had to be all crammed into tonight. “Oh my god..” you sighed out looking at the rest of the things you had to accomplish before you were done for the night. Several hours had passed and you were finally almost done, you looked outside to see it was dark already before checking your watch. “Huh, it’s pretty late, and it’s awfully quiet as well..”

You see you lived with your partner Billy, you had bought an old sorority house so that you had a place to stay and work in while having room for friends and family if they wanted to stay over. When you bought the place you had no idea that it came with a very horny and needy man as well, but that happened a year ago and you had grown used to the man, even dating him for several months now. You were very aware how mad he’s been getting with the lack of attention and affection as of late, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

You only had the last few slides along with some invoices before you were done so you decided to go get some water and a snack from the kitchen. As you walked down the hallway you listened for Billy to hear where he was but you couldn’t hear him in the house at all. You dismissed it thinking that maybe he went to sleep in the attic since you were busy and it was getting really late. As you returned from the kitchen back into the office more energized and ready to finish your work you saw Billy laying over the desk, panting. “What are you doing in here Billy? I thought you would’ve gone to sleep.” You said walking towards the front of the desk so that you could see his face.

“B-billy couldn’t wait for you any longer! P-pretty piggy won’t love Billy right now and it isn’t fair!” Billy yelled out in frustration clutching onto the front of the desk almost trying to reach out to you as his face became red and he started visibly sweating and shaking. “Billy we talked about this, while I’m working I can’t spend much time with you but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” You said walking closer to him as he started gripping at your shirt looking up at you. “Please piggy! P-please! Just throw billy around for a little bit! That’s all he needs!” Billy was yelling up at you, you took his hands off your shirt and walked around to stand behind him.“Y-you’ll fuck pretty Billy dumb won’t you?” He said with a look of desperation as he wiggled his hips trying to entice you to ravage him on the desk you had been currently working on.

This has been going on for days, almost a week. You had to get your work done before the deadline which was tomorrow, you couldn’t afford to be late with this project, you had worked to hard to just mess it up now, at least that’s what you told and reminded yourself. “I can’t believe your still doing this Billy, I’ve told you time and time again, I cannot afford to miss this deadline, if you were patient enough I would’ve given you a reward this weekend. But obviously someone is to needy to even try.” You said getting more and more aggravated with his partners behavior. “Billy can’t help it!” He whined face clear with embarrassment but with a look of lust and desperation in his eyes. “You make Billy feel so good! And Billy’s been waiting forever! Billy will be good! But pretty Billy just wants to be destroyed by little piggy!” He said still bent over the desk slightly lifting up his shirt so that you could see his torso and chest. “Just touch Billy, please!”

Your heart rate picked up and you could feel your member start to harden in your slacks, he had been wearing a lingerie laced bra, it was green and made his eyes pop. “Billy.. what are you wearing?” You said to him slowly moving to turn him over so that he was on his back and you could see his chest in the bra as it hugged his chest beautifully. “I-I thought piggy might’ve liked me if I wore it.” He said all flushed avoiding eye contact. Acting shy.

Of course that didn’t last long, it never did. He brought his hands to take his shirt completely off and take your hands into his so that you would fondle his chest. “Billy, you know exactly what you’re doing to me don’t you?” You said fully hard grinding on him as he wrapped his legs around your waist bringing you closer and whispering in your ear “Billy can take you just fuck me.” He leaned back gradually getting louder as he moved his hips to meet yours “F-fuck me hard and rough with your fat cock! Fuck Billy with your fat juicy cock! Please!” He got harsher and needier in trying to meet your thrust into his hips. “I’m not happy about not finishing my work but I’ll make sure your satisfied.” You said before taking off all your clothes and the remainder of his but leaving his bra on. You were getting on your knees when he stopped you. “You don’t have to prepare Billy! Billy already did it when you were busy! Just stick your juicy cock in me!” He said bending over and opening his legs before spreading his ass with his hands so that you could see his hole that had an all to familiar plug in it. “So you did.. we’ll then I won’t go easy on you.” You took out the plug before letting it fall on the floor. You entered him deep and harshly making sure you hit him in all the right places in a continuous rhythm not letting him take a second to get used to it, obviously he didn’t mind it as he was screaming and moaning begging for more, drooling all over the desk.

You pulled his hands behind his back to continue thrusting in him moving around until you could find the place that made him lose his mind. “O-oh god! Please!! More! Please fuck me harder!!” He screamed louder and louder, it made you glad that the house was fairly far from the other houses. You pulled his hands to your waist before hugging his chest and fucking him while both of you were standing. “O-oh god yes!! Billy is so full! So full of piggy!! Please!! Yes! Agh!” His face was gorgeous, he had tears and drool running down his face cum staining his stomach as he had already cum twice and yet still not satisfied. His eyes barely open as if he was fighting to keep them open. “Billy I'm getting close.” You panted in his ear as your thrusts got sloppier. “Please!! Fill me with your dirty seed! Please Billy wants it!! Please please please please!!” He was begging to be filled to the brim and who were you to deny him? This continued until he was satisfied and passed out.

Now he was laid down in your shared bedroom after he was done and cleaned him up. “Oh Billy what am I gonna do with you?” You sighed out walking back into the office to deal with the damage hoping that the desk and laptop were still okay letting out a loud sigh.

Hope you guys like this! My first time posting an actual short on here. 🫶

[darkwaveho]

Damage Control

Summary: You went through hell just to get this vacation, and everything has been going smooth but how long will it last?

Parings: Mob!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: 18+, violence, fluff, jealousy, hurt -comfort, angst, drug use, alcohol use, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, Oral, fingering, overstimulation, scissoring, tribbing, psychotic le$beans <3

A/n: This shit is long asf lmaoo so if you don't have time to read it in one sitting I would probably wait until you do, buut that's just me idk? never again (unless on A03) anyway, I hope you guys like it and thank you guys for being patient with me. I know I promised this chapter like a year ago but I'm happy to finally post this and get it out of my dusty drafts folder.😂💜

Damage Control Masterlist

During the whole vacation trip Natasha was insatiable, never letting you get an inch before her hands and lips were on you. she fucked you anywhere she could. That whole situation in the warehouse was a wakeup call for her and she would never take you for granted ever again.

“Tashh, enough.” you whine into the pillow she licks a long stripe up the center of your neck before she bites your skin. “That’s not what you said last night.” she drags her lips against your skin and drips her head down to lower each kiss further down your body. “In fact, I believe the words that came out of your mouth was ‘more, don’t stop, more." She mocks you with pride, smirking against your skin as she travels dangerously closer to your covered sex.

“Shut up.” you harshly yank her hair in retaliation. “Shut me up then.” she smirks after she bites your cheek in retaliation and tugs on your panties you move her hand away from the expensive lace. “I’m serious, I still need to get dressed. we both still need to get dressed” you correct yourself and huff beneath her. “We can stay in and go to the club another night.” you roll over on top of her as she was caught off guard. thinking she’s won you over she places her hands on your hips waiting for you to give her what she wants.

“We’re going.” you untangle her hands from your hips and walk into the bathroom to fully dress yourself. “You know you want to; I don’t even know why you’re denying it right now.”

“We’re not staying cooped up here in the penthouse tonight, Tash. we already missed our dinner reservations.”

“Well, whose fault is that? you’re wearing my favorite set. what’d you expect?”

“I expect you to have some self-control but we both know you don’t know what that is, don’t we?” you snap back at her not caring if you bruised her ego or hurt her for bringing the amber thing back up in her face. Okay you haven’t completely forgiven her; you still threw things up in her face any chance you got, and Natasha couldn’t do anything but sit there and take it. she sighs on the bed waiting for you to return from the bathroom.

She checks her phone for any updates on anything back home. nothing out of the ordinary, Yelena bugging her about when you’re coming back because she misses her bestie and Clint dealing with import deals. She also saw a couple of text messages from Melina. Once she saw the mention of his name on her screen, she shut the whole thing down completely. She needed to take her mind off of it. There was no way she was going out tonight, she wouldn’t be up to partying now.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” you stand in front of her on the bed hand placed on your hip annoyance present on your face. say lays there on the silk sheet in her button up blouse that she was too lazy to button up at the moment and no pants. she stands giving you a better view of the lace that pressed against her body. she nears you with hunger and an unwavering gaze. she was mesmerized. staring at you, admiring your beauty. there was also a look on her face that you know too well, something set her off and she needs a distraction, a way to release her emotions.

“Look at you baby, absolutely breathtaking.” she swiftly slides her hand under the tight dress running her hands against your soft skin. “Tash, no. I already said we were going.” you try to remain firm on your plans, she’s done this many times before to sway you into doing what she wanted.

“Please.” you groan from hearing her beg and she knows it’s a weakness of yours. you rarely ever heard her beg. after almost losing you forever she’s wanted nothing more than to keep you to herself in this penthouse. “I’ll make it up to you in the morning, sweet face. We can have our own party right here.” You stand firmly on your decision by unlinking her hands from around your waist. “No, I said we’re going, if you're not downstairs in 10 minutes I’ll just go by myself.” You grab your jacket and make your way to the door.

“You wouldn’t leave me.” She replies with confidence, maybe the old you wouldn’t have but the Amber situation brought things up in a new light you were tired of her shit. You had just as much if not equal power as she did; you were no longer going to let things slide so easily. “I guess you’ll find out in about…” You glance at your phone to view the time. “Seven minutes now.”

Natasha sighs heavily as you leave her alone in the penthouse. She really didn’t feel like going out and maybe she should’ve given you more details about why she had a change of heart but then that meant she had to talk about it. She also didn’t want to spend the remainder of the night alone, so she put the rest of her outfit together, but she didn't rush to finish. Ignoring the time frame, you set for her. She was deliberately ignoring the timeframe you set for her just to remind you of who was still in charge regardless of how sorry she was for her mistake. Natasha is the one calling the shots, at least that’s what she thinks.

She makes her way downstairs coming out of the building as the doorman holds the door open for her. She waits patiently still not seeing the driver's car. She calls you promptly and you let the phone ring on the first call just to be petty. Truth, is you left immediately after you made it downstairs. Telling the driver that you had a change of heart and that you were still going to the club. “Y/n, where are you?” She has to shout into the phone and now it away from her ear as the loud screams and music drum through her ear. “I’m at the club, duh. You took too long.” Natasha goes to yell at you for leaving her. You weren’t even sitting outside for no longer than ten minutes. Her lips part but remain in place as she hears the mentions of body shots. She hears your voice agreeing and cheering on the crowd. “Y/n I swear to god! We’ve been doing so well on vacation, don't do anything stupid to ruin it.”

“It's called having fun Natasha, you could be having fun with me and my new friends right now if you came downstairs in a timely matter.” The only words that seem to register in her head is “new friends” “Listen, very carefully I will leave bodies all throughout this city if I have to, don’t add more deaths to your consciousness.” If Natasha could see your face on the other end of the phone, she would have regretted saying those words to you. She knows how hard you tried staying away from actually getting your hands dirty, not only was Amber a contest reminder of infidelity but a constant reminder that no matter how hard you tried you still had the blood of a killer in you.

“Well, I guess I should tell you to have fun on your Gta rampage then. I’ll see you back at the penthouse.” just as you finish your response the drunken woman you've come really close to in a matter of minutes comes back with your drinks. The only thing Natasha can accurately make out is that it was your turn for body shots. If that meant you licking someone else's body or someone else licking your body, she didn’t know, and she didn't care. It shouldn't be happening. She doesn’t expect the growl to escape her throat as she yells into the phone again, but this level of disrespect was causing her to lose every inch of restraint she's been holding back on this entire trip.

“Y/n!”

“Bye Tash!” You end the call with a muffled laugh as the phone goes dead. Natasha fumes by the curb, the realization of the club music no longer playing on her phone. Your voice filled with excitement. You, having fun without her. Having fun with strangers. Would you be bold enough to get even with her after everything she's doing to show you how sorry she was? Natasha’s not going to stand here and think about scenarios like that. If this is the game you wanted to play, fine she down to play but she won't be holding herself accountable for what comes out of it. Natasha gathers her thoughts and calls a contact to pick her up. As she sits in the vehicle dangerously calm, and stone faced. The inner part of her is excited. Yes, excited to cause a bit of chaos. She’s been loving vacation time with you, but it wasn’t every day that she gets to go on a rampage. The other non-rational devil on her shoulder keeps repeating that you're pushing her to do this. You want her to act this way. You want to see innocent people die and get hurt. One thing Nat is always good for is making your wish come true.

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

Natasha swears she made it in record time telling her driver to run every red light that tried to slow her down. Her fast-paced steps hold a rhythm as she searches for you within the dark and crowded room. when she spots you by the bar preparing to lay on the counter the rage overloaded as she stomps her way over to you.

“Did you think that was fucking funny?” she adds more force behind the yanking of your neck. She practically drags you to the corner of the bar before a bystander approaches her for her aggressive actions. "Hey, leave her alone!” She naps her head around to face the person who dared speak to her and inserts herself in her relationship conflicts. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” The man doesn’t back down clearly not knowing who Natasha is and what her level of power was. “You heard what I said.” he reaches for you, thinking that you were actually in danger. You’re too buzzed to actually tell him that everything was okay. That and the fact that Natasha was jealous and angry had you wanting to see how things would play out.

Natasha lands a swift and impactful hit to his throat, crushing his air supply momentarily. As the man holds his neck in pain while coughing up a lung Natasha watches him still not satisfied with the damage. “Fuck!” The man cries out in pain. Always the observant one, Natasha picked up the abandoned glass off the bar and in one swift motion she lodged the shattered piece of glass into the man’s neck. Blood splatters out as the man's face raises in panic, he holds the wound on his neck for dear life desperately trying to keep all the blood from flowing out as much as possible. “You crazy bitch.”

The outburst caused a scene within the club, people yelling and screaming from the escalated fight that just occurred before their very eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” The woman's voice sounds louder than the music and the frantic screams in the club. Natasha turns her head with pinch brows as she recognizes the voice. “Long time no see.” she smirks to the woman and you stand there clueless looking back and forth between the two. “I should've known it was you Romanoff, what the hell are you doing wrecking my club?”

“Relax Sharon, it’s just a flesh wound he’ll be fine.” the blonde woman sighs and brushes it off, calling her worker over to clean up the mess. “Come on, let me show you to the VIP section.” Natasha quickly interjects Sharon’s offer.

“Oh that won't be necessary, we aren't staying anymore since this one wanted to get a rise out of me.” she clenches your forearm as she responds to Sharon, an obvious sign that you really made her mad tonight.

“Oh, come on, you can't come to madripoor unannounced, trash my club and then leave, have some class, Natasha. I mean unless you’re still working under Alexei and have no time for fun, or a social life then never mind.” Sharon pokes fun at her knowing she'd get her to stay at least for an hour by bringing up Alexei’s name. She turns away from you and Natasha and halts when Natasha's voice reaches her ears once more.

“We’ll stay for about an hour or so, my sweet face here already started partying without me.” she reminds you of what you did just to make you feel guilty. For making her lash out like that when this was supposed to be a relaxing time for the both of you to reconnect and just enjoy the sense of a normal relationship vacation trip.

“Ah so this is y/n? Had I known that you were in my establishment I would have treated you to a much more luxurious greeting.” Sharon grasps your hand with the utmost gentle care. “I’m Sharon Carter, nice to finally put a name to a face.” You rarely were involved with Natasha’s business. After what happened to your father you tried to block that part of your life out. So, it shocks you that Natasha would mention your name to someone you haven’t met before. “Sup Sharon.” You reply back to her and shake her hand that hasn’t left yours during this whole interaction. She accepts the greeting and releases your soft hand. Sharon turns to Natasha and motions with a tilted head nod for her to follow.

“So, I can count on you to spend a little more for that outburst you caused earlier?” Sharon speaks over the loud music as she leads you both to the top level of the club.

“Well, that depends.” Natasha shouts back and keeps you pinned to her side to make sure you don’t wander off causing more headaches for her.

“On what?” Sharon questions Natasha's response, only her focus was on you and your inebriated, loopy state. “If you keep making sly touches and glances at my girlfriend ” It takes Natasha to yank you by your clothes for Sharon to bring her attention back to Nat’s unamused glare. Sharon clears her throat and rolls her eyes. “Right, I forgot you’re not big on sharing.”

“Let’s hope you don’t forget that again, for your own sake.” Only Natasha could be this unfazed about making threats to Sharon in her own environment. The remainder of the walk was silent apart from the loud music and passing conversations.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Sharon showed you to the table right above the dance floor. Natasha sat down in the booth and drinks were brought to the table immediately. Natasha didn't say one word to you, she spoke about you as if you weren't sitting right next to her silently begging for her to acknowledge you, touch you, look at you or something.

You start thinking that maybe you went a little too far tonight, but then you remember that she had no right to act this way when she was the one who stepped out on you and this relationship. You throw back a vodka shot and stand from the booth. The sound of the glass firmly slamming against the table brought her attention to you, only this time you weren't really seeking for her anymore and she could sense that. The sudden movement of you standing has Natasha's grip on your wrist in an instant. “Where are you going?” Natasha's grip on your arm for the second time that night did not hold back on the amount of strength she used on you. "The restroom.” you reply back to her with gritted teeth and an annoyed attitude. She raises her eyebrow at the tone of your voice, maybe she’s been too soft with you. Let this be no mistake she was sorry for what she did, and she wanted to do anything to make it up to you, but she would never tolerate this level of disrespect, especially in a public setting. You know better.

The image she possessed was everything to Natasha, it always has been and it always will be. She releases you and turns back to her abandoned drink and lights a cigar. Silently telling you it was Okay to leave from the vip section. Sharon comes back to the vip section not expecting you to be absent. “Where’s your troublemaker?” She sits down across from Natasha casually fixing the cuffs of her suit jacket.

“What do you want, Carter?” Natasha takes the cigar out of her mouth as smoke fills the area. “Well, I wouldn’t be a businesswoman if I didn’t at least try to tempt you into something, now, would I?” Natasha doesn’t even hesitate with an answer. “No.” Sharon’s face drops from rejection and Natasha’s blunt but playful response. “Oh, c’mon you haven’t even heard me out yet.” Natasha looks Sharon over for a moment and thinks what warm could it do to at least hear the proposal. “Alright, fine but don’t waste my time.” Sharon smiles as she’s won Natasha over; she also knows the amount of money the two of them could make would have her set for life without any worry.

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During that time of discussing business Natasha lost track of time and your absence. She searches the crowd from above until her eyes land on you, on the dance floor dancing but of course you're not alone why would you be when you look that good in a club filled past its maximum capacity. “Nice, catching up with you Sharon but we have to get going now.'' Natasha puts the cigar out and throws back her drink before slamming the glass down against the marble tabletop. The glass cracks from the brutal force but Sharon doesn’t complain about it, she could care less about a glass right now, her mind was too busy focused on her future financial luxury that would be coming her way.

You let the music take over as all the negative energy fades away from your body. You dance close with strangers, well one woman wasn’t really a stranger you met her in the restroom. After a few traded compliments you two have since then become best friends even if she doesn’t know your name. As your body grinds against others without a care in the world you're once again snatched up and pulled away from the dance floor. "Ouch!" You yell out in pain, but Natasha continues on her mission to exit the club with her hand firmly around the back of your neck.

“Get in the car.” she shoves you into the backseat. “Aww are you mad at me baby?” you inch toward her with a condescending pout on your face. You reach for her face to bring her closer, she dodges with ease. Setting her jaw and sticking to keeping her eyes on the window she wasn’t in the mood to play your game.

The moment you were about to cave in and apologize to her, the car door opened on your end, surprising you both. Natasha was seconds away from blowing a hole into the intruders head just because she’s away on vacation doesn’t mean she let her guard down. She was always aware and alert. The sound of the bullet never comes as she blinks away the utter disbelief that someone would be stupid enough to enter her vehicle. It’s the woman you were on the dance floor with.

“Omg I was looking all over for you! One minute we were drowning in vodka, sharing a blunt and then the next you were gone babe by.” She moves the hair from her eyes and leans a little closer to you. She was obviously more drunk than you, not even taking notice of the gun barrel that was aimed at her head. “Omg you found me!” You move away from Nat scooting closer to the other side of the seat.

“Of course, I did! Now why don’t we take this party back to your place, we can have more fun with just us.” her hands start to travel in places that only belonged to the fuming red head seated on the opposite side of you.

“Absolutely not!”

“Cmon Tash live a little, I don’t mind at all” The woman snorts thin white powder from her wrist, that seemed to get Natasha’s attention again but what comes after it has her considering cutting this trip short and ending her no kill rule for this trip. The woman plants her lips onto yours. Humming in delight and moaning in ecstasy. It was quick but calculated so much so that her tongue sneaked its way past your lips for the second time tonight.

Natasha had enough. There was a part of her that thought this through, thoughts of participating in a threesome, thoughts of letting you sleep with someone else for what she did to you, but she could never go through with it, she was selfish and a hypocrite.

Her apology would have to be enough because once again she’s not big on sharing and she’s definitely not big on sharing when it comes to you, she’s had many requests over the entirety of your relationship. All have been shot down over the request and some have literally been shot at for even proposing such a thing. “Get the fuck out!” Natasha shields you away from the drunken woman pulling you onto her lap and raising the gun to a better eye level. “Woah, hey! No need to get violent red. I was going to give you a taste next.” She raises her hands up in surrender. She furrows her eyes and does a seductive motion, slowly lifting her dress up to change Natasha’s mind. “Mm can we take her home Tash?” You bite your lip as you slowly wait for the drunken women to reveal more.

“Don’t move your hands any further unless you want me to chop them off! Now get out!” You can only giggle hysterically at the interaction between the two of them. Natasha smacks your ass to quiet your annoying drunken giggles and gives the woman one last chance to exit the vehicle before the entire back seat interior was covered with her brains. If she even had a brain. She understands the seriousness now or either she’s started to slowly sober up but she doesn’t say anything else as she exits the car finally. “Byee madissyn.” You slur your words as you watch her leave the vehicle. Natasha grabs your face harshly turning you around to face her, and for the first time tonight she looks deeply into your eyes and lifts your eyelids. “Did you fucking take something?” You giggle and mock her as a reply “dId yOu fuckin take something.”

“Relax, it’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Natasha doesn’t need you to go further she can tell by your dilated pupils and the way you can’t sit still in the leather seats. Ecstasy. She knows the signs partly because you’ve done it together a few times when you were younger. She can’t decide if she’s upset that you took it from a stranger or the fact that you took it without her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You don’t even know her!” Natasha shoves you to the other side of the seat and instructs the driver to head back to the penthouse. You've made her mad, mission accomplished but at what cost?

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Entering the penthouse Natasha goes straight to the bar by the window, taking her jacket off and tossing it on the bar stool. For some reason it annoys you, how could she be so upset and hurt when all you did was dance and participate in harmless body shot fun. Okay maybe it wasn’t as innocent as you made it out to be but the fact that she was being hypocritical right now only angered you more. “You’re upset about a dance, body shots, shotgunning some weed and some ecstasy pills?” She keeps her back turned towards you as she sips on her drink. You walk closer to her stumbling a bit when you near the bar.

“It was more than that and you know it, the whore even followed us out to the car and had the nerve to touch you! We didn’t discuss anything about bringing a strange whore into our bed!” She deeply inhales and exhales, closing her eyes to maintain her calm demeanor. “Get away from me y/n, I’m not in the mood to even look at you right now.”

“Aww did you not like her touching my body?”

”Y/n” she says in a warning tone, her face is stern but the way her lips pout in a cute way only makes you want to push further.. “Did you not like her lips grazing mine?”

“I’m warning you, watch what comes out of your mouth.” You challenge her, what could she possibly do when she vowed not to hit you in that way again? You brush off her warning threat and you can’t fully blame it on the drugs and the alcohol for what comes out of your mouth because truth be told it’s been on your mind since that day.

“I would hate to see the look on your face when I actually do decide to fuck someone else!” Her hand finds comfort around your throat, your back pressed against the wall as you struggle to breathe. Natasha doesn’t look like she’s letting go of you anytime soon. Being in this position was a sense of deja vu. Being back home in the bedroom after finding out about Natasha's true actions at Tony’s club, but this time it didn’t end with you receiving a slap to the face and a split lip.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t m-“ your snappy response gets cut off when you feel the ripped fabric of your skirt. cold air exposing you and the wet spot of your fancy lingerie. “You think someone can fuck you better than me?”

“The way you’ve soaked your panties tells me otherwise, did you like making me mad? You like seeing me go crazy over you?” Your breathing picks up as she moves closer to you. Her lips ghosting over yours. Everything she said was true, you just wanted to be petty tonight, and give her a taste of what could happen if she ever stepped out on you again. There is always someone out there that would kill for a night with you.

“I asked you a question” she tightens her grip on your neck no doubt a bruise will be left when her hand finally retracts from your skin. You offer no reply back to your girlfriend, only smiling menacingly at her and placing your hand on top of hers adding more pressure to your restricted airway. A flash of excitement rushes through Natasha. You weren’t always like this, so willing to initiate certain kinks like airplay. “I know everything about you and your body, I know what sets you off, and I know I’m the only person that can make you cry out to god.” You don’t hide any sense of humility. Smugness plastered across your face. It’s not enough, you really want to push her.

“Unfortunately for you the same can’t be said for me.” You’ve pushed too far deep now. She knows you can find pleasure from someone else. Of course, it won’t be on the same level as her, but your body will react and openly welcome the pleasure. For her it’s not the case, the prime example of that is now dead. The darkness within her eyes had you retreating. No longer wanting to toy with her but the damage was done, and Natasha had her mind set, once she finally had confirmation that you wanted her to lash out at you and use your body to take out her frustrations. Finally, she slams you to the window, not hard enough to truly injure you but hard enough to have more than a hangover in the morning.

Her lips crash into yours leaving your plea unheard. The kiss was rough and messy, as it normally would be in this situation of claiming you. The feeling of her rough hands tearing at the remainder of your clothes.

“Fuck, you know I love this set on you.” She speaks with mesmerized once again as her eyes land on the lingerie set that had her begging you to stay on for the night. It was a midnight black two piece. Mostly basic, Natasha didn’t need much despite her lifestyle, at least when it came to you she welcomed simplicity she found it just as sexy as you dressing up for her but the reality of it all was she just loved you. No matter how long or how hard it’s taken her to admit that out loud and under the circumstances it came out.

“Duh, that’s why I put it on.” You don’t receive any form of reply. Natasha snatches the fabric of your bralette finally exposing your Breasts. Her animalistic growls only increase the burning desire to have her near your throbbing core. She briefly breaks away from the kiss, roughly turning you around to face the bright lights and industrial buildings. Your face pressed against the window and her fingers plunged into your warm cunt without warning. You didn’t need any foreplay, that started the minute you decided to leave her for the club. Riling her up any chance you got. You hoped that she would fuck you, but you didn’t want to be fucked against this high rising window. You teased her, you angered her, and edged her on, now you were just going to have to deal with it and take what she gives you. She keeps a steady and brutal pace pushing you closer to your high and pulling away just at the cusps.

“Hm, Tash- it’s enough.” You reach behind you with intentions to push her arm away. Natasha smirks and forcefully pushes your pleading hand away and plants it against the window as well. She keeps her hand there for extra security, squeezing your wrist as a silent warning not to do it again or to move it. She wasn’t done tormenting you just yet, but she’ll allow you to cum. She lifts your leg and hikes your thigh up for a better angle, adding another finger to your overstimulated hole. She grunts as her breath fans over the shell of your ear.

“Nat”

“Tsk, what happened to all of that mouth you had a few minutes ago? she knows your fear of heights and still proceeds to fuck you against the thick glass. The fear and the pleasure has your mind going foggy, experiencing both at the same time. She pounds into you harder with each thrust reminding you of who you belong to. The thick glass brought some sort of comfort to your skin, cooling it off from Natasha’s burning touch. No words come from you, only panting and whines. Your breath fogs the glass as Natasha keeps her brutal pace, slick runs down your legs . She doesn’t relent until you practically turn into mush against the tall frame window.

As you feel her body weight slightly removed from your back you sniffle as the tears built up in your eyes struggle from falling down your cheeks. The edges her on even more, the sound of you trying to catch your breath and the small sound of your sniffles push her further. She’s definitely not done being petty. She takes her previous position behind you and pulls your back against her front; she grazes her lips against the warm skin of your ear and her raspy voice lights a fire inside of you from anger and arousal. “Who’s the sensitive one now?” You didn’t need to turn around to know she was wearing that shit eating smirk, you didn’t even need to look at her reflection in the smudge stain glass, you could hear it.

You use all the strength you have left on your shaky limbs to push her away. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You asshole!” You wipe the stray tears that fell from your eyes and Natasha only returns a smirk in response before she reaches for her abandoned drink on the bar counter. “Relax, the window is custom made, there are very few things that would make it shatter and our body weight isn’t one of them.” Natasha isn’t hiding her enjoyment right now, it’s on a very rare occasion when you actually cry for her. After the small moment of silence the soreness and weakened state of your body starts to take effect. Your eyes feel heavy and the drugs start to come back in full effect. It's pretty normal for you when you do smoke, not to mention the post orgasm clarity.

Natasha stood next to you the entire time watching you and she knows you had the idea of sleeping on your mind next and that just wasn’t enough for her, she’s still angry at you. Natasha picks you up and heads for the bedroom, she lays you on the bed gently totally different from her aggressive demeanor in the living room. You think she’s helping you get more comfortable, but the light tap against your cheek tells you otherwise. “Oh, no sweet face, wake up we’re not done yet.” She removes your shoes and tosses them to the floor. You hear shuffling around you still not quite aware of your surroundings.

“You’re a hypocritical, psychotic, asshole.” You mumble into the cool air of the night with closed eyes. The small break was enough for you to gather yourself again and you’re still upset about her putting you into danger like that just to get back at you for what happened at the club. She stops unbuttoning her blouse and kneels over your body until she’s face to face with you, her hands softly rub against your cheeks. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Natasha takes her clothes off and sits everything she needs on the other side of the bed, the next thing you feel is the bed dipping. Natasha grabs both of your arms and lifts them above your head, the feeling of soft fabric against your wrist causes you to jerk your body. She pays no mind to you as she continues to focus on knotting the fabric and connecting it to the headboard.

Your mind is still hazy, so every little movement Natasha makes is keeping you alert. “Nat, what are you doing?” You say, your voice is scratchy and hoarse. Natasha returns with a liquor bottle, two shot glasses and one regular glass. “We’re gonna play a game, since you’re in a playful mood tonight.” Is all she says before pouring into the two shot glasses. You curiously watch her in anticipation. She kisses up your stomach leaving bites and wet kisses along the way before she stops at your neck and pulls away all together.

“If you spill any of my drinks you lose.” She places one shot glass on your bare stomach as you shudder from the cold glass she sends you a warning sound. “Careful buttercup you don’t want to lose before we even start now do you?” You have to compose the little self control you have left. Her fingers slide against your thighs as they get closer and closer to your sex her smirk grows wider. Her finger grazes your swollen clit and you have no choice but to react causing the drink to shake but thankfully the alcohol remains in the glass.

Natasha crawls up your body and takes the glass in her mouth while remaining eye contact, she doesn’t finish all of it, she leaves a small amount in the glass and removes it from her mouth and pours the alcohol down your body starting from the center of your chest. You shudder from the contact and Natasha doesn’t give you much of a break as she starts her attack going down your body. She follows the trail that the alcohol leaves behind for her with her tongue. Leaving deep marks and bites along the way until she makes it back to your clit with a gentle kiss that leaves you wanting more. She looks up from your clit at the sound of your moan.

“Isn’t this much better than doing body shots with strangers?” You don’t reply to her, your head is too busy wondering how long she’ll keep this game up. She pours another shot but this time she has a new agenda on her mind. She makes her way up your body right in front of your breathless face. “Are you thirsty?” She knows the answer to that question just based on your appearance. The tension in your throat was becoming too much. You need a sense of relief. She takes your head leaning forward as a yes. Just as your lips were about to make contact with the glass, she pulls it away from you and drinks the shot herself and chuckles from the bewildered look on your face. “What the hell Nat!” You don’t even know what number of shots she’s on right now, but it takes a lot for Natasha to be drunk. A drunk Natasha was a completely different story than an annoyed Natasha.

“You still thirsty?” She whispers against your lips. Her stare is intense and intoxicating. You look away from her to show her just how annoyed you are, of course she thinks it’s cute. She refills the glass and hooks her finger under your chin bringing you face to face with her again. She downs the shot once again and tosses the glass across the room. She keeps your face in place as you try no ring away from her. She smashes her lips against yours and pushes the alcohol into your mouth. It’s fast and sloppy, so small amounts of it leak down the corner of your mouth and as Natasha pulls back she uses her tongue to catch every drip she sees.

“You want more Detka?” She still remains close to you as she reaches over to grab the bottle of alcohol off of the small cart. You only silently nod eagerly, wanting her to do it again. Except this time she hooks a finger underneath your chin tilting your head backwards and tips the bottle over. She notices the sudden change in enthusiasm at the change of direction. She can only laugh at you and your expressions but she can’t get too lost in it. This was a punishment after all. There was no time to be soft, at least so early into things. “Don’t pout.”

The next time she reaches for a shot to place on your stomach she sits the bigger glass on your stomach as well. She follows it up with dropping a few pieces of ice into the glass. “Nat you’re not being fair” frustration grows more when you realize this was a losing game either way it went. It’s not a game at all, it's a punishment of overstimulation. She pulls the wand out and turns it on to the highest level, your moans rise in volume at the first touch. “What was that I can’t hear you?” She keeps a firm grip on the toy and doesn’t relent on the pressure against your clit. “Fuck” you whine from the overstimulation, your legs are numb, and you no longer have the strength to try closing them from Natasha's access. The drinks spill over your body and the sheets Natasha takes in the sight with pride even though you’ve clearly just lost she has not intent on letting up on this game “You lost, baby and you’ve made such a mess.” She taunts you with fake concern as her hand stays firm and she starts moving the toy against your folds.

“Natasha, please.” She pouts at you with her fake sympathy. “Natasha please, what?” She gave your messy pussy a break by turning the level to the lowest Instead of taking it away completely. Your facial expressions plead more towards her than your words do. “Y-ou made your point, okay? now can you please- fuck! untie me?” She hums, weighing her decisions on if she thinks you’ve learned your lesson or not. Not really though because once Natasha Romanoff’s mind was set on something she made sure to go through with it no matter what. She took a little bit of pity on you right now but she really wanted to see this through, plus she was beyond turned on. She’s just stubborn like that.

“You know I don’t like pity cards and you know I don’t like cop outs, but nice try buttercup. You take what I give you and be happy with it.” If you were truly in unbearable pain, you’d use the safe word or Natasha would notice your breaking point and stop everything immediately. “Besides, don't you want to cum?” You growl in frustration as you glare at her, forgetting about the tight silk fabric strained against your skin you hiss in pain after your little tantrum. Natasha chuckles as she presses the toy firmly back into you. “You’re worried about me hurting you, it looks like those are doing it all on their own.”

“Mmh- h-how much longer are you gonna keep me like this?

“Until my feelings are no longer hurt or until I’m satisfied enough with how puffy and messy your pussy gets for me.” You were about to say something until the sensation of the wand tapping against your clit and the curl of Natasha’s finger entering your hole sent you further into ecstasy “Oh! Oh my-“ your fingers clench hard around the fabric of the restraints. “You know you haven’t even said sorry.” The look you gave her made her laugh but you can tell that she was being serious, maybe you did cut a little deep with your words knowing she has abandonment issues among many others. “I’m sorry, please. I’m sorry Tash.” You desperately apologize to her and she gives you no sign that she’s acknowledged it. Natasha turns the toy back on but not to the highest level and trails her tongue to your throbbing and neglected hole. She teases you for a moment by swirling her tongue around the hole before she spreads your folds, dives in and fucks you with firm and fast strokes. The sound of your wetness egging both of you on even more.

Every stroke and flick of her tongue was so intensifying that you forgot all about the silk fabrics restricting your hands from her grasp. Your body jerks from overstimulation but hearing the sound of Natasha’s praise filled moans made up for it. You ignore the stinging pain as the pleasure was much more overpowering. Just as you were getting used to the feeling of being on the edge again Natasha abruptly stops and pulls away from you with your juices smeared over her face. She enjoys the baffled look on your face right now. “I hate you.” You say, breathlessly while glaring at her as your legs shake uncontrollably with the loss of another orgasm.

You both know that’s not true she is using this moment to trap you, she wants to get a reaction out of you, she wants you to beg her to fuck you after you’ve been pleading with her for a break. “No, you don’t.” She places a soft but burning kiss on your skin while doing absolutely nothing to hide that smug expression from her face. You arch your back off of the bed, the sensation is now becoming too much to withstand. Natasha takes note of it and silently looks at you for any signs that you are at your limit. You wrap your legs around her as tight as your worn-out limbs will allow. “Keep going daddy, I’m okay.” Natasha’s strong hands have to keep you in place as she devours what belongs to her.

“Naat” your voice was finally at its breaking point. Worn out and hoarse. Natasha doesn’t budge, she keeps her focus on gaining her pleasure. “Hm fuck, just hold on a little longer” she thrusts against you groaning just how you like it, breathlessly panting with extra rasp in her voice. The moment her breath fans against your earlobe you felt your control slipping away. “Hold on for daddy?” She hooks your leg up for more security. Her fingers would surely leave behind imprints from the way she’s pressed her fingers into your soft thighs. “You feel so fucking good throbbing against me.”

“Just for me” she whispers the words out loud more so to herself than to you, but you respond to her anyway.

“Uh huh” you nod with eagerness as your nails claw at her skin. Natasha endures the stinging pain as she gets lost in the feeling of your warm slick. “Say it!” The sound of her hand making contact with the side of your ass jerks your body. “Just for you! Fuck, just for you!” You cum before Natasha does, you were already worked up and well spent she however still had energy left to use against you. Anger and jealousy were always a motivational boost for Natasha’s sex drive weirdly enough. As you lay there catching your breath Natasha’s movements slow down only for a moment before she’s repositioning herself on top of you. She finally frees your hands from the silk binds. Quickly massaging your wrists and leaving a chastise kiss on them. She spreads your puffy folds and begins angling herself against you. “Tash.”

“You can take it.” The sigh of relief and pleasure that takes over Natasha’s face was definitely worth the soreness that you will feel in the morning. She positions her clit against your dripping hole, she slowly pushes into you. The warmth of your pussy against the tip of Natasha’s clit was pure joy, she doesn’t do it often, or rather she didn’t really have time to do anything other than a quickie. Her mob activities and her regular nine to five businesses were always top priority now with new goals and a clean slate she wouldn’t dream about leaving you and your feelings out of the equation anymore. Especially not if she gets to fuck you like this more often.

Natasha snaps her hips forward, with each thrust your tits bounce in perfect rhythm. Her thrusts start slow but firm, until she can no longer hold on. Even though her entry point was small it didn’t take away the indescribable feeling of you sucking her in. Natasha pulls back for observation and once she sees the tip of her clit still inside of you something snaps inside of her. The perfect bounce of your tits soon starts to become erratic and sloppy just as Natasha’s thrusts. The loud sound of skin slapping, and wetness was almost enough to drown out anything else.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck, her muffled moans send the last bit of sensation you had left through your body. You don’t move. All of your limbs were non-functional at the moment, your bodies are still pressed together, and you hope to the highest heaven that Natasha meant what she said this time because you could still feel her throbbing against your folds. Your warm juices continue to flow as you watch Natasha come down from her high. “That was so hot.” She bites the side of your neck and soothes it over with her tongue. She takes a moment to place soft kisses anywhere she can on your body. You lay there in comfortable silence as you bask in the warmth and affection, she’s showing you right now because you truly don’t know how long it will last. How long this side of Natasha would stay before she’s back to her cold and set ways of thinking.

You fought off sleep as long as you could, but you were no longer winning the fight, Natasha obviously notices you trying to keep yourself awake. She makes quick work of cleaning you up, during your moment of dazed and fuzzy afterglow you only come down when you feel her in the same area she just abused. “Fuck off tash.” You limply try swatting her hands away from your cunt. Natasha scoffs and chuckles in the same breath. “Shut up and stop squirming. I'm cleaning you up, I should leave you a mess for what you did tonight.” She slaps your pussy once just to add on to the ‘asshole of the night award’ and you call her a bitch which only makes her chuckle. You know it’s a lie, Nat has never deliberately skipped aftercare with you. Only in times when she had to rush out unexpectedly, back when she was still in training to take over the business. Back when your relationship was in an awkward place.

During your small moment of reminiscing, you feel the bed shifting. The warm heat of Natasha’s skin against yours and the faint feeling of her breathing gets you to crack your eyes open to be greeted with her patiently awaiting your gaze. “Hey.” Your groggy greeting is cut off forcefully by Natasha’s lips smashing into yours. She pulls back looking you over as her nimble fingers ghost over your skin, over every mark on your neck and chest. She’s satisfied with her work tonight. She gives you a few more kisses before pulling you close to her side of the bed and turning the lights off. “Y/n.”

“Hm?” You hum in response while she rubs your back soothingly. “You're the only one for me." She wants to say, “I’m sorry I fucked up for me to realize that.” But she doesn’t want to get deep into that conversation right now. She doesn’t want to be vulnerable and open; she'll save it for another day. “Sleep.” Not long after that you were out cold.

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

The next time you shift in bed your eyes are halfway open. You notice Natasha is still sitting up with her back against the headboard talking in a hushed whisper. She hears you stirring beside her. She doesn’t want you awake, she doesn’t want you to hear the conversation. Panic bells sound off inside of your head anytime she gets a phone call in the early hours of the morning. “Let me guess, vacation is over.” Your voice still dripped with slumber but it wasn’t a question it was more of confirmation, confirmation that usually results in you being tossed to the side and neglected. Natasha pauses the conversation you weren’t too focused on trying to hear. You were nearly on your way back to sleep. “No, baby, just go back to sleep.” She gives you a soft kiss to distract your curiosity so you fall asleep without any hesitation or any push back.

The next time you wake up you hear voices, and you feel yourself being moved around. The cool breeze hits your face, but you still remain with low lidded eyes. You’re not in danger, you would know if you were. The hands that hold on to you and occasionally caress your face weren’t unfamiliar ones. You could spot them instantly; you drift back off to sleep with the reassurance of a body nestled close to yours and warmth radiating into you. You wake up feeling the aftereffects from the evening you had last night with Natasha. You stretch your arms out while remaining to keep your eyes shut. You feel the bed for Natasha’s body and freeze when you come up empty. She wasn’t here.

You vaguely remember being put in the car and seeing your luggage being carried out of the penthouse. You sit up in bed with pinched brows after you’re aware of your surroundings, you search for your cell phone and find it on the side table plugged into the charger. Most of the messages were from Yelena and a few emails about your new night club. You were just about to call Natasha’s phone to demand answers about the change in location when you heard voices above you on the top deck of the yacht. Not only is Natasha standing there but she has Bucky and Clint with her as well. This was supposed to be a trip away from the mob life and that includes them. You storm up the last few stairs towards her. She knew you’d be yelling at her sooner or later after you woke up.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I thought this was our vacation time?” You cross your arms as you await her answer while also being aware of the extra bodies that were not supposed to be present. “Good morning to you too honey, I slept great thanks for asking.”

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood to play with you right now Natasha.”

“We’re still on vacation…this needed to be dealt with immediately.” Her response doesn’t do anything for you to ease up on her. “Oh, c’mon sweet face, I thought this would be better by settling this here so we wouldn’t have to cut our trip short.” She rubs your waist and kisses your face hoping it will cool your temper. “You couldn’t have handled it at the penthouse?”

“You’d rather have me do that in a place where we lay our heads?”

“Natasha, we’re in fucking madripoor! Shit happens here every hour on the hour! Packing me and our things away at the ass crack of dawn for this? was not necessary!”

“Will you relax? You’re always complaining about me being romantic. Well, I was trying to be spontaneous while also getting things done efficiently!”

“Nothing about this is romantic and your whole excuse is a cop out.”

“Surprising you with a morning on a yacht isn’t romantic?”

“Don’t condescend me Natasha, it was the way you did things while also having an ulterior motive behind it.” Natasha grabs your hand before you walk away from her. Linking her fingers through yours and somehow your eyes drift up her body just in time to see the flex of her muscles in the tank top she was wearing. “Calm down, have some breakfast. I have all of your favorites prepared Already. This is not the end of our trip, it's more of a small interruption.” “Fine.” You turn your face away from her and start moving towards the kitchen area for some breakfast. if you were going to be around for this you were not doing it on an empty stomach. Natasha stops you and places her lips to the shell of your ear. “It won’t take long I promise.” She kisses your neck. “We can go back to our room and make that champagne and ice bucket useful, hm?”

“No, absolutely not you’re not touching me after last night, I’m still sore.” You brush past her as she scoffs and glares at you, you can say that now but maybe when she’s finished, you’ll change your mind. Natasha walks back to the group at the seating area and picks up a few pieces of fruit as the paranoid man sits in silence. “It’s my understanding that I haven’t received your payment.” She holds her hand up when the man attempts to speak, no doubt to apologize or make an excuse for his actions. “I don’t want excuses” Natasha doesn’t like pity and she doesn’t like excuses. You'd be lucky enough for her to even ask you for a solution instead of killing you. Charles stupidly ignores her response hoping she’d be able to understand when she hears the full story and his side of things.

“We’ve been having a tough time at the shop and-“ Her fists cut his words short he wasn’t even aware of when she stood up to even get near him. “I thought I just said I didn’t want to hear any excuses.” Natasha sighs with disappointment as she checks her nails like the narcissist she is. “You interrupted my lovely trip with my sweet face over there.” She points to you while you sit at the counter sipping your orange juice. “This was not the way she was supposed to be waking up, Charles. Do you understand my dilemma here?” The man hesitated to answer Natasha. The question was dripping with a sexual undertone, not knowing if he would end up with a bullet between his eyes for answering truthfully. “I-“ Natasha delights in his uneasiness to reply, one wrong word would set her off completely, changing the mood of this meeting. “It’s okay, you can answer.”

“I understand, trust me.” He takes a little too long to turn his attention back to her. So, she grabs him by the collar. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” She tilts her head hovering above him. “I-I apologize for the intrus-“ the back of her hand makes contact with his face. “Not to me you fucking idiot!” She grabs his face and turns it towards your direction. “To her.” You grow awkward with the man’s eyes on you while you are trying to eat. “I’m sorry.” “She can’t hear you! Say it louder!” You heard his apology but you wanted to be left alone for now. After having a week of silence and wild nights with Natasha you weren’t ready for things to start going back to normal. You weren’t ready to go back home and fall into the same pattern again. “I’m so sorry” fully catching your attention you flip him off in response and go back to eating and drinking your juice. He turns around to look at Natasha for what to do next. She insists on him trying again for an apology. Shooing him away with her hands. He moves further into the kitchen area as you eat your breakfast. Unfazed by his presence. “Um miss I wanted to sincerely apologize for-“ his apology was stopped abruptly when the weight of the waffle iron collided with his face. “What the hell!” He shouts out in agony clutching his broken nose on the floor.

“Why the hell are you in my face? You already ruined my morning, now you’re going to ruin my breakfast too?” You grab him by the collar of his shirt. “No, that was not my intention.” Even if he was telling the truth, you were still pissed about it, so you use this opportunity to use him as a punching bag. Throwing multiple punches to his already broken and bruised face. Clint once again steps next to Natasha. “You just gonna let her do that? We don’t need him dead, Nat.” Natasha looks at Clint with a smirk on her face. She honestly loved that you let out your dark side more now. “I suppose you’re right, but I just love seeing my sweet face go sour and bad for a bit.” Clint makes a face of disgust.

“Please spare me the details of you and y/n’s psycho relationship dynamic, I already told you that you two need therapy like yesterday.” She rolls her eyes and walks away. You stop your attack on his face and you hold him up by the collar of his blood-stained shirt. The small blade presses against his skin; you trail the sharp knife down his cheek and stop at the curve of his neck. “What type of work do you do?” He seems caught off guard with that question as he nervously licks his lips. He doesn’t know if he is supposed to look at you or keep his eyes trained on the cabinets. “I own a butcher shop.”

“Oh, this is perfect.” You take pride in his blatant display of confusion and fear. “You cut and trim meat all day, what’s so hard about that?” You don't give him a chance to reply to you, not that he would even dare try to respond to that loaded question. “Since you’re a butcher I’m sure you’re aware that a single incorrect cut could ruin a good piece of meat.” He stares up at you in pain and confusion as you tilt your head adding more pressure behind the knife. Natasha arrives in the kitchen area just in time.

“Okay, that’s enough, buttercup.” She pulls your back to her front and holds you in place. “Put the knife down.” She rubs your body soothingly to bring you back to a calm state. It takes you a few seconds, but you eventually flick the blade back into its safety pocket and place it into Natasha’s hands and let the man go in the process. As she puts the small knife in her pocket Natasha looks down at the bloody figure on the floor. “I know how much you wanted to cool off a bit, I don’t know what possessed him to bother you.” She snuggles her face closer to your neck inhaling deeply, She loved the scent of you. As Natasha was distracted the man quickly defended himself once again.

“You literally told me to come over here and apologize!” He shouts out at her stupidly once again not knowing how dangerous that is. “No, I don’t think I did, actually.” Instead, she replies back with a cool and calm demeanor she wanted to see if you’d attack him again. ”Yes you did!” Charles shouts back defensively and Natasha kicks him in the face “Shut up!” You crane your neck to watch Natasha’s body language. “Don’t listen to him baby Especially since I know how grumpy you get when something interrupts our plans.” She softly kisses your neck when she’s done telling the lie. You take a moment to look down at your silk pajamas and groan frustration.

“He got his blood all over my new pajamas, now we have to buy another set of matching ones.” Natasha just chuckles at your response. Blaming that poor man for getting blood on your expensive robe when you were the cause of it being there in the first place. She loved it. Part of her wished your father would’ve made you more involved with the mob activities like she had to. She would’ve had this sight of you way early on into the relationship, but she loves you just the way you are right now. “Don’t worry about it. We can buy all the matching pajamas you want, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, you will especially since this is your fault for sending him over here in my goddamn face in the first place.”

“See, I told you!” You both speak at the same time. “Shut up!” When the man quiets down Natasha doesn’t try to deny it this time she just laughs and pulls you closer to her. Of course, you knew she was lying. “I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to let some anger out and I was clearly right.”

“How thoughtful of you.” You gently pat her cheek. “I know.” She leans forward placing her lips on yours. She growls in surprise when you take control, shoving your tongue down her throat. Backing her up into the counter and harshly biting her lip. “Don’t tease me right now dekta.”

“Can you two stop sucking face? We have import shit to deal with here!” Bucky was getting annoyed. From the time being wasted and just from seeing you two showing public displays of affection. You clench your jaw, looking over Natasha’s shoulder. Who the hell did he think he was? You pick up an empty champagne flute and launch it at Bucky. “Shut the fuck up!” He dodges the glass before it makes contact. Clint pulls Bucky aside with force. “You seriously need to let it go, Buck.” Clint harshly whispers to him. He snatches his arm from Clint and goes to sit down on the padded couch. Seeing him be seated like a good little guard dog that he should be. As Clint snatches the man from the floor and away from the kitchen area you focus back on your girlfriend. “Finish everything up here and I’ll be downstairs. Don’t take too long though, I’m not promising to keep my hands off.” You slide your hand underneath the silk waistband of her pajamas. Natasha’s eyes blown wide, she couldn’t wait to get this over with to have you screaming out in pleasure and pain once again. You bring your hand back out into the open. Natasha licks her lips at the glistening wet slick dripping down your fingers. You place your fingers on her lips. She welcomes them openly, sucking the flavorful juices off your fingers. You lean in ghostly whispering against her lips.

“If you get this handled quickly the next time, we kiss I’ll have the taste of your cum on my lips.” Her breath hitches and she’s more determined to get this shit done now more than ever. Hell, she might even give him more time and just have Clint and Bucky take Charles back home. That would be the only time she would show forgiveness. The only time she’d be so lenient to someone who wronged her.

Natasha makes her way back to the seating area; she makes a show to whistle from your previous actions. “Yeah, she’s pissed. I was going to put on a show for her but I’m feeling merciful and gracious.” She pops a few pieces of fruit in her mouth and turns directly to face the bruised and bloody man. “So, let’s talk about how you’re going to move forward to get me the money that I’m owed and how you’re gonna pay extra for this inconvenience, shall we?”

They found a way to come to an agreement and the instant that the problem had been solved Natasha jumped up from her seat with haste and intended to run downstairs to you. “Natasha, we have another problem.”

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

“No, we just fixed it…any other problems can wait until tomorrow or until I officially return from my vacation.”

“Uh, Nat you’re not listening…”

“And you’re not listening to me Clint, this trip was to make things up to y/n, and I don’t need calls interrupting the time I made for her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have holes that I need to fill downstairs and you’re making me late.” Clint visibly gags and Natasha’s satisfied with his reaction to walk away from him to leave him with that burning image. “Jesus! Keep that to yourself I swear to God I’m this close to ditching my earring aids whenever I’m on duty! and I’m serious Nat it’s about Alexei.” Just as she was walking away from him she stops in her tracks as soon as he mentions the name. She slowly turns around to face him and a silent Bucky. “What kind of problem is it?”

Time passes longer than you would’ve liked but once again you were used to it. This trip did nothing but show you the reality of your life and your relationship. You could never truly get away from this lifestyle. You quickly change into normal clothes, your mood has drastically changed and the likelihood of your girlfriend returning to you anytime soon was uncommon. As expected when the bedroom door opens you know it’s Natasha and you know she’s come to tell you the bad news but what she doesn’t expect is for you to already have the bags packed and ready to be put into the car. Her apology falls dead on the tip of her tongue as you cut her off before she even had the chance to release it. “I don’t want to hear it.” Your response is cold and calm, two signs she’s much familiar with now, you could snap at any moment. Which furthers the internal need to be close to you she knows there’s a chance of a fight happening, an item being thrown at her hell you could be hiding a knife somewhere just waiting to make your move. She ignores her thoughts and cautiously takes small steps towards you at a time.

“Hey, it’s another emergency that needs to be addressed and it’s much bigger than what happened this morning.” You don’t say anything to her as you sit in silence on the edge of the bed. She tries to be near you to bring you some sort of comfort, but you stand up and head for the door with your luggage in hand. “I told you I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want to hear excuses.” Natasha already felt bad and now you’re using her own shit against her which makes her feel even worse. She reached for you hoping you’d let her explain the situation further. Maybe it’ll ease the pain if you knew just how dire it was to fly back home. All she got in return was a stinging slap to the face before you stormed out of the room with your luggage completely. Natasha wasn’t expecting it but she isn’t mad at it, you’re upset, angry and hurt. She knows you’re not letting it all out, so a slap to the face is something she’d have to endure. She grabs a duffel bag and tells Bucky and Clint to get the rest of the luggage as she follows after you.

You remained silent in the car as Clint and Natasha discussed business matters. You settle for keeping your focus on the car window knowing Natasha is staring at you intently waiting for you to address her. To say something. Anything. She leans closer to you, and you counter her movements by sliding closer to the door. She tries again by placing her hand on your thigh to silently apologize for cutting the trip short. You remove her hand immediately. In your eyes it looked like she lied about what happened earlier, which in truth she didn’t lie, things just played out that way. How Inconvenient for her. She leaves you to deal with your emotions and goes to her phone texting Yelena about your incoming attitude and about this meeting that Alexei demanded to have.

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

You make your way onto the private jet, and you still have not said one word to Natasha other than your outburst from earlier. You flop down in the seat after taking a sucker from the candy bowl and popping it into your mouth. Natasha brings two champagne flutes over as she sits next to you. She asks you something and your only response is to grab the abandoned pair of headphones and turn the volume up to true maximum level to drown out her repeating apologies. “Can I have some?” She removes the left side of your headphones to speak directly into your ear. When she has your attention, she nods to the candy that’s in your mouth. You roll your eyes and hand her the bowl only she never reaches for it. Instead, she goes for the sucker in your mouth, and she reaches for the end of the stick. Lightly tugging on it for you to release it from your tight grasp. Making a sound of annoyance and disapproval you swat her prying hands away.

“You’re not gonna share with me?” You once again shove the bowl of candy near Natasha, and she still doesn’t budge. That’s not what she wanted. This was her way of getting you to interact with her. To acknowledge her. It’s not the first time something so childish as candy could bring you back from a fit of rage and anger and back into her embrace of understanding and forgiveness. A little lighthearted interaction to let her know how deep in shit she was truly in once the two of you were back home and things went back to the everyday routine. Natasha makes a disapproving noise and tosses the candy bowl on the empty seat next to her. She’s had enough of your attitude and your unwillingness to hear her out, this wasn’t like any other excuse that truly needed her presence. Natasha quickly grips your face and turns your attention back on her.

“I didn’t plan this. Trust me I would rather still be on that yacht with you right now, but this is serious." You shrug her off of you, annoyed with her cryptic responses, she never really goes into detail about why things were serious or so urgent that you sit at the dinner table alone most nights. You remove the candy from your mouth and lick your lips, an action Natasha focuses on intensely. “You still haven’t told me what’s so serious that you cut our vacation short, a vacation I only got because you let Stark get in your head and you couldn’t keep your hands off of an attention seeking whore!” Your voice raises in volume and Clint and Bucky share a look but they remain in their seats unbothered. They’re pretty much used to the outbursts between you two and they’ll only intervene if Natasha tells them to. Meanwhile you lean away from her and place the candy back into your mouth seemingly being done with this conversation. Natasha rubs her face harshly and exhales a deep breath that she’s been holding since she got the news. Natasha calms her nerves trying to stay on her new path by managing her temper. She’s trying her best to communicate properly. “It has to do with Alexei.”

“Alexei?!” You could’ve cut the inside of your mouth with how fast you pulled the candy out of your mouth from hearing his name. She nods her head and swigs down her champagne. She was nervous. “You know just as much as anybody how dreadful this surprise meeting is going to be for me.” Natasha hasn’t spoken to Alexei directly in a long time and she hasn’t seen him in the flesh for even longer. The two of them never got along and when Natasha started to rebel against him and his orders, that caused the drift between them. The final straw that broke the camel's back was her continuing to defy him by being in a relationship with you. Once he found out about you two, things changed. He treated you differently, he deemed you as a distraction to his daughter. Of course, his attitude could only be expressed slightly back then with your father still being around and being the man in charge but once he was murdered, Alexei didn’t hold his tongue any longer. He had free reign to say anything he wanted. He Finally got to release the built-up aggression that built up over the years starting from the moment you came back, and the moment Natasha set her eyes on you.

The harsh and cruel words spewing out of his mouth no longer held back in the depths of his throat. The words remained there from the first day he caught you and Natasha together. The memories brought back pain not just yours but Natasha’s as well. You saw how she was treated by that man for as long as you’ve known her. You finally turn your whole body to her and the first thing you can see is the sincerity in her eyes. “I know.” You say with softness and love. You hold your hand out to her and she doesn’t touch you. You move your hand closer to her, placing it in her lap. “Are you gonna hold my hand or what?”

“That depends if you’re gonna slap me again or not.” You shake your head ‘no’ in response and she links her fingers with yours. Now you feel bad for slapping her knowing she has Alexei on her brain already, that abuse was enough on its own, even though your feelings and reaction was valid you needed to apologize. “I’m sorry for that by the way.” You use your other hand to rub against the cheek you previously struck. “No, you aren’t.” She cracks a smile and you return the same mirrored emotion back at her. “Okay, maybe not completely but I’m sorry for not hearing you out earlier.” You slowly exhale, lowering your gaze down to your abandoned hand on Natasha’s lap. “I was just really starting to get used to this kind of lifestyle.”

“You’ve always had a luxury lifestyle, what are you talking about?”

“Not that, I meant being normal. Having a normal and domestic lifestyle, that doesn’t involve waking up to random strangers in our living room or having to be pulled away from vacation after the shit I had to go through to even get here.” You take a brief moment to calm down. You weren’t trying to start another argument with her, not after you know what awaits her when this private jet lands. The mindset and preparation she has to readjust to. You feel the warm embrace of her hand in yours. Natasha gives you a firm and comforting squeeze before she finally links her fingers with yours. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I know I’ll never be able to truly escape it but it would be nice to put things on pause more often and just...get away.” You look to Natasha to answer your response as if your statement was a question. She understands perfectly without the use of your voice. She’s known how long you’ve wanted to get away and it was always put on the back burner, had she known that a vacation trip meant this much to you, your passport would’ve been overfilled with stamps by now. She feels guilty for neglecting you and not being attentive to your needs. All she had to do was make a call and everything you wanted would be everything you’d have. “We’ll take more trips…I promise.” You give her an annoyed look, it's something you’ve heard before and you’d rather not hear the lie again. “I’m serious, if you want to take a trip just book a flight or call Fitz to have the jet ready and we’ll go wherever you want.”

“Tash, you talk a sweet game, but we both know how this will play out.”

“I’m making changes, I’ve put in the effort and I’ve owned up to my mistakes. I’m being serious, I really mean it this time.” You hum with satisfaction as you see new determination in her eyes. Your hand tugs the collar of her shirt forward, you hold eye contact for a moment before your lips ghost over hers. “Next time something like this happens just tell me straight up, and don’t start with apologies. Do you understand Natalia? She smirks against your lips as they slightly graze each other. “Yes, my love.”

“Good.” You say, softly and finally lean forward to peck her lips you pull away way too soon for Natasha to even get started on her attack. You pull away with a smug smile while Natasha licks her lips tasting the remnants of sweetness from the cherry blow pop, she was practically begging for moments ago. “I’m stressed out over here and you’re teasing me?”

“You’re right” you go in for another kiss, but this time Natasha pulls you in and holds your face in place as she deepens the kiss. It’s sloppy and desperate, which is another silent sign that means she needs comfort and support right now. when you try pulling away again, she places her hand around your neck giving you a subtle squeeze as a warning to keep still. Natasha makes sure to savor the artificial flavor as she strokes her tongue around every part inside of your mouth. The noises you two pull from each other caused Clint to fully turn his hearing aids off and Bucky turns his headphones on max volume to drown out the lewd sounds. When she finally lets you come up for air, she admires your dazed expression and goes back to drinking her champagne as if nothing just happened.

“You just tried to kill me!” You say as you finally get the sensation of oxygen coming in again. she chuckles and turns her head towards you. “It’s your fault for not sharing with me.” Is all she says before shrugging her shoulders and sighing before she makes a move to get up. You quickly place your hand on hers stopping her movements, a silent question hung in the air about why she’s leaving her seat. “I need to plan things out with Clint and buck” you move your hand and silently nod in agreement but before she leaves you beckon her with your finger for one more kiss which she happily obliged to.

After a few playful nips and bites, you both pull away and you place the blow pop against Natasha’s wet lips. “I also forgot to mention that Alexei is meeting at our house tonight for dinner.” The moments of normalcy and domestication were over, now things were officially going back to what you've been used to since you were born. You just hope and pray that no one ends up dead but maybe that's asking for far too much when Alexei is at the center of the equation.

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble - 19/09/23

Prompt: we’re not family

****

The ICU is at capacity. An earthquake, they’re saying. It’s been a week and they’re still sticking to that bullshit story.

Wayne’s not an idiot, and neither are these doctors. There are Feds here talking about dog bites and it’s written all over their faces, yeah pal, we don’t believe it either.

A nurse brought him a book a couple of days ago. “To keep your mind off things.” It’s hard to read when he’s listening for the whoosh clicks of the ventilator, the alarms, beeps and bells of machinery, all plugged in to his nephew, and knowing that these sounds mean Eddie’s alive. He doesn’t want to keep his mind off that.

Wayne hears a commotion in the hallway and he’s about to ignore it when he realises he recognises the voice.

He steps out of the room and is stunned to see his little brother arguing with two nurses. It’s like a slap in the face. Wayne didn’t even know he was out of jail.

“Christ, Wayne, will you tell these people we’re family?”

Wayne stares at him. At Albert Edward Munson, the baby brother who he wished for for so long. Who finally showed up a couple of months after Wayne’s tenth birthday and he’d thought it was the best possible birthday present anyone could have got him.

He used to take Al to school for his Ma when she was working, his small hand tucked safely in Wayne’s as they walked. That yardstick of growth, hand against hand, laughter and giggles as Al caught up to him, bigger and bigger each year.

He showed him how to slick his curls back with Sweet Georgia Brown before his first date. Told him he was still proud of him when he failed senior year. 

Hugged him tight when Al was drafted. Hugged him tighter when he came home.

He comforted him when he got Shirley-Anne pregnant, told him it would be okay. Gave him money, helped them get married. 

Cried with him when Eddie was born. Cried with him when Shirley-Ann died.

Bailed him out of jail when he went on a bender. Cleaned up the bottles and cans in the house so that Eddie wouldn’t cut himself on them. 

Argued with him when he saw the bruises on Eddie’s arms. Hit him when he saw the bruise on Eddie’s cheek.

Disowned him when he threw Eddie out.

He stares at his baby brother, and it fucking hurts because he sees so much of Eddie standing there. The big brown eyes, the dark curls. It fucking hurts because he loved this kid with all his heart and he did everything he could, he did, to steer him right, to keep him on a good path. All for nothing.

Wayne swallows thick and wet. “We ain’t family.”

“The fuck we’re not!” shouts Al. “You can’t keep me from my boy!”

Wayne is a patient man, but that there is his breaking point. He storms towards Al, grabs his shirt in one hand, points right in his face with the other.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he spits out, venom and anger and frustration, a pressure cooker twenty years in the making finally exploding. “On two counts. I will keep you away from him, and he ain’t your fucking boy no more!” Wayne shoves him away. “You lost the right to call him your boy the moment you beat the shit out of him.”

He catches sight of one of the Feds and well fuck let’s make them work for their money, he thinks as he waves him over.

“This man’s bothering the nurses.” He barely finishes the sentence before Al is being dragged out of the ICU, hollering and shouting the whole way.

The nurses are kind, they ask if he’s okay and he thanks them and apologises. For what happened, not for Al’s behaviour. Because he stopped being responsible for Al Munson a long time ago.

[nathaslosthershit]

We need to try that again|| Jack Hughes x reader

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Warnings: I never know what warnings to give, kissing (?)

Summary: In the heat of the moment, you kiss your boyfriend. The only problem? It was your first kiss with each other and he doesn’t feel he got to “savor” it enough. What a dork.

A/n: This is corny I know and probably so far from what Jack is like but let a girl be delusional. 

Word Count: 800+

You and Jack would be cooking a meal together, alone and in the comfort of your own home. Or, maybe he would play an intense and very important game where he scored the game winning goal in OT and you two would meet afterwards, running into each other's arms like it was a cheesy romance film. Maybe he'd take you to a nice dinner and before getting into the car ask “can I kiss you?”

Maybe these fantasies were stupid to spend your time thinking about but after almost a month of dating Jack, almost a month without a single kiss, you had been hoping for something romantic and sweet to mark your first of, hopefully, many kisses. But there has been nothing. Nada. You have been patient and were happy to wait longer for him but just wanted to know, why? Why has it taken so long for him to kiss you?

But now that you think about it, you could easily kiss him first. Maybe it doesn’t matter if its sweet and well thought out. Maybe what you needed was a heated, spur of the moment kiss with your beautiful boyfriend.

But is that what you wanted, something not thought out? Didn’t you crave the anticipation of waiting knowing it was about to happen. Knowing that the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the same velocity as the ones in his.

While lost in thought Jack had managed to finally reach your apartment. He was supposedly at practice. Actually there was no practice but that's what he told you so you'd be surprised when he came over with take-out and flowers. On his way over, he had to bite his lip to stop the stupid smile on his face, but the older woman passing by noticed it, as well as his urgency and the flowers in his hand, and gave him a knowing smile as she laughed while walking in the opposite direction. It was clear to everyone, those in his life and those just observing, that this relationship was different and he treated it as such. 

He enjoyed the feeling of getting almost dizzy from all the excitement of being around you. It was new and so unlike anything he'd had with anyone else in the past. That's why he couldn’t get himself to make any new moves. It's scary to act when you feel something so intensely. 

Opening the door to reveal a very smiley Jack Hughes was a very shocking but very welcome surprise. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Wow come on don’t be too excited to see me” he replies snarkily. 

“Im sorry, I just thought you'd had practice, you did tell me you had practice, did you not?”

“I did but I didn’t have practice. Wanted to surprise you so I stretched the truth a little. You aren’t upset about that, right?” He suddenly looked worried.

In that split second, you had made up your mind. Grabbing his collar and kissing him deeply, he drops the bag of food and flowers from impact. The noise they made startled you enough to come to your senses. As you quickly pull away, you can see a mix of confusion, panic, and possibly lust on his face. His silence snaps you out of your post kiss daze enough to start freaking out.

“Shit, Jack. I don't know what- I wasn’t thinking, i'm so-”

“We need to try that again.” 

“Excuse me”

“You just kissed me”

“...I did”

“Quickly.”

“I guess”

“I didn’t get to savor it.” He coughs out. At this admission, his face is bright red and grows an even deeper red when he hears your laugh.

“Savor it? Oh my god, Jack, what romcom did you take that line from?”

“You know what? Maybe i'll enjoy these flowers and this food by myself if you want to-”

“Just get inside, Jack. I'll kiss you again but only if we aren't standing in the hallway for all my neighbors to see.”

When you pull him in and close the door, you realize this is what you had hoped for. Shared butterflied as you look at one another, waiting for the other to make a move, knowing what was next and being as excited as you were nervous for it. 

Finally he pulls you in.

“Much better” Jack mumbles against your lips.

[onyourhyuck]

Crimson Lace Part Two.| Mark Lee (M)

Prologue: “I don’t like him around you.” + “You can’t tell me who to not hang around with. And secondly it sounds like you’re jealous.”

Summery: After you slept with Minhyun that night, Mark starts noticing the distance between you and him as you get closer to Minhyun. He grows jealous and becomes angry when you tell him the truth, making him confess sinful things you didn’t know about.

The Warnings: Love Triangle. Mark Lee Twin Tropes. Mark looks like he’s a complete loser in bed but he turns out to be amazing trope >>>. Fem Reader. Jealous and angry! Mark. Twin rivalry. Degrading. Extreme Mean Mark. Edging (so much edging) ice play (ice cubes mentioned a lot) fingering and eating out (Female receiving) begging, Mark has a massive darcyphillia kink. Everythings consensual. Cum play. Thigh riding. Public setting (they’re doing it in university class closet) Nipple play.

The Taglist: @yesohhsehun @chardonnayyyy @dearj43 @jwicore @nuttie-nv-blog @nctzcrime

Cover Credit: @dearj43 tysm<3

THE NOTE: sorry this took so long man. I was very busy. However part 2 is out now <3 enjoy

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It’s been two weeks since that night you’ve slept with Minhyun and let’s just say you’ve probably done it almost everywhere on campus but the dorms. You tried your best to control it. Try to make things go back to normal with the boy but all it took was one touch from him and things lead to a kiss and another more, it baffled you; with how much Minhyun had this control of you.

He knew how to tick the right boxes physically, sure, but mentally you were somewhere else. You were deeply thinking about Mark, his twin brother, wondering what he would think of you for fucking his brother behind his back.

You’re both scared to confess but you want to confess the truth to him. Unlike Minhyun who shown zero care if he’s railing his brothers crush, you were actually more disheartening about the situation more than anyone right now. You thought if this happened to you you’d be raging with fire in your eyes and demanding revenge. Though, you’re unsure how Mark will react. Mark is mostly a very patient guy. Only a few can tug his patience and test the waters, he’s respectful, friendly and never— and I tell you never gets angry. It’s like he’s perfect. A totally chill, laidback and nice guy.

But today it felt quite the opposite in your class. Writing away on your lined paper the front work essay to do in class, every student in the lecture room was doing the same thing. Trying their best to analysis their view point and perception of Oscar Wilde. You weren’t the biggest fan of Wilde but you do have to admit he does have classical literature. Something you could never forget no matter what. Your cheeks become hollow as you suck in your final breathe before pressing the pen down on the table, finishing the last structural paragraph needed to be done. Your conclusion was the best if you’d have to say so yourself.

Mark caught up with you leaving the class. You’re outside walking up the pathway to the girl dormitory. Something you recently signed up for and moved into. You don’t have a roommate yet, but that’s okay. Honestly you prefer the large dormitory to yourself. As Mark suddenly cuts off your pathway, with an expression you dearly avoided for so long till it finally contacts you.

“Y/n we need to talk.” Mark huffs, out of air.

You look up at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Mark I’m really busy with—“

“Fucking my brother?” He suddenly cuts your sentence off leaving your chest to rise, going tighter and tighter leaving little to no oxygen surpassing through your protected lungs. You felt your world stop and crash instantly like a car has ran into you in the five dimensional realm. You weren’t sure how he came up with that idea, but you knew he was correct. You were cornered by him. Questioned by Mark’s suspicion. For whatever evidence he has. You told yourself to come clean, telling yourself now’s the chance to fully address the issues you’ve done. The bad sins you’ve done behind Mark’s knowledge.

Your voice came out like a murmur. “I’m sorry Mark, I was planning to tell you.” Mark heard you say, though all he could look at was the images of you naked, possibly aroused and more, god, how badly he wished it was him who did those things to you. Minhyun took the pleasure of telling him every fucking detail; the way your moans were so disconnected because you cannot speak while fingered by him deep inside your cunt. He described the way your hair gets messy in the cutest way possible. Minhyun didn’t spare Mark the heinously bragging, what fun was that if he did not? He wants to see Mark rage. He wants to see Mark explode with infuriating frustration that he lost you. His dreams and feelings flat out rejected even though he didn’t confess to you.

All the boy could do was lean back and grab forward your wrist with those boba-like eyes, resembling a round onyx seed. A hint of honey brown flicks in those eyes when bright light slants on the wide iris’ it always makes you so mesmerised. It was only simple brown eyes but the way he looks at you through them, the way you see yourself through his eyes makes your tamed heart skipper quicker than anything in this world. Which heartbeat got faster and faster the more he pressed your wrist in his palm in a harshly given gripping hold, he did not spare you the weakness nor mercy. His voice taunts your skin like a shadowed mercenary ready to kill you while you’re unaware.

“A sorry cannot cut out for the way Minhyun purposely tortured me with the details of your beautiful, romantic night, Y/n.”

He sorely refused your apology leaving you to stand there in middle of nowhere outside the all girl’s dormitory awkwardly as the space minute by minute closes like a maze.

“I don’t like him around you.” Mark trailing with a softer growl containing jealousy that you won’t ever prescribe . It felt more than a normal amount of Jealousy.

It was envy. It was the need to be superior than the other. It was the over-loading amount of covetousness that the boy has for you, it felt like an addiction. You were his wrong addiction with no rehabilitation enough to provide Mark to save himself from your magnetic field.

Mark dislikes the way Minhyun claims he has you wrapped round his fingers yet he doesn’t know the way you have Mark chained to you spiritually. The way your bodies speak in such a hidden language from your conscious mind, gently paving your way, as your eyes tremble to the hold.

Your lips fell from this blank thin line to a sudden choke scoffing softly out your beautiful heart shape mouth, your minds were repeatedly thinking that. “You can’t tell me who to not hang around with.”

You pause staring blankly at him.

“And secondly it sounds like you’re jealous.” You strike at him with your indifferent tone. Mark was indeed bothered by the fact that you and Minhyun have gotten closer, have ended up with a physical relationship. He was jealous and he didn’t dare hide it in his voice or bodily language.

“I’m not fucking jealous I’m more than that.” The grip on your wrist tightens as he pulls your bodies inside the dormitory. “I’m wishing it was me with you that night doing those dirty things, Y/n. Call me jealous all you want but I had my eyes on you first. Minhyun could careless about you.” He adds snarking. “Don’t whore for him who can’t even memorise your Starbucks-go-to order and your favourite movie of all times.”

It’s the way he knows your future moves and the next step seeps to be inebriated, you were left alone staring at Mark deeply who’s chest risen up aloof. Your tongue was bitten down against your teeth harshly as you chew on your words, mentally planning your next dialogue. Just about when you open your mouth, “Mark this is ridiculous-” Mark cuts in right again, leaving you down and flat with your dimmed voice.

“Shut the fuck up.” Mark brushes as the palms creep on your face with their cold temperatures solitudes your warm heated face growing warmer by the way his lips crash on to yours giving them the quickest peck, before fully interrogating your mouth as his own home. His tongue slips in with a barge and a venom to strike. Teeth brush against your soft skin layering your lips to picker and become swollen. Your breathe was harsh and a gasp escaped you. Mark wasn’t trying to be gentle. In fact he was simply rough round the edges, like he had enough of you and your stupidity, that he will finally explode and show you just how much he wants you, how much he loves and wishes to be with you and only you. It’s nothing Minhyun could ever compare to, as your emotions were in the way, but Mark was so much physically intending to use you now.

“Mark- Mark please, slow down, we can’t be doing this…”

He was whispering such degrading terms you weren’t sure how to process. It started off with telling you to be quiet, in which you didn’t oblige to. Your voice came off with multi-stuttering in between the kiss. His fingertips gracefully graze down your jawline and reaching your neck where he grabs you firmly on it before pushing you inside the girl dormitory building. He lead you against a wall pushing you down on it. His voice darkens line an abyss wanting to suck you in and trap you there for eternity and more. “Don’t say anything. Let me indulge a little more before you leave.” He achingly told you, as if it hurt to say. Your reddish swollen lips turned red and you couldn’t believe but feel the way his drunk sad eyes longing on you,

You whisper softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” As Mark leans closer adjusting himself to close the gap between your chest and his. “Don’t get my hopes up.” Mark warns leaning down capturing a passionate and helpless kiss to you, but this time you’ve returned it with just as much eagerness he couldn’t compete with.

He knew you were never going to choose him. He knows Minhyun has stolen your heart and made it his own home before he could, and he only has himself to blame for losing you to his own twin brother. He was late. He was slow and too scared for ruining your friendship between you, Mark often stays up late at night thinking to himself that he should’ve made the first move. He should’ve confessed. He shouldn’t be a coward but he did become one at the end of the day. The moment Minhyun slept with you, he lost a part of himself. He lost all self-control.

You want to tell him you won’t ever leave him. That Minhyun and you sleeping was a simple mistake that you enjoyed and wish to keep on the low, that you’re not interested in dating his brother — you wish to tell him this but all you could focus solely on was the way he was kissing you as if it was his last dying wish. You weren’t sure how far it was going to go, but you felt yourself lose control and all together you grip on his neck finally adjusting to it all. You want Mark.

You came to a conclusion that you want Mark now. Your voice came off as a surprise, if anything, it came off as a dropped off bomb combusting a large sparking ember in his heartbroken heart. “Let’s take it to my dorm…” you said with no shame.

With a nod you were leading Mark inside your dorms welcoming the man in with your bodies aching desperately for each other. The door slams shut and Mark had all his strength pinning you down on your bed gasping in the rough kiss marking your swollen mouth. He was gaping at your body, squeezing his fingers on your clothes and under the fabric crewing on your empty skin practically screaming for him to dirty it, to use you, each time it reminds him of the way you look right now telling that this might be the first and very much the last time he shall ever have the chance of sleeping with you. He must savour the opportunity. Seize the opportunity of all opportunities. And he did.

He did do exactly that when the way he stripped you naked before he shown all his skin in front of you. Your breasts were kneading round like they were his personal items, shifting in your bodies flat on your belly. As his lips press on your shoulder and back. He squeezed at your hips, hoarsely whispering to you; “Lift your hips up for me darling.” It gnaws at your subconscious to hear this man, the man who’s always been your friend, respectful and kind to you was completely out of the picture now that he’s treating you with so much rough and rawly strengths, it purged you with sinful thoughts because it turns you to see him so… berserk. Your lower body arches to his demands and Mark reaches to squeeze your ass before spanking it.

Your voice comes through the pillows that Mark purposely buried your face in. You couldn’t see what he’s looking at but you felt his stare on you everywhere. “Good girl. Always so obedient for me aren’t you? Such a good girl.” He knows how to get you riled up with words. He doesn’t even need to touch you to get you going. The clothes on your body did not last a second on you it was a whole new situation with Mark it even surprised you how well he was good at undressing you from head to toe. The lower clothing came off like it was a slipper from your feet. His fingers weren’t the only thing good at taking clothes off. They were starting to please you down below occasionally slipping out your underwear to the side so his fingers can slide deep inside your wet cunt which was soaking for him.

Mark was pleasantly surprised by how wet you were and his thoughts tread on to his twin brother wondering if he was going through back getting you more wet than this. If this was how soaking you are for him than you must be a waterfall when this continues. He is determined to be better than his brother. Better for you and better for himself. If he lives down as the worse brother in bed he would rather have hell take him back and never come out. As your cunt slowly sinks breathing in his fingers he starts to finger you with a medium length pace causing every wall in you to tighten and loosen just round his shape of the fingers going in and out. The second finger slips in and Mark can hear you moan out more at this rate it was only furling him to continue and add the third finger; your voice becomes slightly louder when your hand covers your mouth to shut it down. He smirks seeing you become so self aware of how you sound so pretty and helpless like a little lamb in the open.

Your body shivers when the ice cube melts on your stomach as he kept pressing on it on the skin. Your lips pull away from his as he looks down at you darkly. “Is it cold?” He slants at you and you could only dumbly nod. Mark smirks. “Good, that’s the point.” His voice lingers as he lifts his hand with an ice cube pushing it to your lips.

You look up at the ice cube and then at him again. “Suck on it.” He orders from you and you couldn’t resist leaning into the cube sucking on it letting it melt on your tongue. He would watch fascinated by the heavenly sight.

Mark stares into you so deep in your eyes refusing to break the minimal eye contact even though he is fingering you so hard to the point your thighs are shaking and hugging side to side with how much he was ramming in you he never once broke away. You couldn’t help but moan as you watch him. He didn’t make you look away at all and if you did he would punish you with a spank to the thighs or to your ass it was unbelievably hot however it made you feel things you did not before. Mark whispers seeing you come close. “That’s right baby keep those eyes on me and come on my fingers Hm? I can feel you throbbing so much around my fingers.” He’d tell you describing every little detail about how your body was round him and you couldn’t believe how arousing it was. You ache jolting a little as you push against his fingers. Mark stops moving them as he saw the juice spewing out and at awe taking them out of you.

He’d lick the remaining juice out of you on his fingers clean off not leaving anything behind. He was staring at you as he did so and you relax there stunned by how he could look so good doing something so dirty? You couldn’t even figure out an answer. It was just a Mark Lee thing. But this wasn’t the end. Mark did not get enough of you and he pushed you down to the side to make you lay down where he forcefully re opens your legs splitting them apart like they were a piece of candy and as he did so his mouth comes to attack you with his tongue on your soaking cunt. He was eating you out and the juices on his tongue tasting so good. It was better than his imagination. It couldn’t compare to his lewdness thoughts. The real deal was the best part.

You weren’t sure how to deal with all this pleasure you couldn’t simple handle all of this but knowing it’s Mark you couldn’t bring the urge to push him away. The pleasure was just something you were hunting down all the time. In disbelief as how fast he was eating you out like he was going through a whole decade of starvation it made you also screaming into your hand. Mark wanted people to hear you however. He wanted you to get caught. He loved the idea of Minhyun coming round and walking in on you with him on your bed knowing it isn’t him. Knowing it’s not his brother. Knowing he got a taste of you it will surely piss his brother off too to see you look so beautiful with him in this rightful moment.

“I… I can���t take it anymore Mark— please— please please can i come?” Your voice was as clueless as a little wren walking around the lonely road. Mark looks up from your wet cunt covering in the saliva and your lubricant ghostly smirking above your clit. Mark’s mouth softly perks up kissing your clit and kissing down again. You shiver at his silent response.

He was taunting you slowly. “Hmm…you can take some more y/n. I know you can. If you can take my brother all night why can’t you take me Hm?” His head tilts so condescendingly at you and your eyes clench tight watering at the pleasure ending just to start again to edge her body into nonexistence. His mind wonders of to you laying down Mark suddenly shifts on the bed seeing how you were pleading for a release. How about he gives you one?

Mark sits on the edge and you look up seeing him pull away suddenly and act as if nothing has happened. He motions you with his finger pointing you up and you sit up slowly coming forward to him. His hand pats his thigh as his dark gaze shines straight at you. “Do you want to cum, Y/n?” His voice strikes you down but you nod in response. Mark hums trailing. “Then ride my thigh and make yourself cum on it.” Mark was making you do the work if you want it so badly.

You felt your skin shiver as you tried to wobble over to his thug pushing your wet pussy on the fabric on his clothes. He was barely dressed but the dry fabric pressing to your womanhood was enough to make you squelch and slowly thrusting your thighs on the area made you want to squeeze Mark’s shoulders down in a heavy way. Mark watches you struggle and he loves the view he was getting just seeing how much you were working for the release. The way your thighs and cunt were grinding on his leg was enough to make him aroused at the sight. You were whimpering all sorts of noises out of your mouth. It made his ears only long for more and more.

He laughs watching you shake already and you only just started riding his thigh. He wraps his hands round your hips pushing it further down to his thigh making you squirm and groan at the sensation of you harshly climaxing on his thigh now bursting out a long streak of water and tears going down your cheeks. “Atta’ girl. Look at you finishing on my thigh so quickly… and you crying…” He carries on darkly chuckling. He was laughing at you, but in such a twisted way you couldn’t help wonder where did the Mark you know was? “You’re such a pretty crier. How about you cry for me some more as i fuck the absolute shit out of you.”

And you did. You were bawling with each thrust in that his thick and wide cock buried deep in you as his body was quenching you underneath hardening and moulding your body into his own temple was just as amazing as the pleasure his cock provided to your womb, ramming and splattering in you widening your spine and back letting your body fall and break into pieces just so he could fix you up and move you like he wants you. He had you in so many different positions in just a few minutes he has you squirming begging for more and more and more; Mark can only give so much and he did give you his all where he had you screaming his name.

Chanting his name more like as if it were a mantra. Mark could only wish he can have this on repeat and recorded forever on. You sigh forward with your soft moans humming about into the bedsheets as Mark had you lift your hips up to go on all fours . Your head was buried deep on the bedsheets and pillows where you can barely breathe but the overwhelming pleasure has you slipping out. “P-Please fill me up Mark. I beg you. I bet you Mark.” You we’re pleading so nicely it was almost tempting. Mark smirks pulling your head up by grabbing handful of your hair lifting you this way so he can whisper into your ears.

One hand was roaming your stomach that you were arching in the all four position. “Yeah you want to be filled? You want me to put a baby inside you? Want me to show everyone how much of a whore you are?” You whimper closing your eyes shut as tears come out. He smirks watching them slip out. “That’s right cry some more. It will make me finish quicker.” He growls throwing your head back on the pillows ramming deep in you leaving your womb feeling a warm stretching sensation.

It continues until a liquid was speedily put inside you at a sudden rate leaving you stunned at how good it felt to have Mark finish deep within you letting a string of his come stay in you as he did for a while. He pants heavily as his hands press down on your back. He helps you turn around where he grabs your neck gently but kissing you so roughly speaking against your swollen lips. “Guess who was hearing us behind the door all this time…?”

You couldn’t believe your ears at first until Mark stares straight ahead of you and your eyes widen at the sight. Mark pulls the phone outta the pocket of his jeans scattering on the floor where you stare at the contact name ‘Lee Minhyun’ on the screen phone. Your gaze turns back to the door seeing a shadow outside the dorm door.

“You… called him over on your phone…”

Mark smirks back at you. “That’s right. This will show him who you truly love and belong to.”

He turns around pointing at the crimson lace that you wore before. “Oh by the way… you should wear this Crimson Lace more often. It suits you.”

NCT SMUT FICS.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu! Please reblog the fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out.

[tommysversion]

A Breath Of Fresh Air ( Veracruz x AFAB!F!Reader )

Summary: you get caught outside after curfew. Luckily for you, Veracruz is open to … negotiations. (This is basically a transcription of a dream I had. Whoops.)

CWs: DUBCON / Overstimulation / Double Penetration / Impact Play (Slapping & Spanking) / Degradation / Rough sex / Anal play / Unsafe PIV Sex / Oral Sex (M!Recieving) / Squirting / Extremely dirty talk / Transactional sex / Bordering on Dead Dove.

Notes: please read the warnings and consume content at your own risk & responsibility. Credit for giving Veracruz his first name goes to @ezras--moon & @ariundercovers 🩷

You just wanted some fresh air. A breather from the stuffy house you’d been confined to with the rest of your group. Generally, when a militia takes over town, you stay out of their way.

You’ve never been the smartest; rounding the corner of the alleyway, you almost walk right into him. Not just any asshole with a gun, but the leader of the unit. Fuck.

Leandro Veracruz isn’t a patient man, not really. He saves all limited patience for his job, to keep control over his unit and appear to be the cold, calculated leader that he is. You don’t rise to the rank he holds at the age he is, without being a little ruthless.

You’ve heard of his reputation. The way he doesn’t seem to care about cutting down anyone who gets in his way. You’re certain there has to be some sort of driving motive behind how he is; it’s rare for people to be the way he is without motive, but still.

“You’re out after curfew.”

You know that he is, undeniably, a bad guy, but nonetheless, that heavily accented, dark tone sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s that stupid, primal reaction that makes you choose honesty, rather than trying to craft a feasible lie.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just. I really needed some air.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realise how stupid you sound. It only serves to sink in further when he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You needed some air? After curfew? Did you consider maybe opening a window?” He’s tired; it’s late, and one of his people has come down with the flu, so he’s covering his patrol instead of sleeping. It’s made him a little more short tempered than usual. “You know you could be shot for this, yes?”

You visibly shrink in on yourself, and Leo almost feels bad. Almost. He knows what it’s like to be cooped up in a small space, can’t really blame you for wanting to get out, but the rules are the rules, and he has a reputation to protect.

“Are you going to shoot me?” You ask finally.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “If I was going to shoot you, pajarito, I would have done so by now. I am going to have to arrest you, though.”

You shiver again, thinking of the overcrowded cells in the local station, the lawlessness that goes on in there. You could be assaulted, stabbed, beaten, and nobody would blink an eye. Absolutely not. Which leaves…

“Maybe we can work out some sort of compromise?” The way you say the last word, the way you pause before you deliver it in a somewhat suggestive tone, makes it entirely clear to him what you mean.

Leandro has absolutely no trouble getting women; he knows he’s attractive, knows the right things to say and do. He’s not above paying for company, either. It’s been a while, though, given the latest operation, and frankly? You offering as a bribe is entertaining him… entertaining him and intriguing him.

He looks you up and down, then nods.

“I’m sure we could come up with some sort of deal, yes.” A lazy smirk crosses his face as his hand moves to almost caress the cuffs at his belt. “Do I need to cuff you, or are you going to follow me quietly?”

It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s armed; a handgun, a rifle, and a wicked looking knife sheathed in his belt.

“No, I’ll be good.”

“Good answer.” He nods approvingly, beckons you forward. He leads you through the alleyway, through a back gate into the little house he’s taken over as base; his people are inside, but his command centre outside is set up in a tent. It’s a durable, triple canvas layer thing built to withstand pretty much any weather.

Lit by a lantern swinging from the roof, it’s a practical, spartan, and yet somehow still cosy place. It doesn’t need to be furnished or fancy; he’s got a table, a gun locker, a duffle bag, and his bed in there. That’s all he needs.

The bed is a foam travel mattress laid out on stacked and nailed together pallets. No point carting a proper bed around on deployment. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do. It serves his purpose just fine, and given the circumstances, you aren’t about to complain.

You’ve seen him shoot people in the centre of town before. Seen the way his people handle things. The fact that he’s even taking this rather than just outright punishing you for breaking the law is a good sign… you think.

He puts both the handgun and the rifle in the gun locker, then turns back to you.

“Strip.” He moves past you to flop down onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and watching you lazily. For a moment, you consider running. You’d have a head start. But then he’d probably find you, and definitely shoot you. Besides, this was your idea.

You take your time removing each layer, trying to at least make it look somewhat enticing rather than awkward. You never quite know how people in movies manage to make stripping down for sex look enticing. Maybe you’re just clumsy.

When you’re entirely bare to his gaze, he beckons you over.

“Come here, tímida, I’m not going to hurt you… much.” A wicked grin crosses his stupidly handsome face as you nervously do as you’re told, letting him pull you onto his lap. A tiny squeak leaves you when you feel how hard he is against your core, the rough material of his cargo pants brushing against your sensitive skin.

Fuck. You’re terrified of him, yes, but you want him, you realise. Badly.

“Much?” You raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought the deal was you don’t hurt me at all.”

There’s that wicked grin again, sinfully smug this time.

“I won’t do anything you don’t beg me for.” His fingers grip your hips roughly, making you acutely aware of how much bigger than you he is. That does absolutely nothing to curb the desire that’s starting to build in you; this was supposed to be a transaction, a way to get yourself out of trouble, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’re going to enjoy this far more than you first expected.

“Is that right?” You manage a little smirk, lips parting in an embarrassingly needy moan when he deliberately grinds you down against the length of his cock. The very, very obvious length of him. Fuck.

His fingers wander inwards, splay across your thighs, thumbs rubbing across your skin.

“Careful…” he warns, but his voice is softer than he intended. Still, it does the trick, and you nod, pliable and submissive to his touch once more.

“That’s better…” He nods approvingly, keeps one hand holding you firmly in place while the other wanders almost lazily between your thighs, finding your swollen, aching clit and rubbing firmly. It’s not the touch of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, and briefly, a pang of envy strikes you as you think of how many other countless, nameless women have been turned to pliant mush under his touch.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he almost purrs it as he leans up so you’re chest to chest, “though it seems like you’re more than willing as it is…”

His fingers lazily drag through your slick, teasing your core, barely slipping inside. You whimper again, louder and needy at the feeling of the very tips of his callused fingers pressing inside you. You can feel your slick dripping onto his fingers, down his hand, coating his pants. Slowly, he presses his fingers in deeper, curling them enough to make you cry out, before he’s pulling them out, spreading your thighs wider, fingertips teasing your other hole, wet with your own slick.

You shiver under the touch, but you don’t flinch away.

“Knew it,” he almost mutters to himself, leaning in to drag his teeth down your throat. “Knew you were a dirty little whore. Bet you’re going to cum the second I slide my cock into this pretty little cunt.” He punctuates the last word with a sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out and flinch away. You don’t hate it, though, it just surprises you.

“Well? Are you just going to sit here and look pathetic?” His hands seize your wrists, drag your hands to his belt buckle and settle them there, leaving you no doubt as to what he wants you to do. You’d only been waiting for express permission, really, your hands making short work of the belt, unzipping his pants and reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock, freeing his length from its confines.

You have to bite down on your lip to keep your jaw from dropping. Fuck, he’s huge. Thick and curved and fuck, how is he going to fit? You run your fingers up and down his cock, thumb teasing at the tip before you meet his narrow eyed gaze.

“Stop fucking around.” He almost growls it at you, yanking you closer to him again, lifting you effortlessly so he can wrap his hand around his cock and notch it at your dripping entrance. “Montarlo, bebita.”

Ride it, baby. Oh, fuck, how you intend to.

The words are surprisingly soft as he guides you down onto him, inch by inch, letting you sink down onto him slowly. Your lips part in a filthy moan as you wriggle your hips, flush against him now. Taking a moment to breathe, you start to move, knowing he won’t just let you sit still for long.

You lift yourself up, slowly at first, then sink back down, getting faster with each movement until you’re bouncing on his cock, a string of little moans falling from your lips as one of his big hands seizes a fistful of your ass and squeezes tight, then slaps, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your cunt tightens painfully around him with each slap, knowing an imprint of his hand will be left there. Just when the slaps are really starting to hurt, he draws his hand away, settles both on your hips and guides you up and down his cock, rough and needy as his hips buck to meet you.

When he’s got you in a rhythm that he likes, he moves to rub at your clit again, clearly rewarding you for doing something that he likes. Veracruz doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t enjoying this, the way your eyes drop closed, the way you tighten around him every time he rocks his hips up.

You move your hands to brace on his chest as you ride him, lost in the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside you. Fuck, he feels so good, you don’t even care about the circumstances in which you ended up here, all that matters is the overwhelming feeling of pleasure building in you as you ride him.

“Fuck, please, give me more,” you beg him, desperate and needy and forgetting your place entirely. He’s not a good man, is allowing you to think you’re in charge because it amuses him, but the idea that he isn’t giving you enough somehow? Fine. He’ll see whether you can handle him.

He seizes your wrists in one hand, pushes you backwards and pins you beneath him, caging you in. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness where he’s pulled out of you.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you? I bet if I cuffed you to this bed and stuffed my cock down your throat you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper beneath him, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction on your aching clit, cunt pulsing with sheer need.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

You shake your head, and his open palm lightly collides with your cheek.

“Answer me. That’s not what you want, is it? So tell me what it is that you want, and maybe, maybe I’ll give it to you.” He drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, practising every step of self control he possesses not to just pin your thighs up under your chin and fuck you senseless.

“N-no, that’s not what I want.” Your cheek stings from the slap, but you love it, want him to be rough with you, want to feel him all over for days to come. And somehow, you know, that all you have to do is ask, and he’ll give it to you.

“Tell. Me.” He growls, leaning down to devour your lips in a heated kiss, knotting his fingers into your hair to yank your head to the side so he can suck a deep purple mark into the soft skin above your collarbone.

“I want you everywhere,” you tell him; he releases your wrists and immediately you move to undo his shirt, help him discard it before you drag your nails lightly up his back, “I want your beautiful fat cock stuffed inside me and your fingers in my ass. I want you to make it hurt, make it hurt so good I don’t want anyone else.”

Fuck. He practically growls at the words. Roughly spreads your thighs, hooks them up over his shoulders, lines himself up and plunges into you, making no effort to be slow, bottoming out almost immediately. The sting of your nails on the muscle of his back makes him think you’ve drawn blood, but he doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your eyes roll back slightly as he fills you, the way your tight, wet little cunt seemingly sucks him in deeper, molding to every curve in his cock as your body adjusts to him again.

“Is that all?” Veracruz demands as he rocks his hips slowly, drawing another tantalising moan from your lips.

“I want you to keep going, even when it’s too much.” You reply, arching your back up to get closer to him. You don’t care whether he’s a bad man, whether he could kill you, all that matters is how he feels inside you.

“Greedy,” he pulls almost entirely out of you and slams back in, throbbing painfully at the obscene mewl you make, “fucking,” he repeats the motion, “whore.”

He slams into you, hard and fast, the tent echoing with the sound of skin roughly slapping together, your needy moans and his growls and grunts of pleasure. His teeth graze your throat, the curve of your tits, sucking greedily at your hardened nipples and biting down lightly. Almost without warning, you tighten around him, milking his cock as you gush and soak his cock, your slick dripping out of your abused cunt, down his cock, dripping down his balls as he fucks you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, give me another one, go on~” he tilts his hips just so, the velvet soft head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust, making you scream out for him, soak him again, convulsing slightly beneath him.

“That’s it,” he groans, pulls out of you briefly just so he can flip you onto your front, pausing onto to stuff a pillow beneath you to prop you up at the angle he wants you.

“Fuck,” he draws it out into a long, drawn out groan as he sinks back into you, loving the way you feel on all fours, “look at you.”

One hand fists into your hair, yanking you up into position.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re still dazed from two back to back orgasms, but you nod as best you can. You hear the impact of his free hand on your ass before you feel it, a sharp crack that echoes through the tent.

“You answer me when I speak to you.”

“Y-yes. I’ll be good.” You almost whimper it as he starts to move, releasing your hair and rubbing soothing circles on your bruised ass.

You can feel your own slick still between your ass cheeks, unbothered when his big hands spread them gently as he fucks into you slowly.

“Does my pretty, pathetic little whore still want all of her holes filled?” His voice is slightly mocking as he teases his finger around the tight ring of muscle, making you shiver. “Is my cock not enough?”

“It is,” you whimper as he slams into you again, “but please… ‘m greedy, just wanna be filled up, please~”

You’re babbling, but neither of you care. You’re too cock drunk, and he fucking loves it.

“Such a good girl for me, you should have what you want…”

As he speaks, he presses a single finger into your ass, knuckle deep, slow enough to let you adjust. When you moan and try to press yourself back against him, wanting both his cock and his finger deeper, he chuckles low in his chest, draws his finger out only to press two back in.

You moan, loud, obscene, feeling so wonderfully, deliciously full as he starts to move his fingers in rhythm with his cock, scissoring them slightly to make you mewl and wriggle beneath him.

The hand that isn’t occupied with fucking your ass moves around to roughly palm at your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples as he fucks you, harder and faster, hand moving down to tease your clit.

It’s too much, but exactly what you wanted, tears springing to your eyes as you tighten and gush around his cock again and again, his fingers insistently plucking at your clit like a practised guitarist until you collapse on the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

“Please, I need~” you simultaneously want him to stop, and don’t, because you want him to come, want him to fill you up and make you ache with need.

“Does my little whore need something?” His voice is low, breathing slightly labored with the effort of keeping his own release at bay.

“Do you want to be filled with my cum? I’m not stupid, princesa, you can have it in your mouth or your ass, I’ll be generous and let you decide.”

Slowly he draws his fingers out of your ass, slowing his thrusts to torturously languid, giving you time to decide.

“My mouth, please,” you beg him, “I wanna taste you…”

He groans, pulls out of you and smirks slightly at the sight; your cunt is swollen from how roughly he’s fucked you, drenched in your own slick and fluids and his pre cum.

“Hands and knees.” He instructs as he gets up off the bed, beckons you to the edge of it as you obey, crawling to him on shaking limbs.

You part your lips obediently, let him feed every inch of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking at the soft head briefly before you take him, nose brushing the soft curls at the base of him.

He moans, a loud, drawn out grunt as he rocks his hips. He’s so fucking close, you barely need to do anything, but you do, sucking him greedily, working your tongue around him as his fingers curl into your hair, roughly guiding you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, my pretty little whore, you have such a filthy mouth, ‘m gonna cum down this pretty mouth, you’re gonna take it, take all of it…” he groans, trailing off into broken Spanish as his hips stutter, spilling hot, thick ropes of his spend into your mouth, down your throat.

Greedily you drink him down, make a show of licking him clean, and he groans in appreciation at the sight.

When he eventually pulls his slowly softening cock from your mouth, you look up at him with a slightly cheeky smile on your face.

“So… I’m guessing you’re not gonna shoot me?”

“No.” He agrees, and then a slightly wicked grin curves his face, “but I’m not letting you go, either.”

Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe you’re just cock drunk, or maybe you’ve never been the smartest. Either way, you look him up and down with a sleepy smile.

“Seems okay to me.”

Like you have a choice. Like you really mind, either way.

[hisunshiine]

—i kiss your waist and ease your mind [6/7]

Part 6 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut 🗓️rating: M 🗓️wc: 6,323 + text message 🗓️warnings: angst, mentions of Gwangju Uprising, casualties from the Uprising, hospitals, argument, hurt feelings, minor character death, grief explicit sexual content: unprotected sex, creampie, grief/comfort sex?   🗓️an 0.5: WELL, THE POST WAS ACCIDENTALLY DELETED AND ONLY SHOWS IN CERTAIN SITUATIONS, SO I HAD TO RE-UPLOAD. 🗓️an: well, well, well…back again for some pain, are you? I would apologize for how this ends, but it’s necessary for the set up of the final day of the week, and truly, I think it makes the final day that much more better if we have to hurt a little bit more, right? Thank you for reading, and again, I appreciate my beta readers for all of their help!   🗓️summary: “i kiss your waist and ease your mind.” The only thing that could make you feel better is the same thing that made you feel worse. You and Jungkook are both confused with your emotions, but two different stories help you both see a bit more clearly. The only problem is that when the two of you get around each other, clarity goes bye-bye. don’t let these soft lyrics fool you; make up sex doesn’t actually solve any issues if sex is the only communication that happens.  

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe @bbtsficrecs @jk97bam it’s not letting me tag you (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

Last night could not have been any worse for Jungkook—well, he’s sure it could have—but luckily the worst that could’ve been, had not come to be. Today, however, is proving itself to be a challenge in its own right. Jungkook knew he had to work early in the morning, but was alright with going out last night because he was with you. 

Last night honestly had been turning into a great night—the way you had silently laid your claim to him at the club, possessive of him in a healthy way—Jungkook thought things were progressing in the right direction. And clearly, you did, too. Hell, he knew he was all over you last night. Knew that he was taking a huge risk in advancing the relationship past friends with benefits when he threw all caution out the window to kiss you like that in front of your friends, but at the time, Jungkook didn’t care. 

And now? Well, that would be a different story, seeing as now that several people know that you’re the one he’s been fucking every night, they might all think something more should come from this situation. Jungkook doesn’t know what to tell them if they ask, and he’s been avoiding Jimin every chance he gets during his shift so far, because he doesn’t really know what to say. He walks to the nurses station to grab his oversized water bottle, drinking several large gulps before being interrupted. 

“Jeon, we have a case that’s just moved over to us, can you help?” Park Soo-hyun, the head nurse for the shift, asks him. As he lowers the semi-transparent canister, he takes in her cotton candy pink hair, which is mussed in a few places; the corners of her eyes are pinched with stress.

“Yeah, no problem.” Jungkook sets the bottle back on the shelf, and follows the shorter Nurse Park down the hallway to the right of the nurses station and watches as she pauses at the elevators to press the call button. Jungkook slows his walk and raises an eyebrow at his fellow nurse. 

“Sorry, we need the help on another unit,” she shrugs, elbow extending her arm to pass Jungkook a slim tablet with the patient's info pulled up. 

“Honestly, that’s perfect.” Escaping to a different floor means almost zero percent chance of Jungkook running into Jimin, so he strolls into the elevator with no regrets. 

Jungkook scrolls past the general information to see just exactly what he’s dealing with as the metal carriage rises. 

His heart breaks a little when he sees that this case is a hospice care one—a focus on the quality of life at the end of it. He follows Nurse Park, barely noticing as he puts one foot after the other, approaching the room. There are several acronyms listed in bold to the left of the door. This clues him into the fact that the goal has shifted from treatment care to comfort. 

Jungkook sees a sleeping, elderly woman in the hospital bed closest to the window, her grey hair pulled away from her face in a short ponytail. Next to her side is a similarly (he assumes) aged man, holding her wrinkled hand in his own. It is a sight that tugs at Jungkook’s heart; he doesn’t usually struggle with the elderly, just small children who end up in this unit, but with how he’s currently feeling about you, he thinks it's impacting him more than he’s used to. 

“Mr. Kim? This is Nurse Jeon. He’ll be with you and your wife for most of today,” Soo-Hyun says kindly as she pats Jungkook’s back in a motherly nature. “Please let him know if you need anything, okay?” She passes Jungkook a small phone, which he pockets, and leaves him in the sunlit room. He steps closer, pulling up the doctor’s chair to sit; a small, rolling, cushioned stool in hospital green. He glances at their names on the whiteboard. Patient: Jung Min-Ji, Spouse: Kim Tae-Woo.

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jungkook starts, voice gentle and quiet so as not to disturb the sleeping woman.

“Hello,” Mr. Kim replies, voice weathered with time and wisdom. “We’re okay, son, you don’t need to sit with this old man.”

Jungkook is no stranger to the phrases the older generation tend to say when in this position. The feelings of being a burden on the hospital staff, guilt for brief thoughts blaming their loved one for being in this position, grief that they could possibly lose their loved one—they’re all valid emotions, and a lot for a person to bear. Especially an elderly man who appears to be carrying this weight alone. Instead of responding to his statement, Jungkook changes the topic. “How did the two of you meet?”

The man’s eyes sparkle to life as he looks at Jungkook’s eager face. “Oh, we’ve known each other since we were kids. She was the most beautiful girl in the village, and I was just some dumb kid who followed her around like a puppy. She’s older than me, you see, and I was the annoying little brother of her best friend.” He smiles fondly at her sleeping form, and Jungkook feels his chest grow tight. “She used to hate my guts. My friends and I would terrorize her and her friends, pull their ponytails, leave frogs in their backpacks, all the terrible things thirteen-year-old boys would do to pretty girls they were afraid to talk to.”

“No wonder she hated you, Mr. Kim!” Jungkook laughs. “I’m guessing you finally stopped tormenting her if she ended up married to you?” Jungkook points out.

“Yes, yes.” The man chortles fondly as he reminisces. “I finally grew up, and realized that treating her badly was not the way to her heart. A little too late, though. She ended up married to some other punk in the neighborhood. He wisened up a little faster than I did, told her how he felt one winter, and they were married by the time the cherry blossoms bloomed.” He sighs, and Jungkook tilts his head, questioning. “Oh, I was distraught. I couldn’t do anything about it, though, I realized that I missed my chance, busy playing games. I ended up married to one of her friends, and well, we spent the next fifteen years circling each other.”

“Wow, that must’ve been hard to deal with.” Jungkook can’t imagine being in his shoes. Or well, he can, but he doesn’t want to imagine that future for himself. Doesn’t want to see a future where he stands in suit and tie to take wedding photos, and it’s not you next to him in them.

“Oh, I loved her enough, my ex-wife, but I think she always knew deep down that she wasn’t…she wasn’t Min-Ji.” Jungkook can see his hand tighten imperceptibly around his wife’s frail one. “We never had kids, and when I came home from work one day to find her waiting with her things packed...I think I always knew that day would come.”

“So, how did you end up winning over Min-Ji?” Jungkook is intrigued by the man’s story. He doesn’t know what he would do in this situation.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that. She was thirty-two with a new-born daughter, and left a widow after the Gwangju Uprising. Her husband was one of the many lost that summer. I was freshly twenty-eight, newly single, with an empty house, and still in love with her. I stepped up as her friend, offering her and her daughter a place to live and slowly we became a family. I asked her to marry me a couple years later and she said yes.” Kim Tae-Woo’s eyes water, and even in the dimly lit room, Jungkook can see the love he has for the woman in front of him. 

“That’s an amazing story, Mr. Kim. I’m glad you found each other.”

“Oh, me too. She’s given me everything I never knew I wanted. Three children and the best forty-three years of my life. She’s my everything.” He turns back to Jungkook, a look on his face that he can’t read. “Do you have someone, Nurse Jeon? Someone you love more than your own life?”

The question throws Jungkook for a loop, because the whole time his patient’s spouse was telling their story, there was only one person who crossed his mind. You. He hesitates to answer, but Mr. Kim was honest with him, and Jungkook is sure that he can be vulnerable with this man, too. 

“Yeah, I think I do.”

—————

“Stop staring at your phone and moping, oh my god.” Yoongi rolls his eyes at your mood, whispering to Leah about how you’re the rain cloud following them around, ready to ruin the wedding tomorrow. 

You glance at the message one last time before locking your phone and stuffing it into your hoodie’s front pocket. 

You hate that you and Jungkook ended the night like you did, even more that he didn’t text you his usual morning text. The thumbs-up emoji haunted your dreams last night, and you barely slept, waking up throughout the night. The bags under your eyes reflect the nightmares, a fact your annoying little brother enjoyed pointing out when they picked you up at 10 AM.

-10 am flashback

“Shush Yoongi!” Leah berated him gently, “need I remind you how you looked after our almost break-up?”

“Hey! I thought we promised never to bring that up again!” Yoongi pouted the whole trip to the wedding venue for the final review of the plans. 

-end

You sit back in the chair, your head facing away from the floor-to-ceiling window of the wedding venue, wishing not for the first (or even second) time that things had gone down differently last night. Sorting through all of your feelings is a lot harder than you thought it would be. Especially with your brother’s looming nuptials while seated in a decorated wedding hall. 

“I’m not moping, jackass.” You pick at non-existent lint on the sleeve of your hoodie before tilting your head back and allowing the hood to fall off. “I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We’re almost done. Leah is just dropping off the last of the checks for the vendors, and we are running through the ‘Day-Of’ itinerary one last time with the planner. Then we can grab some lunch, and you can fill us in on the troubles running through that head of yours.”

“Sushi?” You make your eyes big and pout your bottom lip as you turn your head to look your brother in the face. He looks good; his hair is freshly done with an undercut cropped close to his head and the top layers falling in organized, chaotic layers. He has a healthy glow about him that screams ‘happy and in love’, that makes you feel wisps of green envy. His face breaks out into a smile, eyes disappearing in delight. 

“Of course, princess. Whatever you want, if it means you’ll be in a better mood.”

Hearing Yoongi call you ‘princess’ reminds you of Jungkook, and you turn away again, hiding your crestfallen look as Leah walks back into the room with the wedding planner. Yoongi leaves you to join his soon-to-be wife’s side, shaking hands with the wedding planner as they bid her goodbye and motion for you to meet them at the exit. 

Finally supplied with sustenance, you feel a little better as you chew and swallow the tempura-fried shrimp drizzled in spicy aioli sauce. Though that feeling dissipates a bit when Yoongi sets a deliberate gaze on you. 

“Spill it. I know you're moping about Jungkook, but what happened? Do I have to kill him?” he attempts to make you smile, but the joke falls flat with you today. 

“To be honest, it all happened really fast. One second we were good, really good. And then he just kind of shut down and called me a taxi and kicked me out at like 2 AM.”

“Wait, that dickhead kicked you out at 2 AM? I should fucking kill him! What if something had happened to you?” Yoongi’s ears are red and his eyes glint in anger. Leah reaches out a hand to soothe him as you speak quickly to do the same.

“Nothing happened to me. I’m a big girl, Yoongi. I’m pretty sure I said some hurtful things to him, and if the situation was reversed, I would’ve asked him to leave, too. If I had been a little more sober, I probably would’ve left on my own volition instead of getting into an argument.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Leah cuts in tentatively, “you do like Jungkook, right? Like not just as a friend?”

Your face says everything your mouth won’t as you shift in your seat. Leah nods knowingly, and Yoongi takes a deep breath. 

“Okay. You’ve already told Mom and Dad that you’re dating him or whatever, so what’s holding you back from taking that step with him if you like him so much?”

It takes everything in you to not cut your eyes at him. You see Leah cover her mouth; the mirth there doesn’t match the situation, but she can’t help but feel like her very smart and emotionally aware fiance is missing some important social factors. You don’t blame her for the smile, in fact, you welcome it, knowing full well that she gets it.

“What’s holding me back? Maybe that conversation with Mom earlier this week, where she nagged at me for being single and not giving her grandkids, and then when I told her I was seeing someone, she ridiculed Jungkook’s age? Or how about the fact that the stupid goth art teacher talked shit about how young Jungkook was?” You shake your head, defeated. “Everyone judges the relationship between me and Jungkook, before it’s even a relationship. So what happens when it is real?”

“What changed?” Leah’s brows are furrowed, and you can see her mind sorting through the information you’ve given, or lack thereof. “Something must have happened to make what you had going no longer work for either of you, right?”

You decide to trust them both and tell the truth of what happened.

“So after we left the club, we went back to his place since it was late. Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are now fully aware that there’s something between me and Jungkook because he wasn’t exactly subtle. To be fair, I didn’t stop him either, so I guess if I’m being honest, we weren’t exactly subtle. We get back to his place, and it’s business as usual.” Yoongi grimaces as he reaches for his whiskey, downing the entire thing as you skim most of the sex, though a memory surfaces as you let the night replay in your mind. 

“Oh god!” You slap your hands to your face, covering your mouth. “I just remembered…I kind of let slip that I loved him while having sex,” you mumble into your hands, head dropping down in embarrassment. “And then right afterwards he’s receiving a ‘you up?’ text from SoHee—with a fucking topless picture!—and I just lost it. There was an argument, which I honestly can barely remember what was said. We were both so mad, you know?”

“Wow, no wonder you were mad. I’m guessing he didn’t say anything about your confession,” Leah questions, validating your feelings in a way that warms your heart. You definitely think you and your new sister-in-law (as of tomorrow) will get along great.

“No, he didn’t. And it’s not even that he has to say it back or anything, I didn’t say it for that reason, but the fact that we just had—”

“Please don’t say it again!” Yoongi interrupts.

“I wasn’t! Anyways, the fact that we just had such an intimate moment happen, and here comes SoHee texting Jungkook her perky tits asking if he’s awake? I know a booty call text when I see one.” 

“Wait, but you just said SoHee texted it to Jungkook, right?” Yoongi sits back, a quizzical look on his face. “So, he got a text from SoHee and you got jealous. But I’m gonna be that person right now and point out to you that technically, you and Jungkook aren’t together.”

“Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Anyways, we were in the bathroom,” you think back through the specifics. “His phone went off, and he set it down to dry my hair, and then it went off again. The message lit up his phone, so I saw the text from SoHee.”

“Sis, you know I love you, but I think you’re jumping to conclusions. It sounds like Jungkook was just the recipient of the messages, not necessarily the instigator. Guys can receive unsolicited tit pics just as much as women get dick pics. People just think all men are horny 24/7, but we also can feel uncomfortable in these situations. If we’re at work or start dating someone new, and an old flame sends us a ‘you up’ text or sends nudes? Not to mention, sometimes we just aren’t attracted to the people sending us stuff. It causes issues no one asked for.” 

Yoongi’s eyes show no malice as he speaks a truth you’re upset with yourself for not realizing in that drunken stupor, or even in the light of today. “Jungkook’s hot, you know? He could’ve just been the recipient of unsolicited nudes. He might actually get quite a few that he ignores, because that man is high-key in love with you.” 

“Honestly, I’ve seen you and Jungkook together, and I agree. Who cares what other people think, especially the ones who don’t know either of you well enough and shouldn’t matter enough to sway your happiness with each other.” Leah looks at Yoongi, and he takes her hand gently. “This wedding tomorrow will not be my first one, but it’s the one that matters the most to me. Your brother loves me on a level that I never knew was possible, thanks to my ex, and though our age gap isn’t as big as yours with Jungkook, I’m still older than him. Both of these are things your mom took issue with, but you know your brother.” She looks over to him with a fondness you understand. It’s how you look at Jungkook. “The only thing that matters is what you and Jungkook want. I know it’s not easy, but it’s infinitely worth it.”

By the time Jungkook finishes a sponge-bath and documents the care Min-Ji received during this time, he realizes it’s past the typical lunch time and that the husband has yet to eat. The three children he mentioned live on the other side of the country, but are traveling now to be with their parents. He had hoped they would arrive earlier with the promised food Mr. Kim is waiting for, but Jungkook insists he get something to hold the man over for the time being. He reminds him of which buttons to press to contact the phone in Jungkook’s pocket, then heads to the canteen.

The employees share the cafeteria area with the visiting families of patients, and it is bustling quite a bit as Jungkook exits the elevators straight into the lobby of the cafe. To the left, the room extends into a seating area once past the cashier lines, and Jungkook sees the moment SoHee spots him through the crowd. 

He’s tired of hiding from people—tired of hiding from his feelings, really—so he decides not to run away this time. If SoHee decides to talk about the messages she sent last night, he will address it and let her down easily. They’re still friends, in Jungkook’s mind, so he smiles at her as she approaches him, soft pink scrubs swishing lightly from her quick steps.

“I am so excited about the wedding tomorrow!”

Jungkook can tell; her smile is glowing. Once upon a time, he might’ve been enthralled by it, it’s still a beautiful smile, and it sucks to know that he might be the reason it fades in a few moments.

“Yeah, me too. I actually wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Yes, that’s why I came over here, in fact, so we could finish coordinating and—”

“SoHee, wait.” Jungkook knows he’s being rude, cutting her off, but the longer she stands there, grinning up at him like that, the more his chest feels tight. “I can’t be your date for the wedding.”

As he predicted, the rosy apples of SoHee’s cheeks lower along with her smile as she processes his words.

“I don’t think I understand?” She's polite as she speaks, head quirked to the side as if showcasing her confusion, but Jungkook is no fool to the glint of a woman’s eye as she braces for battle. 

“I know that it took me a lot longer than I promised to get back to you about this, but I’ve only just figured things out myself, and I just don’t want to string you along.”

“What have you been doing then, if not stringing me along?” SoHee crosses her arms across her chest, stance shifting to one of defensiveness. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, Jungkook, but from my point of view, it kind of seems like you’ve been doing exactly what you claim you don’t want to do.”

Jungkook sighs, restraining himself from rolling his eyes at her words and tone. He can’t help but feel that SoHee is being a bit dramatic—it’s not like he was the one who started all this wedding date talk, and he never even agreed to be her date! He did put off turning her down, but she’s the one who texted him to say he didn’t need to feel obligated to take her. And then she sends nudes and a booty-call text message at the worst possible moment last night and wants to get mad at him?

“Look, SoHee, I know that you probably feel like I’m the bad guy in this, but—”

“You’re an asshole, Jungkook.” SoHee’s voice carries a little too well, and other nurses standing nearby tune into the conversation. He really hates public confrontation like this, especially when he didn’t do anything wrong, and yet, here he is dealing with this bullshit.

Jungkook doesn’t mean the words he says in the way that they come out, but he feels cornered. “What do you want me to say, SoHee? ‘I’m sorry that I like somebody else’? Or possibly, I’m sorry that you sending me nudes I never asked for at 2 AM fucked up my relationship?” He probably could’ve said it with a little less attitude, probably should’ve held back from the second example, especially when he sees the way SoHee’s eyes begin to fill with tears as she looks at all of the gawking bystanders. One of the other nurses walks over and places an arm around SoHee’s shoulder, glaring daggers at Jungkook as if willing him to keel over on the glossy linoleum. 

“You really are an asshole, Jeon. Why would you say that to someone, in front of a crowd? You have no tact.” 

Jungkook is about to fire back at the other woman, but a hand on his shoulder reigns him back in despite his blood continuing to boil.

“Janice, why don’t you escort SoHee to the employee lounge for a bit? I’ll have a chat with Jungkook here.”

Frozen eyes sending a final chilling glare, the women disappear as Jungkook finally moves through the cafe line to the cashier, Jin following quietly. He continues to shadow Jungkook as he makes his way back to the palliative care and hospice unit to deliver the food. As he rounds the doorway, he sees that the patient’s adult children have arrived, a few grandchildren as well. 

To his surprise, Min-Ji is awake, but this only makes him worry about what’s to come. He sets the food to the side, greeting the members of Min-Ji’s family as he does a quick check of Min-Ji’s breathing. The pattern appears abnormal—though normal for someone approaching the end of life. He’s glad her family made it in time to see her; he knows that before the day is out, possibly even before his shift ends, she’ll quietly cross the veil.

Jungkook slips back out of the room to give the family some privacy, and to meet with Jin, who he knows is waiting for him. The two men walk to a nearby empty nurses’ desk, and Jungkook waits expectantly for Jin to speak. 

“Well, that went swimmingly.”

“All thanks to you, my friend,” Jungkook responds snidely, “not only is SoHee mad at me, I’m also not talking to You-Know-Who right now because of a pretty serious fight we had last night.”

“Calm down, she’s not Voldemort,” Seokjin snorts out. “But you two fought about something serious?”

“Yeah…She was at my place last night and saw a series of messages from SoHee that included a nude. She kind of went spastic on me, accusing me of requesting the nudes from SoHee after having sex with her because I’m ‘too young’ to behave any differently. I honestly was so angry, I called her a taxi and sent her home.” 

Seokjin blinks at Jungkook dumbfoundedly before speaking. “Maybe if you’d already told our dear friend you’re banging his sister, and then told her that you want to date her, none of this would have even been able to happen.”

“This advice would’ve been better than encouraging SoHee’s imagination,” Jungkook grumbles out, though his voice takes a softer tone when he says your name as he continues, “if she had wanted to date her brother’s youngest friend, I think she would’ve said something by now.”  The condescension towards the age gap is laced through every word. Seokjin ponders his words before speaking his point of view.

“You know, I think that maybe the two of you put too much weight on this age gap. Even now, you’re taking on this submissive role, waiting for her to tell you or make the first move. But let me tell you a little something about women. No matter their age, they want someone who isn’t afraid to want them back. And you, my friend, are shaking in your scrubs.”  

“I’m not scared,” Jungkook instantly defends, but even he can hear the lie whistle through his teeth.

“Then why are you waiting for her to make all the decisions? Why haven’t you had an adult conversation, sat her down, and told her what you wanted for a change?”

“Because I—” Jungkook pauses, unsure of how to answer. In all realness, he is scared. He enjoys what the two of you have going on, and he worries that if he speaks up for what he wants, if he asks you to change the friends-with-benefits status to something real…being incinerated by the sun after being lit on fire by jet engine fuel would hurt less than the hypothetical rejection he fears. 

Seokjin just gives him a knowing look, his eyes soft with empathy for his younger friend's dilemma. “Just talk to her. Show her you want her, and not just in a friends-with-benefits way.” He once again gives Jungkook that knowing look. “Tomorrow is the perfect opportunity to clear the air. Everyone loves a good wedding.”

“Except SoHee is also going to be there.”

Seokjin curses lowly under his breath and is about to say more when Jungkook’s phone begins to emit a shrill tone for attention. The two men silently make their way back to Min-Ji’s room, knowing that if the phone is ringing, it’s not for any good reason.

It’s been a long day full of revelations. The long talk with your brother and his soon-to-be wife has left you feeling drained and empty. Sitting on your couch, you open up the app to order food from your favorite takeout place barely a block away. Carelessly, you reorder the last meal you placed before slumping backwards into the plush cushions. 

Now that you’ve ordered, you really wish you had chosen delivery, like the lazy ass you want to be, but it’s not that far from your place. You close your eyes for what feels like a moment, but an alert jerks you out of the light slumber you’d slipped into. Your food is ready to be picked up. Sighing, you rock back then forward to lift yourself from the sunken spot on your comfortable couch and shrug on Jungkook’s hoodie for the trek. 

The weather teases a light rainfall, the petrichor scent enveloping you as you quicken your steps through the glass door of the establishment. Approaching the counter, the cashier recognizes you and pulls your order—two plastic bags with a brown paper bag inside each full of steaming hot food.

Checking the receipt stapled to the first bag, you see that you’ve accidentally ordered twice as much food; your last placed order was a meal for two, and the extra food? Jungkook’s favorite dishes from here. With resignation, you grab both bags, attempting to balance them on each forearm and use your foot to push open the door, but the door swings open as a man with an umbrella steps through. 

Jungkook says your name as if it's a curse and a prayer, sidestepping back onto the sidewalk to hold the door for you to exit. You thank him, fully intending to keep walking past him, but he follows you instinctively. 

“Let me help,” he says, his hand reaching out to grab one of the bags, and like muscle memory, you allow it, both of you walking in tandem until you reach your place. Unlocking the front door, he follows you in if only to set down the bag, but you stop him with a hand to his wrist before he can leave. 

“I, uh, accidentally ordered your favorites when I rushed my last reorder. You can have it, if you want. I can’t eat all of this.”

Jungkook just shrugs, and you finally notice how he looks. It’s not good—well, he always looks good; he can pull off anything. It’s more so that he doesn’t look well; his face is pale, eyes listless and devoid of any joy, parts of his face a bright red from being picked at. It’s one of his habits you’re well aware of, like when he bites his nails when nervous. Reaching into the bag, you lift out the container and pass it to him along with napkins and utensils. Taking the food from you, he steps into your living room, plopping down onto your couch as if muscle memory has taken over, he takes off the lid and begins the motions of eating the meal.

Your own thoughts are racing, unsure of what to do or say, so you just say nothing, instead pouring two glasses of water and delivering them to the coffee table before going back for your food. You end up sitting on the smaller couch, the corner closest to where he sits on the larger couch. The room fills with the sounds of you eating, an awkwardness that never used to be there lingering in the air. Your eyes flit from your food to Jungkook’s slow movements, so after you swallow your most recent bite, you take a sip of water before speaking.

“Is everything okay, Jungkook?” The urge to call him ‘baby’—to cuddle him to you and comfort him—is strong, but you resist.

His hand moves the food around a bit, and you watch him as he gathers himself to reply. It feels like hours, but he finally looks at you. “Yeah, I just had a really hard case today. It was a hospice patient, and I spent most of the day with her husband. Well, second husband—but the love of her life, I’m sure.” 

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say; you’re not really sure what made the case so hard, so you wait for Jungkook to elaborate.

“They, uh, knew each other for a long time, since they were kids, you know? But he was the younger brother of her best friend, and she married someone else before he worked up the courage to pursue her. He ended up married to one of her friends instead, but she left him. He said his first wife knew that no one could compete with the girl he actually loved. So when the first husband died in the Gwangju Uprising, leaving her a single mom with a small baby, he stepped in to provide them with a place to live and just help out, but they ended up together eventually and they have a big family.” Jungkook’s eyes look back at his food, a bit teary. “I met their kids and grandkids. They arrived right before she—” he clears his throat, but a small tear sneaks down his cheek.

You reach out for him, pulling the food from his hands and placing it on the table. You scoot closer to him, taking his hands into yours as he looks down at where the two of you connect. He sniffles, trying to stabilize his voice before he continues with his story.

“They arrived right before she passed. She’d been asleep the whole time I was there with her husband, but once everyone arrived, she woke up and was talking to them all, told them she loved them one last time, and then she just…slipped away. I don’t think I can ever forget the sound her husband made as he cried.”

“Oh, Jungkook…” unable to bear it, you join him on the same couch, holding him close to you as he cries. Your own eyes are wet; something about this couple’s story resonates with you after everything that you’ve experienced today.

“I can’t imagine going through that,” Jungkook says with a wobbly voice. “Losing the person that you love the most in the world? I mean, he almost avoided having to go through this, she married someone else! And the chance comes around for him to be with her and he takes it, but the way he cried when he lost her…I’m not sure it’s worth it in the end.” 

His words cut like a knife to your heart. You want to remind him of the good that he told in the story, how the couple had a large family, how the wife was surrounded by the evidence of their love when she died. How the man taking that second chance meant a single mom and her baby had a better life—that anguish he felt when he lost her was because they shared a love like no other. To you, it’s always worth it. 

Instead of saying what you want to say, you ask him what he needs. And those beautiful teary eyes look up at you and he whispers one word; “You,” and you’re unable to say no to him. Not when his lips meet yours with a desperation that you can’t begin to decipher, not when his hands pull you closer, and he clings to you like a lifeline, and definitely not when he sighs out your name against your lips, as if the simple utterance fills him with solace and relief of all that ails him.

His strong hands relieve you of your clothing as his lips remain fervently attached to yours. You relish in the feel of him as your naked form meets his own body, skin to skin, while he lays you back onto the couch. His kiss leaves you dazed; you have no idea how long it took for you both to end up naked, and by the time the question is flying through your mind, Jungkook is already nestled between your thighs, his cock hard and throbbing pressed against your lower stomach and your ankles crossed at his lower back.

When he pulls away slightly—reaching to line himself up with your slick opening—you bite his bottom lip where it was resting against your own, and the sensation causes him to surge his hips forward, fucking himself deep inside you. The intrusion is orgasmic, stretching you to a fullness you only experience when he doesn’t take time to prep you. Jungkook is needy, fraught with a raw emotion he can’t yet put words to, but his body can.

With each stroke, he finds comfort, the grip of your walls building the friction to a pleasurable high that he wants to drown in. Is there anything better to ease his mind than to be buried inside of you? He knows you're close, can feel the way you quicken—hurtling towards climax as you dig your nails into his back and cry out his name. Your body wrapped around him brings him a level of peacefulness that allows his mind to empty and his heavy cock to release thick spurts of cum until you're full and leaking around his softening member. 

You lay underneath him, holding him close as his chest rises and falls, and he peppers kisses along your shoulder. His movements are slow and you can feel the effects of the day taking over and pulling him into sleep. He slides his body so that the two of you are back to front, him curling around you as the big spoon. He grasps the blanket you keep across the top of the couch and attempts to cover you both, but you take over for him. 

He drops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest as he kisses the back of your head once more. 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he mutters before he’s softly snoring, and you lay there in his embrace, contemplating what his apology could be for. 

Was he apologizing for sending you home last night? For that thumbs up he sent that ruined your day? Because he feels bad that he only made you cum once after using your body to make himself feel better?  It’s only when you’re about to drift off that you remember his words about his patient, and your mind wonders if his apology is telling you sorry because he can’t give you what you want the most. Himself.

stay tuned for “i’ll be loving you right, seven days a week” coming 9-?-2023!

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