#i could cut my work in half by making him get killed at the end of ch2. lmao

[obscuraimagines]

i love your work!!! do you have ao3? also i was wondering if you could do one where reader is the one who catches kodiak when they ran away after lottie killed edwin. thank you

A/N: Thank you Anon, that’s so kind!!! And thank you so much for this request! I was trying to make it different from the Bite Me Reader and it ended up going in a really unexpected direction. I hope you enjoy it!

This prompted me to set up a new AO3 account here under the name SilvaObscura. (This sideblog is actually my first time writing smut and the first fanfic I’ve written in years, so I wanted a fresh start lmao.) 

Summary: Set during Croak. Desperate for rescue, you pray to the Wilderness to let you find Kodiak first. The Wilderness grants your wish. It expects something in return. 

Content: Smut, drugged sex (both parties), dubcon/dubious consent, sex pollen elements, hallucinations, ambiguous supernatural elements, ambiguous rational explanation. Intended for readers over 18. Mature content under the cut.

You sing and the Wilderness sings back. 

It’s like the sound rises up from the ground and through you, borrowing your voice to make audible what has always been there. You feel the note vibrating through you, filling you until you feel your edges blurring. Bitterness lingers on your tongue from the tea Lottie gave you. Everything feels heightened: colours are brighter, the dark is darker, the world shimmers like a mirage. You’re no longer a girl: you’re a creature of sound and darkness. The firelight, the trees, the ground beneath your toes all feel as much a part of you as your physical body. You feel a surge of euphoria so strong it lifts you out of yourself. You can feel the Wilderness take notice of you: it’s like a quiet place opens inside your mind, a listening presence inviting you to speak into it. You focus your whole being into one word. Rescue.

Kodiak appears suddenly and silently, like a vision. You stop mid-spin, staggered by your own momentum, a wordless song dying in your throat. The Wilderness spoke to Lottie, then Travis and Akilah. Now it’s speaking to you. He’s limned in firelight, the one bright thing in the darkness, as though he’s the only thing that’s real. Your world sharpens to a pinpoint. He’s here for you: the answer to your prayer. 

You walk towards him. It feels like being in a dream: time stretches, dilates. Your body feels heavy but you feel light, as though the rest of you is somewhere else. You’re barely aware of your teammates dancing around you except as obstacles. The Wilderness howls and you feel your own blood rising to meet it, every fibre of you taut and expectant. You feel his gaze lock on to you as though it’s a physical charge, the intensity almost too much to bear. He’s staring at you with the same mixture of fear and wonder you think must be reflected on your own face. 

You reach out and touch him. You were half expecting your hand to pass through him like smoke. Instead, your palm splays across the muscle of his chest. He grabs your wrist hard: his reflexes are so fast you barely see him move. He doesn’t seem to know what to do when you don’t resist him. You feel his heartbeat trapped beneath your palm. 

You barely notice the others’ singing taper off into silence. Then the screaming starts: it’s ugly, discordant, nothing like what came before. You feel the vision fade but he’s still there, as though he followed you out of it. You only register the presence of the other two strangers when you see Lottie bury an axe in the other man’s head. 

Suddenly everyone’s shouting. You turn to Kodiak but he shoves you so hard you fall backwards. An arrow tears the air above your head; behind you someone howls in pain. Kodiak and the strange woman run. Panic strikes you. It isn’t supposed to happen like this. 

You take off after him, knowing it’s hopeless. You’ll never get to him before the others: Shuana is too fast, Lottie too surefooted, Taissa too strong. You sprint into the darkness, muttering desperate pleas as your lungs burn: please let me find him first, please don’t let them hurt him. I’ll do anything, give you anything, please.

You see a white shape between the trees, crowned in antlers, her face veiled. You veer sideways to avoid her but a tree root snags your ankle, sending you pitching towards the forest floor. You throw a hand out to catch yourself and a sharp stone slices through your palm. 

“Lottie?” you gasp. But it’s not Lottie. It’s not Shauna either. The eyes that meet yours through the veil are ancient, inhuman. She holds a hand out to you, the palm slick with blood, and you’re too stunned to do anything but reach out to take it. 

The second your fingers brush hers, the world lurches sideways. You’re on your feet again, running. You can’t remember how you got here. Your senses are so sharp it’s almost painful: everything is too much. In the near distance, you hear your teammates’ hunting cries and closer the sound of someone running. Kodiak. Your body takes over, surging forwards. You catch him at the exact point in his stride to knock him off balance, tackling him to the ground. 

He rolls, pinning you underneath him. There’s a hunting knife pressed in a cold line against the soft skin of your throat. 

“What the fuck is happening?” he hisses. “Who are you?”

“I can hide you,” you blurt. “Please. I want to go home.”

Kodiak angles the knife, the tip pressing against your pulse point. “Why should I believe you?”

Your teammates call to each other, closer now. They’re all around you, closing in. You glance around to get your bearings and realise where you are. Of course the Wilderness would guide you here. 

“You can’t get away from them. Please. There’s a cave…”

Kodiak gets up, yanking you after him. He pins you against him with one arm, the flat edge of the hunting knife pressed against your throat like a warning. 

The cave seems more sinister at night: an endless swallowing mouth cut into the mountainside. You feel a clawing panic as you hear one of their birdcalls, less than a hundred yards away. Kodiak drags you inside, throws you down behind a boulder, covers your body with his. His hand is over your mouth, the knife jabbed against your ribs, his weight crushing you into the dirt. You feel him hold his breath and you bite down on your lip, willing yourself to be quiet. 

“I know who you are,” you tell him, once it’s safe to speak. You’re deeper inside the cave, sitting on the ground with a burning torch jammed in the dirt between you. You’d found a stack of unlit ones ready down here, left by Ben maybe, or by Lottie. Kodiak says you’re his hostage but, except for some rough handling dragging you down here, he hasn’t really hurt you. There’s a shallow scrape on your side where he pressed too hard with the knife. “Kodiak. The Wilderness told–”

Your hear running outside the cave and brace yourself. Then it’s gone. You sag with relief. Above you, Kodiak lets out a long, silent breath. 

“No shit. It’s written on my shirt.” Kodiak cuts you off, irritated. You can’t make much out in this light but it doesn’t matter: the Wilderness wouldn’t send him to lie to you. “Who the fuck are you?”

You try to explain haltingly about your team, the plane crash. 

“That plane went down over a year ago.” Kodiak interrupts you, his head from side to side. “If there were survivors, they would have starved.”

“We nearly did.” You stare at your feet, avoiding his gaze. You feel unclean, branded. The memory of the last time you hunted a person rises in you, refusing to be denied: the relief of no longer feeling like yourself, the way your whole being sharpened down to a single point, the overwhelming guilt and grief when it all came back. “We learned to hunt.”

“I noticed.” Kodiak grabs the torch, shoves the lit end so close to you you feel the heat on your face. His face is half in shadow but you think you see him studying you, taking in your deerskin cape, the lean muscle of your bare legs, your tattered converse, your wild grown-out hair. “How would some girls’ soccer team–”

“I can prove it.” You shove your cloak over your shoulder and then jerk back as Kodiak jabs the torch at you threateningly. You hold your hands up in surrender, your back pressed to the cave wall. “Look.”

He shifts his weight, leaning in to read the faded Yellowjackets on your practice shirt. The torch isn’t giving much light so he has to lean in, pulling the fabric away from you so he can read it. 

“You’ve been out here a whole year?” When he speaks, his voice is softer. He’s looking at you differently but it’s hard to read his expression. “How did you survive the winter?”

“Some of us didn’t.”

Kodiak seems to realise he’s still holding your shirt. His fingers brush your breast as he lets go. Despite yourself you shiver. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you. It hits you then that he’s a strange man and you’re alone with him. 

Kodiak is tall – easily over 6ft – and powerfully built. After living for so long among malnourished girls, his physical presence is overwhelming. The flickering amber light plays over his scars: a neat line curving upwards from one eyebrow, a mess of scar tissue half hidden by his collar. 

He’s studying you back and you try not to think about how you must look to him, half wild in ragged clothes and skins you helped hunt. You wish he could see you as you had been before the crash. You thought you were so grown up back then: nearly nineteen, almost graduated, college mapped out in front of you. Back when everything about you was still measured in potential. 

“We shouldn’t stay here too long,” you tell him. You’re afraid of him looking too long, seeing too much. “It’s not safe.”

Kodiak scoffs. Whatever fragile understanding existed between you breaks. “Safer than outside.” 

“There’s some kind of… I don’t know…natural gas or something.” You scramble for a version of the truth he’ll believe. “It makes you see things. That’s why the others are afraid to come here.”

“Or,” Kodiak says. “You’re trying to lead me into a trap.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I swear. I just want to go home.” You feel your face fall. “I don’t know why Lottie… did that. I’m– I’m sorry. About your friend.”

Kodiak is no longer listening to you. He goes still, staring at something past your shoulder. He’s outlined by the faint light coming from the cave entrance behind him. 

“I thought you said this was as far as it went?”

“It is.”

“Then what’s that?”

You turn and see light flickering against the stone, too bright to be cast from your torch. 

“I don’t know.”

Kodiak gets up, jerking you to your feet by your elbow and pushing you in front of him. You feel the knife cold against the back of your neck. “Lead the way.”

There’s no way anyone could have got past without you seeing them. You’re not even sure there should be anywhere for them to be. You creep forwards, until you reach a narrow fissure in the rock. You turn to Kodiak, pleadingly but of course it’s no good. He doesn’t trust you; there’s no way you’re going to convince him that the cave has rearranged itself. You squeeze through the fissure, letting out a whimper when your hand touches something soft. Kodiak hisses at you to keep going and you push aside what turns out to be some kind of pelt and stumble into a circular chamber you’ve never seen before.  

The pelt half covering the entrance behind you is bearskin; huge and glossy with dark fur. It makes you uneasy: you’d cut up the skin of the bear Lottie killed into smaller pieces for easier tanning. Someone other than your teammates must have put it here. Anything that helps you keep warm is precious out here. It makes no sense to abandon something so valuable underground.  

You’re so distracted by the pelt that it takes you a second to pay attention to the source of the light. There’s a low stone slab against one wall that’s bright with lit candles. They turn the air soft, golden, gently flickering around the edges. You edge towards the altar (the word arises unbidden in your thoughts), scenting a trap. You burned nearly all the candles last winter and the fire took the precious few you had left. There’s no way for your teammates to have brought them here and no way anyone else would have lit them and left them to burn in the dark. They’re clustered around a stag skull with huge, branching antlers. In front of it lies something dark and shrivelled, perhaps a heart. Suddenly the candle flames flicker and burn brighter. You feel a presence at your back.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Your voice sounds small, faraway somehow. Every instinct you have is screaming danger.

You turn to face Kodiak, only to realise it’s not him. 

The Antler Queen stands in front of you, her face rendered blank by her veil. She’s silent but you feel knowing settle on you: you’re exactly where she wants you to be. You see her face contort through the veil, mouth stretched wide as a pit. When she speaks to you, it’s in the voice of the Wilderness: the scream of the forest, the crackle of wildfire, the roar of the wind through the trees. The force of it hits you like a sledgehammer.

You stagger away blindly, clapping your hands over your ears. You collide with something. You cry out but your scream sounds hoarse and thin in the sudden silence.

Kodiak catches you around the waist, one hand splaying across your stomach. 

“Where did you go?” his voice is thick, slurred. His jaw presses against your temple as he speaks, his beard rasping against your skin. “What’ did you do to me?”

You crane your neck to face him: his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. 

“It’s the cave.” You struggle, trying to pull him towards the exit. He’s too strong. “We have to get out of here.”

“Did you drug me?” Kodiak tries to shake you but he’s clumsy, uncoordinated. Instead his hand slides under your shirt. His skin is fever-hot. You feel an electric thrill you through you where his bare skin touches yours, so intense it’s almost painful. Kodiak’s breathing hitches: you feel his breath hot on your check, the sharp rise and fall of his chest pressed against your side. “Hurts…when I’m not touching you.”

You feel heat spreading through you. The longing to touch his bare skin is almost overwhelming. You wrench yourself out of his grip and he stumbles. 

You glance backwards: he’s dazed, feverish. You can’t abandon him: not when he’s your only chance of rescue. You grab him by the sleeve and pull him after you, careful not to touch his skin, as you pull aside the bear pelt covering the entrance. 

There’s nothing behind it but solid rock. You struggle with it and Kodiak pulls it free from the cave wall, tossing it on the floor behind you. He presses a palm to the now solid rock, leaning on it unsteadily.

You run your hands over the wall, unable to believe the evidence of your eyes. You keep muttering no no no like a litany, the sound blending together until it barely sounds like words anymore. You lurch drunkenly, your limbs oddly leaden; there’s a roaring in your ears and your chest is tight. It’s getting harder and harder to think. “The way out was here. It can’t just be gone.”

You begin to circle the walls, running your palms over the rough stone. Kodiak covers your hands with his, holding them still, his chest pressed against your back. “Don’t leave.”

Heat flares where he touches you and the awful constricting pressure lessens. You let out a strangled moan. 

At that sound, whatever control Kodiak has left snaps. 

He spins you to face him so hard you lose your footing and fall into his chest. You barely have time to steady yourself before his arms are around you. Your back slams into the cave wall with the force of his kiss. It’s messy at first: urgent, breathless, your teeth crashing into his. Then you throw an arm around his neck to anchor yourself and he tilts your jaw upwards and suddenly everything makes sense. The feverish pain you feel doesn’t lessen but it stops being pain. Touching him feels like gorging yourself after starving.

You whimper when he breaks the kiss. He presses the side of his face to yours, unable to stop touching you, speaking directly into your ear. 

“It’s not enough.” His voice is rougher, deeper. The sound vibrates through you, leaving you needy, desperate. His hand trails downwards from your breast, settling on the button of your shorts. “I need more. Need you.”

You nod breathlessly. You fumble with the ties of your cloak until Kodiak gets impatient and snaps them. The heavy furs fall to the ground at your feet. You both pull at your clothes, wanting to feel as much of each other’s skin as possible. Kodiak pulls you to him, pushing you down onto the bear pelt. The fur is sleek against your bare skin. You’ve shed most of your clothes, down to your sports bra and unbuttoned shorts. You wrestle out of your sports bra, tossing it aside, while Kodiak sheds his own clothes. He looks golden in the candlelight, the hard planes of his muscles thrown into sharp relief. 

Kodiak tugs at your shorts and you lift your hips to let him slide them down your legs. Your underwear comes away too, leaving you bare for him. 

You feel him line himself up against you. He’s bigger than you expected. You tense. You try to tell yourself that it’s okay, that the first time hurts for everyone, that it’s only pain. 

Kodiak draws back. He seems a little more in control of himself now; but only a little. “You good?”

“Fine.”

“Is this… have you done this before?”

You shake your head. “Just do it. I’ll manage.”

“If I do that I’m going to hurt you.” 

You go rigid at his words, bracing yourself. Instead he trails rough, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. He palms at your breast with one hand, taking the other into his mouth and tugging a nipple between his teeth. You writhe under him, trying to clamp your thighs together, desperate for friction. Instead, Kodiak pins you down and takes his time teasing you. Then, just as the force of your own desire becomes agonising, he hikes your leg over his shoulder, kissing down your inner thigh. He stops to suck a lovebite into your skin, his beard rough against your skin, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin. 

When you feel his mouth on you, you cry out. Instinctively you cram a hand over your mouth, conditioned by a year of living in close quarters with no privacy. Kodiak pulls up and looks up at you. The sight of him between your thighs makes something twist pleasantly inside you. 

“Don’t you dare,” he tells you. “I want to hear you.”

You nod, breathless, grabbing fistfuls of the bearskin to keep your hands still. His mouth is hot against you, his tongue slick and velvety. It’s so much better than anything you’ve been able to do for yourself out here, so much better than the adolescent fumblings with long-forgotten highschool boyfriends back home. You’re almost afraid of how much you want him, the power he has over you. You shift under him, unsure if you want more or less, until Kodiak grips your hips between his hands and holds you still, so you’re at his mercy. The cave amplifies your cries, echoes your own ragged breathing back at you.  You come hard, the orgasm slamming into you.

Even as you come back to yourself, you can feel your desire begin to build again until wanting him is almost painful. Kodiak works his way up your body, nuzzling at your neck. 

“I need to be inside you,” he tells you, his voice almost a growl. You can feel him hard against you but this time you’re not afraid: you’re slick and aching for him. You nod and he begins to ease into you.

“I need you to fuck me,” you breathe.

Kodiak slams into you, as though he can’t control himself. It hurts a little but the pain is overshadowed by an overwhelming feeling of rightness. 

“I was trying to be gentle,” he chides you. You can feel him straining, trying to hold himself back, giving you time. 

“You can be a little rough.” 

“Only a little?” Kodiak breathes the words against your ear as he starts to thrust into you. Despite your words you gasp and cling to him, your nails biting into his shoulders. “You have no idea. How rough. I want to be.”

He punctuates the words with thrusts, grinding his hips against yours in a way that makes you see sparks. 

It’s hard and fast and sweaty after that. You wrap your legs around his waist as he thrusts hard into you, whispering absolute filth into your ear. He tells you how tight you are, how well you’re taking him, how good you feel. You feel yourself clench around him and the sensation is enough to tip him over the edge so he spills inside you. 

Afterwards, you’re both out of breath, his forehead resting against yours, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. You close the distance between you with a kiss and he returns it lazily, keeping you pinned under him. You can already feel the tide of desire rising in you again. 

“I don’t think we’re done yet.” Kodiak pulls away but barely. His body is moulded to yours, your breasts pressing against his chest with every ragged breath. His face is so close to yours that your noses brush, you feel his breath against your swollen lips. He slides a hand up your thigh, fingers dipping inside you, smirking at the moan he draws out of you. 

He takes pleasure in playing with you until he’s ready to go again. You try to grind against his hand, whimpering, needy but he’s merciless, bringing you right to the edge and keeping you there. 

“Maybe I want to play with you a while longer,” he teases when you beg him to let you come. He kisses you long and slow, proving to you that you’ll take whatever he chooses to give. “Maybe I like you all helpless and pleading.”

You let out a low whine and he kisses you again, chuckling against your mouth. 

“I’ll fuck you if you ask nicely.”

You glare at him and he brushes a finger over your clit, not hard enough to give you the release you need, hard enough to make you whimper and try to grind into his hand. 

“Please,” you manage.

He smirks down at you, the shadows turning his blue eyes almost black. “Now, I know you can do better than that.”

“I-I need you inside me.”

“Good girl.”

You’re not about to let that stand. Not when you know he needs this as badly as you do. You push Kodiak onto his back. You shouldn’t be able to do that – he’s powerfully built, easily over six foot of lean muscle – but somehow you do. Perhaps he lets you. Perhaps he wants to see where you’re going. 

“I want to be on top,” you tell him, your voice ragged. 

He looks up at you, amused. You feel the dynamic between you shift, recalibrate. 

“Sure, I’ll allow it.” He drags his eyes over you, lingering on your breasts. 

He guides you, hands curled around your hipbones, as you sink down onto him. The awful building pressure in your head releases and you let out a long, shivery sigh. He strokes his hands up your sides, almost tenderly at first, until he gets impatient and kneads at your breasts. It’s easier to take him this time; you roll your hips experimentally, rewarded when his breath hitches. He returns his hands to your hips, guiding your movements until you find your rhythm. 

Your body takes over. It’s as though something bigger than you is guiding you, watching you from behind your eyes. The cave amplifies your own sounds back at you: ragged breathing, moans, the sounds of your bodies moving together. The candles gutter and flicker, outlining the seams in the rough stone walls like branches moving in a high wind, like antlers. 

You lean down to kiss Kodiak. It’s rough, intense, his hands tangling in your hair. When you pull away he follows you up, shifting position so he’s sitting with you astride his lap. The change in angle drives him deep inside you, making you cry out and cling to him. Kodiak grasps you to him, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other wrapped around the back of your neck, anchoring against him as he fucks you hard. You cry out, back arching, breasts pressed against him, hair tossed back. He bites down hard where your shoulder meets your neck and you understand that he’s marking you, claiming you, letting you know you’re his. Somehow that knowledge is what undoes you. You come hard. Kodiak fucks you through it, prolonging your response, until he comes too, biting your shoulder again, hard enough to draw blood. 

You collapse against him and he holds you up. He’s still inside you and you feel a delicious ache. Kodiak strokes your back, whispers meaninglessly into your ear. You enjoy the moment of respite, knowing that there’s more to come, that whatever force is guiding you both is far from finished.

It’s going to be a long night.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reads, likes, comments and especially requests. If you enjoyed this then please do tell me (and especially tell me which parts you want to see more of.) I enjoy writing these but it’s knowing that people want to see them them that gets them edited and onto Tumblr. 

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: child support

John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.

Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?

So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.

He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.

"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.

"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"

"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.

"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.

Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.

John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."

"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.

"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."

The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.

"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.

It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.

Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.

"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"

Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.

"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.

Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.

[the-californicationist]

he opens the mail

Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen. The only cure? Your pussy, apparently.

Warning: sex pollen tropes, extremely dubious consent, attempt at satire?, angry john price

“We’re never going to make this deadline. Laswell’s gonna kill me,” you complained, burying your head in the pile of envelopes and packages strewn over your desk. 

“Did this to yourself, lass. Shoulda been keepin’ up with intel duty. Wee bit at a time, ‘s what I say,” Soap patted you on the shoulder, feigning pity. 

You spent hours combing through the documents, and by the time everyone had gone to bed, your fingers were covered in paper cuts, and your vision was blurry from squinting at the poorly scrawled Cyrillic words. 

You thought you were alone, and as you stood up to stretch and refill your coffee mug, Captain Price opened up the office door, scaring you half to death. 

“Oh, hey Corporal,” he smiled and then furrowed his brow, “What are you still doing here?”

You sighed, pointing to the piles of documents,

“Laswell’s intel backlog. I’m the only one with a Level 3 linguistics cert for Russian, so here I am. Gonna be an all-nighter.”

He closed the door and sat down across from your seat, digging into the pile, 

“I’m Level 3. Let’s finish it.”

“Captain, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got more important things…”

Price shook his head, taking off his hat and hanging it on the chair back,

“Nah, tha’s alright, love. I’ll help ya. Get us a tea, yeah?”

You knew how he took his tea, and you hated that you did. Secretly, you were obsessed with him. He was always around, smelling like balsam wood and tobacco, looking like a gladiator, huge and capable in the most masculine way. It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby. Now that he had offered to help, you had to grin and bear it. 

You worked together for a while, chatting, even laughing. It was nice. You had so much in common, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself much more at ease. Finally, three packages remained. You opened the first one and found little more than phone records for a local library. Unhelpful to say the least. Price opened a water bill, and he recognized the address of a recent Konni base location. Any intel at this point felt like a celebration. Then, the final box. 

“Go on then. Show us the ending,” he smiled, handing it to you. 

“Couldn’t take the joy of ripping up the last letter, Captain. Be my guest,” you smiled. 

He chuckled, tearing into the envelope. In a flash, bright pink powder sprayed him directly in the eyes, and he writhed in pain, pinching them shut, his whole body going stiff. 

“Fuck me!” He shouted. 

“Hang on,” you ran over to the sink in the kitchenette, “Here’s some water. Get that shit out of your eyes.”

“Don’t,” he moved away from you like you were on fire, “Don’t touch me. Might be contagious.”

Your chest was rising and falling with your labored breathing, and you were immediately worried. You reached for your phone and called Laswell.

“Laswell, Price got anthraxed by one of the intel letters. What do you want us to do?”

She gasped, 

“What? Shit. I’m on my way.”

She hung up on you. You watched Price slowly try to open his eyes. They were stained hot pink from the powder. 

“You alright?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, love,” he sighed, “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Feeling strange though. Laswell said she’s coming?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, just in case.”

He nodded, running his hand along the inside of his collar. The captain was sweaty and a little pale. 

“Captain, are you okay?”

“Mmm, no,” he shook his head, “Something’s not right, love.”

He stood and went to the sink, washing as much of the powder off as he could. You moved away from him and stationed yourself across the room, praying for Laswell to hurry. 

Price was in a bad way. He took off his shirt, and he was still dripping with beads of sweat. You tried not to stare, but his temperature wasn’t the only thing heating up. His huge cock was making a prominent tent in his pants, but he was in too much pain to bother hiding it. You felt yourself blushing, and you willed yourself to pull it together. 

“…fuckin’ hell,” his hand went to his crotch to squeeze his length, trying to find some relief, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you said politely, trying to breathe normally, but feeling the slick rush melt between your legs. 

“It’s makin’ me…feel…bloody hell. I can’t hold it off. Can…can you…? No! No, what the fuck am I sayin’? No,” he shook his head, rubbing his hands down his face, hot and very bothered. 

You inched closer to him,

“If I haven’t been affected yet, I’m sure it’s okay. How should I help you?”

“No! No, stay back. I’m not…I can’t think straight. My mind’s got one thing on it,” he shoved his hands beyond his zipper and began to jerk himself off, his dick making lurid noises with his hand. 

You hated seeing him so helpless. You moved to his side,

“Cap, it’s okay. Let me help you.”

His hand was around your throat in milliseconds. Price shoved you against the wall and began to kiss your mouth, furiously laving his tongue against yours. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered through his kisses, not bothering to pull away as he spoke his lamentations. 

You made the mistake of putting your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He moaned, trembling beneath your touch,

“Ahh, careful.”

“Sorry,” you pulled your hands away, still trapped in his firm grip around your neck, “did I hurt you?”

“No, doesn’t hurt.”

He said it in a way that darkly implied your touch was igniting a different kind of fire. You put your hands back where they were, and his eyes shot open, piercing through yours with a lustful rage. Unexpectedly, he ripped off your shirt and lay you down on the black leather couch in the corner of the office. He crushed you with his weight, kissing you deeply. 

Then, your phone rang. He didn’t allow you to pause, so it went to voicemail. It rang again. You were getting just as hot as he was, and you weren’t that interested in who was looking for you in the middle of the night. Until, however, the door to the office burst wide open and Laswell and Gaz burst through it. 

Price snarled. You’d never heard a man make that noise before. Laswell put her hands on her hips while Gaz tried to shield his face in shock. Laswell rubbed her forehead, frustrated,

“Are his eyes pink, Corporal?”

You escaped his jaws for a moment, 

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s a sex drug. Forces the user to fornicate as it is only passed through the body in seminal fluid, dissolving in the heat of another person’s body. Are you volunteering here? What happened?”

Her tone was so matter of fact, it was a little humorous, if Price’s length wasn’t rutting against you in earnest, you might've laughed. You tried to explain as much as he would allow,

“Got too close… just… happened. How…” you moaned as Price pulled down the strap of your bra and helped himself to your nipple, “How did you know?”

She sighed, typing something into her datapad,

“Checked the incident log from this afternoon. Four more cases of this have popped up in intel collections. Gonna have to screen for it next time.”

She turned to walk out of the office with Gaz, and you called after her,

“Hey, wait! How long does it - oh, fuck… how long does it last?”

Laswell had the audacity to smirk at you, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes at Price’s swollen cock, lolling out of his pants, scraping itself against you. 

“Eight hours. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, Corporal. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Part 2

[nitadllyss]

Cutness agression ɞ

Hyunjin x reader

Genre: Fluff, Headcanon, Extremely Sweet!

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

Hyunjin has a serious problem with cute aggression, especially when it comes to you.

• For example, in the mornings

"Good morninggg" you said without opening your eyes, still half asleep, smiling when you woke up feeling Hyunjin hugging you.

"AHH, HOW CAN YOU BE SO CUTE?!" Hyunjin felt like the luckiest person in the world for having you as the first thing he saw when he woke up. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and started showering you with kisses all over your face.

"Hyunjin, wait" you said between laughs, trying to pretend you were annoyed.

"Why?" Five kisses on your right cheek. "How can you be that...?" Another three kisses on your left cheek. "Freaking gorgeous." Lots and lots of sweet kisses on your lips.

When he finally let you go, you were dazed from the overwhelming amount of aggressive affection he had just given you.

"You’re so weird..." you gave him a look, but the smile on your lips betrayed you.

• Or at breakfast

You were eating together while watching a drama.

You were so focused on how the characters were fighting over the female lead, dipping your cookies in milk without even looking and bringing them to your mouth, surprised by the plot twist.

Hyunjin felt like he was going to die from love.

He started making whiny noises, making you look at him immediately.

"Babe, what’s wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"I’m going to cry because you’re so cute" he laughed while trying to continue his fake crying act.

You rolled your eyes.

"I literally didn’t do anything..." you said, not understanding his reaction.

"That’s why I want to cry! How can you look so cute doing literally nothing? I hatelove you so much."

Before you could escape, he hugged you from behind, holding you tightly while kissing your neck.

• Also, when you smile

That day, Hyunjin had brought you flowers without reason. When he gave them to you, you thanked him and smiled.

Big mistake.

"HYUNJIN, ARE YOU CRAZY?" you ran for your life. Hyunjin had just whispered, "I’m going to bite your cheeks off." What was wrong with him??

"Come on, please! I need to vent. You can’t smile that cutely and expect me not to want to bite your cheeks" he pouted while following you. He caught up to you.

"Hyunjin, what the hell…?" You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was so in love it was starting to get weird.

Then he began to gently bite your cheeks, leaving sweet kisses on them afterward.

• Let’s not forget when you wear his hoodie

After taking a shower, you went for the coziest outfit you could find to stay at home. That warm hoodie of Hyunjin’s looked so inviting, so you put it on.

"Are you trying to kill me...?" he murmured with wide, deer-like eyes, mouth slightly open, looking you up and down.

"Huh?" you looked at him confused.

You blinked, and he was already messing up your hair.

"AHGGG!! You look so cute. Keep all my clothes if you want" he genuinely looked like he was about to explode.

At first, you fought him off, but in the end, you just gave up.

• When you sleep

Hyunjin got home late from work, exhausted and missing you. He opened the door and nearly cried from love.

You were sleeping on the couch, hugging a Jiniret, your mouth slightly open, your lashes pointing down, a little drool at the corner of your lips, your hair beautifully messy.

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d kill him for waking you up, he would have already been on top of you, hugging you and not letting go.

He doesn’t know how, but he restrained himself. He just took a picture and set it as his wallpaper.

• But when you’re doing nothing, that’s his favorite

You were watching TikTok on the couch when, out of nowhere, you felt Hyunjin’s weight crushing you.

"AABSSBSBAHJABABAHAJABABW" he babbled nonsense and started biting your arm.

"Bro, wtf?" you looked at him amused. "Can you explain what’s happening now?" you raised an eyebrow.

"BSBSNDBANZ" he responded, then began kissing your face desperately.

"I just hope you don’t have rabies…"

( There are thousands of situations like this, but it would be an infinite post)

•When you’re cooking and he comes up behind you, trapping you and leaving you no way to escape while hugging you.

•When he sees you doing your makeup and can’t resist kissing your lips carelessly, just because your lipstick made him fall in love and he needs to have that pink from YOUR lips.

•When you come out of the shower and he grabs your cheeks for at least 10 minutes, making your face turn red.

•When you sneeze and he swears you’re a kitten. When you wrinkle your nose, he probably fainted.

•Etc.

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

English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake, please let me know. 🙏🏻

I'm just a girl in love with Hyunjin and his cute aggression attacks. 😭🫠

[laursdomain]

HI OH MY GOD

i was literally on insta and this hit me

percy x reader where they're on the battlefield and they got separated. once percy notices that reader is missing he starts kinda going violent af and then starts yelling for reader out of panic and stuff. this is very vague and i would LOVE to see what you do with this!

thank you so much in advance if you do this!!

touch her and die

pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

genre: angst

synopsis: As a demigod, you and your boyfriend were used to constantly battling monsters in an effort to stay alive. Though, that doesn’t mean its always easy when said monsters decide to work together and attack all at once when they finally regenerate. You may be able to hold your own, but that doesn’t stop Percy Jackson from needing to protect you at every moment. His fatal flaw is undying loyalty, after all.

warnings: fighting, panicking, violent!percy, “touch her and you die,” happy ending!

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: song lyrics in fic is give by sleep token

ྀིpercy jackson masterlist

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

Percy Jackson was an animal on the battlefield. Half the time, he wasn’t too sure what he was doing, or even if what he was doing was right. As long as the monsters kept turning to dust, Percy didn’t question his movements. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he notices you preoccupied with a small group of monsters. Acknowledging that you were okay, knowing you can handle it, he turns back to the larger group of monsters that stand before him, probably wondering if he’d be a tasty dinner for them.

Percy narrows his eyes, running Riptide first into the herd, not looking back.

You, on the other hand, were taking it slow when facing these monsters. Maybe it has to do with the training you’ve received from Charlie, remembering how he’d scold you to be clean with your jabs, never letting a weak spot open up in your defense. You quickly count the amount of monsters before you, only taking in four, you could handle it easily. Your own sword comes up, using it as a boundary between yourself and the monsters—one of the first moves you learned when you started training with Charlie. You take a deep breath, clearing your head as you focus at the task at hand. You will not die today.

It only took you three minutes to take down the four monsters, handling the fight with great care as you didn’t hesitate as you slashed through them with your sword. What you had failed to realize was that there was a looming herd of monsters creeping behind you, hoping to catch you by surprise. 

You hear a heavy footstep, the monsters making themselves known to you. You turn around, eyes widening at the very large monsters. You didn’t have enough time to attempt to count them, already knowing the simple answer. There was way to many for you to take on alone. Taking the coward’s way out, you break into a run, pumping your legs as you put as much distance between yourself and the monsters.

You quickly realize running is useless, and you can only run for so long. The monsters have much more agility than you, so you have no choice but to quickly halt your movements, turning around and facing them head on. Running gave you a slight advantage, some of the monsters have yet to catch up, making the crowd you’re currently facing not as large. But, it was still a lot. You still couldn’t count the amount of monsters that loomed before you, though you were slightly grateful when you realize they will go in waves—not all at once. It made you slightly relieved, but that didn’t guarantee your survival. You only have so much stamina.

You grip your sword, lifting it to guard your face before you take a deep breath, facing the first wave of monsters that run your way.

Percy cuts through the third wave of monsters. He feels as if his arm is getting too heavy, the amount of monsters he has killed in the past twenty minutes is overwhelming. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping to find you in the spot he saw you last in. He has to whip his head back over his shoulder when he realizes you are in fact not there. 

Where were you? Percy’s mind immediately jumped to the worst possible outcome, that you had been taken away by the monsters, being held captive until they finally defeated Percy. Percy couldn’t help what happened next. Well, he could’ve. But he didn’t stop the rage that began bubbling in his chest, quickly rising as he faced the next two waves of monsters. He hadn’t even lifted his sword, the amount of sheer pure power he summoned was enough to kill the monsters, leaving him alone on the field. He wasn’t sure where the power came from, there was no body of water nearby. He didn’t question it, nor did he care. All that mattered was that he finds you.

“Y/N?” He screamed out from his spot on the field, panic overtaking the rage for a moment.

He whips his head around, anxiously looking around. Gods, he hadn’t realized how large the battlefield actually was. You could be anywhere, maybe even dying, and he had no idea where you were or how to get to you. Percy’s heart is beating like a scared small animal, and he becomes acutely aware panicking will get him nowhere. Panicking will not save you. He takes a deep breath, willing his heart rate to calm down. He opens his eyes, analyzing his surroundings as he forms a quick plan.

i will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me

Maybe he should’ve asked where the monsters had taken you before murdering them, but that didn’t stop Percy. He took off in a run, not sure where he was going, running on pure impulse. He finds himself in a new area of the battlefield, an area that he would’ve never seen earlier. He wasn’t sure why he went in this direction, but he always acted on his gut. And right now, his gut is screaming at him to go here. Out of pure desperation and rage, he listens. In the distance, he saw a large crowd of monsters, clearly surrounding something. Or someone. 

Percy began eating up the distance between himself and the crowd of monsters, and once he was close enough, he finally saw what they were surrounding—you. 

“Y/N,” this time, his voice didn’t come out panicky. He was enraged that these things had the audacity to try to harm you. There were here for him, gods dammit. He was not going to let you pay for his existence, even if you were a demigod as well.

Percy didn’t pay attention to the fact that you were perfectly fine. In fact, you were holding your own against the monsters that were swarming you. No, that didn’t stop the rage continuing to bubble in his chest. He needed an outlet, now. And luckily for Percy, there were two dozen monsters just begging to be used. 

There was no body of water nearby. Nothing to give the son of Poseidon an advantage against the monsters. He sensed the moisture in the dirt below him, channeling into it as he watches droplets of water rise from the ground. It forms a large water bubble around him, seeping into his skin as he feels himself becoming stronger. The cuts that had ended up on his arms were healing, he had newfound energy, and his limbs no longer felt heavy. 

in this open warfare, i won't fight fair

A scream from behind the thick crowd of monsters broke your focus. It also distracted the monsters around you, all of their ugly heads turning around to the noise. The scream sounded familiar, it sounded like Percy’s. It wasn’t a scream of pain, it was a battle cry.

The next two minutes were an absolute blur for Percy. All he saw was red, Riptide having a mind of its own as he destroyed monster after monster. His movements and strength didn’t falter, taking pleasure in killing every single monster that dared to touch you. Nobody touches his girl. He didn’t care what damage he was doing, as long as you were okay—that is all that was running through Percy’s head in that moment.

It wasn’t until there were no monsters left that Percy felt the repercussions of his fighting. He was breathing hard, slightly slouching as he tried to regain his breath. A new layer of sweat coated his body, making him feel disgusting and making him want to go back to his cabin to shower. Preferably with you. Percy’s gaze falls onto you, his hardened eyes softening when he sees how wide-eyed you are.

Those two minutes made your body still. Your mouth was slightly agape as you watched Percy slash monster after monster, not caring what type of position he was in. You couldn’t even analyze to see where he was vulnerable, that is how shell-shocked you were. You’ve seen your boyfriend in battle before, sure, but not like this. It was like he was a rabid animal, unable to stop himself until every monster was cleared. 

Your widened eyes met his hardened ones, you could barely see any of the beautiful sea-green eyes you’ve grown to love. You may have been shocked by his actions, but you weren’t scared. If anything, it made your heart melt at the way he went crazy to protect you. You step forward until your feet planted themselves in front of him. His eyes didn’t leave yours the entire time, waiting to see what you’d do.

i just want to give, want to give you all that i can give

Your hands reach up, cupping Percy’s jaw. Slowly, but surely, you begin to see more of his beautiful eyes, smiling at the sight. You caress his cheeks, watching as he leans into your touch, sighing out.

“I thought—“ he begins, but you instantly understand. He had thought you were in genuine danger, and acted on impulse.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him, forcing him to look into your eyes. “A couple of monsters don’t have anything on me. Or you, apparently.”

A dry chuckle escapes his chapped lips from your attempt at a joke, his arms coming to rest on your hips. He dryly swallows, resting his forehead against your own. You breath him in, smelling sweat and the constant faint smell of ocean water on him. No matter where he was, he always smelled like ocean water, and that might be one of your favorite things about him.

“I thought they had taken you hostage or something,” Percy chuckles at the idea, watching your lips form into a grin.

You giggle, “I’d be a pretty good damsel in distress, wouldn’t I?”

His arms tighten around you, pulling your body flush against his. “You’d be a gorgeous damsel in distress.”

You watch as his eyes flicker down to your lips before returning to your eyes, watching as you admire his sea-green eyes. You keep him in a staring contest, something you force him into too many times, especially when you are cuddling in the solace of Cabin 3. 

Eventually, you give in, winding your arms around his neck as you pull him towards you, kissing his chapped lips. You didn’t mind, it was your Percy after all. He smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to the side to deepen it. You giggle at his antics, slightly breaking the kiss. He kisses the corners of your mouth before littering kisses all over your cheeks and nose, and finally ending with a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Happy?” You giggle, smiling adoringly at the love of your life.

“Always with you, my damsel.” He answers, engulfing you in one last hug. 

Maybe you could get used to Percy going crazy over your safety.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

[loveesiren]

Help Me (Pt. 1)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Synopsis: When Rafe finds out Y/n's in trouble, he's determined to keep her safe.

Warnings: Language, drug use, fentanyl, mentions of sex trafficking, abuse, 18+

Word Count: 4.1k+

"I can stop whenever I want, Y/N, I'm just fucking stressed out, alright?"

You watch as Rafe leans down and takes another line before leaning back against his car seat and pressing his hands to his head.

Rafe was really the only friend you had made on the island so far. Besides JJ's friends of course. After your mom died you were forced to move back with your dad and JJ. You were ecstatic to see your little brother, but Luke was a different story. Nothing had changed. He was still an abusive, alcoholic, piece of shit, always taking his anger out on JJ.

That was not something you had shared with Rafe. In fact, he didn't even know you were a Pogue, much less related to JJ.

You had a job at the club. One night after your shift you wandered down to the beach to sit by the water. Thats where you found Rafe Cameron passed out drunk in the sand. You helped him home and gave him your number. Ever since then, the two of you met up practically every night. He'd pick you up after work and the two of you would go to the beach and talk. You loved spending time with him. He made you laugh and smile and forget the hell that awaited you at home. But you knew he was king of the Kooks and hated the Pogues. You knew you couldn't hide that fact forever but you really didn't want to lose him over something so stupid.

"I don't like seeing you kill yourself, Rafe." You told him softly, choking back tears. Your mother had just died from a drug overdose not even 2 months ago.

"Then don't watch." He told you dryly as he set up another line on the center console.

You scoffed. He's never talked to you like that before. "You know my mom died because of this shit?" You yelled at him. "And cuz of that I have to move to this shit island and deal with my dad beating on my brother and I all day?"

He looked up at you, concern in his eyes now. "I-I didn't know you had a brother. You've never even told me about your family."

You sighed, clenching your jaw. "Yeah," You said before pulling back your hoodie to reveal the bruises forming around your neck.

"Y/N..." He said as he reached out, placing his fingers gently on your collar bone. You flinched at his touch.

"And JJ gets it a lot worse." You stated as you grabbed your things. Rafe was silent, taking in the new information. You were JJ's sister?

You hopped out of his truck, leaving him with the secrets you'd just revealed to him, knowing good and well this was probably the end of you and Rafe Cameron.

"I'm a Pogue," You said calmly, shrugging your shoulders with a half smile before slamming the door and walking off towards the Cut.

——————–

Rafe noticed you immediately as he entered Midsummers. You were working the bar tonight but because of the event, you were a lot more dressed up than usual. A tight black dress hugged your curves. Your wavy hair pulled back in a half pony. He noticed the diamonds draped around your neck. You looked nothing like a Pogue. He could also see the slight discoloration of the bruises you had tried to cover with make up. He wouldn't have noticed them if he hadn't seen them for himself the other night.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment as he watched how elegantly you moved and interacted with others. How the hell was she a Maybank? He thought to himself.

You met Rafe's eyes for a moment. He didn't seem fucked up. He seemed concerned. You bit your lip for a moment before turning away, not offering him a smile or anything. You had avoided talking to him for a few days. As much as you missed him, you couldn't risk getting close to someone who used drugs to cope. Weed never bothered you. You'd even have a beer once in a while. But after everything you and JJ witnessed growing up, you knew how badly the outcome could be.

Rafe was standing around with Kelce and Topper, sipping on a cocktail when he noticed JJ making his way through the crowd. "Shit," He whispered under his breath as he noticed the bruise surrounding JJ's left eye.

"Well, well, well," Kelce said, stepping out in front of JJ, catching him by surprise. "I'd love if you could get me a mai tai, my friend."

"Yeah, see I'm kind of on the clock right now but if you guys just wanna wait by the bar-" JJ said before taking off in the crowd.

You darted your eyes towards the locker rooms as you saw your brother running through the sea of people, Rafe, Kelce, and the rest of their posse chasing him. "What the fuck," You said to yourself. JJ was not supposed to be here.

"Hey, Jesse!" You leaned over to your coworker. "Can you run the bar for a minute? I gotta use the bathroom."

"Sure thing," He responds and you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You had just reached the door when JJ was being dragged out by security. "What the hell is going on here?!" You ask.

"Tell your sister she's pretty hot for a Pogue!" You hear Rafe's voice call out after JJ.

JJ quickly slips away from the security guard and rushes towards him. "JJ!" You said as you and the security guard pull him back.

Rafe's eyes go wide as they meet yours. He wasn't expecting to see you, immediately regretting what he just said.

"What the fuck, Rafe?!" You said, storming towards him. You slapped him across the face as hard as you could. But before you knew it, Kelce had pushed you to the ground.

As a second security guard began to pull you away from the scene you saw Rafe slam Kelce up against a wall and scream at him, although you couldn't make out what he was saying as you were dragged away.

You and JJ were thrown out in front of the entire party. JJ helping you to your feet as you fell in the grass.

"Don't you EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Rafe screamed in Kelce's face, pinning him against the wall by his neck.

"What the fuck dude?! She's just some fucking Pogue!" Kelce responded.

"Never fucking again. Do you understand me?" Rafe said, eyes locked on Kelce. Kelce nodded in agreement.

Rafe took a deep breath before pushing off of Kelce and heading outside.

He watched as you stumbled away with your brother.

"Fuck, JJ!" You said as you walked along the beach. John B, Kiara, and Pope trailing behind you. "What the fuck was that?! I just lost my goddamn job!"

"I did nothing!" He yelled back at you. "It's those fucking Kooks!"

"Why the hell were you even there in the first place?!"

JJ was silent.

"Is this about your little treasure hunt again?" You asked, aiming your question at the group. They all stayed silent. "Great. That's just great. Leave me the hell out of it!" You said as you stormed off, making your way home.

You were almost to your house when your phone buzzed. A text from Rafe.

Y/N, I'm sorry. Can we please talk?

You rolled your eyes and shut off your phone.

You took a deep breath before you headed inside. Your dad was still up. Fuck. He was wasted as usual.

"Hey Princess," He mumbled. Your stomach turned at his words. You always hated when he called you that.

"I'm going to bed," You said dryly as you headed toward your room. Luke grabbed your arm and spun you back towards him.

"Now that's no way to greet your daddy, is it?"

His breath smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. The scent made you gag. "Get off me!" You yell, shoving him backwards.

He grabbed you by your neck and threw you against the wall. "You don't fuckin' talk to me like that you little bitch." He said through gritted teeth. "You're a slut just like your momma!"

You spat in his face and he punched you in the side of the head. He continued to hit you several more times until you were a bloody heap on the floor, barely conscious.

You could feel yourself being dragged across the floor and placed roughly on the couch.

"Ya know," Luke started. You were barely able to register his words. "I bet I could make a real pretty penny off of you."

Your eyes fluttered slightly as you tried to catch your breath. You saw him stick his hunting knife into a small plastic bag. He came over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your mouth.

"Here ya go, Princess." He said as he forced your mouth open and pressed the tip of his knife to you tongue. "I gotta go make some calls. You just wait riiiight here." He said as you quickly felt your head start to get heavy.

"Dad, please..." You begged before the familiar feeling of fentanyl took over your body.

______________

"What the fuck did you do?!" JJ yelled at his dad as he saw your motionless body on the couch.

"Ya know yer sister has a real mouth on her," Luke spat.

JJ had his fingers pressed to your neck, barely able to find your pulse.

"Did you fucking drug her?!"

"It's none of your concern boy! Now get the hell out of here I have someone pickin' 'er up in 20 minutes." Luke said as he walked to the kitchen to make another drink.

JJ's eyes widened. "What do you mean picking her up?"

Luke was silent.

"Dad...did-did you fucking sell her?" JJ muttered.

JJ couldn't contain his rage anymore as he picked a beer bottle up off the table and threw it at the back of his dads head.

"Fuck!" Luke said as glass shattered against his skin. He didn't even have time to turn around before JJ had already pushed him to the floor, landing punches to the side of his head over and over again. Blood coated JJ's face and the walls as he took out all his pent up rage on his father.

The way he'd abused you guys your whole lives. Beating you, drugging you, and now going as far as to sell his own daughter to make a quick buck. He couldn't take it anymore.

Luke was barely clinging to consciousness when JJ finally let go of him.

He stood over his father as he tried to slow his breathing and think of his next move. "Fuck," He whispered to himself as he ran his shaking hand through his blonde locks. "Fuck, okay.."

He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

JB: Hello?

JJ: John B! I-I need your help man!

JB: What's going on?

JJ: I'll explain later just please come pick us up.

JB: Us?

JJ: Me and Y/N, man, PLEASE!

JB: I'm on my way!

JJ tried his best not to hyperventilate as he made his way over to you. "Come on, Y/N, please wake up!" He begged, shaking you lightly. He could see all the bruising and blood that coated your body and he didn't want to risk hurting you further.

He got up and paced around the room as he waited for John B. He spotted the clear baggie on the table and picked it up. He flicked it as he examined the small amount of white powder. He knew it wasn't coke. "Fuck!" He yelled, unsure of how much you had consumed. This wasn't the first time your dad had drugged you. He'd done it when you were kids to get you to sleep. JJ prayed he didn't overdo it as tears fell from his eyes.

His head snapped up as he heard a car pulling up out front. He inched the curtain of the doors window to the side, expecting to see John B. It wasn't.

A black Lincoln parked in front of the house and shut off the lights. "Shiiiit!" JJ whispered in a panic. He ran over to your and gently scooped your small frame into his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I got you, sis." He said as he quietly made his way towards the back door.

He made his way through the trees as he heard two men talking as they approached the house. He moved quietly toward the road when he spotted the Twinkie. He ran out in front of it, John B swerving to avoid hitting them before coming to a quick stop.

Kiara slid the door open to let him in. "Holy shit, what happened?!" She asked, terror in her voice as she looked over the wounds coating your unconscious body.

"My dad," JJ choked out. "He-he was gonna sell her." He was sobbing now as he laid your body down gently, resting your head on a pillow.

"What?" Kiara and John B said in unison.

"He drugged her and beat her and these two guys showed up and I grabbed her and ran. I-I don't even know what to do. The things they were going to do to her..." He trailed off, unable to bare the thought. He pulled his knees to his chest and sobbed more.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Kiara said softly as she rubbed JJ's back.

"No! No hospitals. I'll call my cousin." JJ said as he took out his phone. "Just go back to the Chateau."

______________

JJ chewed on his finger as he paced around the room.

Ricky checked over you one more time. "She's alive." He finally said. "And she'll be okay."

JJ sighed in relief, as did John B, Kiara, and Pope.

"She has a concussion. I was able to stitch up these two cuts," He said as motioned to the one on the side of your head and on your collar bone. "She's going to be out for a while but he didn't give her a lethal dose."

"Thank you, Ricky." JJ said. "Seriously."

Ricky offered him a smile. "I always liked her more than you," He chuckled as he stood up and patted JJ on the shoulder. "If you need anything else, just give me a call."

JJ nodded. "Thanks, man."

______________

You were still out cold when the Pogues woke up.

"What time is it?" Pope asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes.

"11:30," Kiara responded with a sigh.

JJ stood up and pulled on his boots.

"Where are you going?" John B asked.

"Gotta get some stuff from my place," He said before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Keep an eye on her, I'll be back in an hour."

"Okay," John B responded.

"Call me if she wakes up!" JJ yelled as he ran out the door.

JJ sighed as he adjusted the gun in his waist band. Making sure he would be able to grab it if needed. He stood in front of his house, the front door was wide open.

He walked in slowly. Scanning over his home in search of his dad. "Dad?" He asked softly. There was no response. He wasn't sprawled out in a bloody heap on the floor where JJ had left him the night before.

The house was quiet and when JJ was sure there was no one inside he headed toward your room. He grabbed a duffle bag out of your closet and started shoving as many clothes in it as possible. He grabbed a book that lay on your bedside table. He also grabbed your purse knowing all your important items would be in there. When he was done, he threw the bag over his shoulder. He was about to head out when something caught his eye.

He picked up the gold chain that lay on your dresser. A small locket attached to it. He popped it open to find a picture of your mother. He smiled. You looked so much like the woman she used to be before drugs took over her life. He noticed the picture in the other side of the locket. It was a picture of the two of you when you were kids. He brushed his thumb over the small picture as he remembered that day. You taught him to build sand castles and make jewelry out of shells you found on the beach. He remembers how well you were able to distract him from the sound of your parents fighting.

"Y/N!"

JJ snapped out of the memory as someone knocked on the front door, yelling your name. He shoved the necklace in his pocket and grabbed his gun.

He rounded the corner, pointing the gun at the intruder.

"Fuck!" Rafe said as he turned around and noticed JJ pointing the gun directly at him. "Chill dude," Rafe said as he put his arms up in defense. "I'm not here to start anything."

"Why are you here, Rafe?" JJ asked, still pointing the gun in his direction.

"I'm looking for Y/N,"

"Why?"

"I just wanted to talk to her about last night. Apologize." He lowered his hands as JJ lowered the gun. "And I think I can get her her job back."

JJ looked down at his feet. "She's not here," He said as he pushed past Rafe and out the front door.

"Well, do you know where she is?" Rafe asked as he followed him. "Look, JJ, I'm sorry about last night. I really am. But I care about Y/N."

"Rafe!" JJ yelled as he turned to face him. "Look, man, just-just go home, okay? We've got shit to deal with." JJ snapped.

Rafe looked him in the eyes, his brows furrowed. "I-is she okay?" His voice was soft.

JJ could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he wouldn't dare cry in front of Rafe. "Go home, Rafe." His words were quiet but firm as he turned around and stormed off.

Rafe ran his fingers through his hair. Nausea creeped through his body as he began to worry. What happened to you? He was beating himself up over the way he had treated you. You were the only person to actually care about him. That scared him and he pushed you away. Now he was scared he would never get the chance to tell you how he really felt.

_______________

Rafe chewed on his thumb nail as he made his way up to his room. He paused when he heard Sarah on the phone. He leaned closer to her door trying to make out what she was saying.

"He was going to sell her?! Like to traffickers?!"

Rafe's breath hitched. Was she talking about Y/N?

"Is she awake yet?"

There was silence. Rafe still held his breath.

"Well, we can bring her to Tanneyhill. She'll be safe here."

Rafe waited a few more moments.

"Alright, I'll be there soon." Sarah said before hanging up the phone.

"Fuck," Rafe whispered as he leaned his back to the wall and pressed his palms to his eyes.

Sarah opened the door and jumped at the unexpected sight of her brother. "What are you doing?" She asked him.

"Sarah, was that about Y/N?" He asked as he pointed down to her phone.

"Are you listening to my conversations?!" She asked, irritation in her voice.

"Sarah. Sarah!" Rafe yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering his hand slowly to try and calm down. "Is Y/N hurt?"

"Why do you care, Rafe? I thought you hated Pogues."

His eyes began to water. "Is she hurt?" His voice cracked.

Sarah's expression softened. She nodded softly. "Yeah, Rafe. She is. And she's not safe, we need to bring her here."

"Where is she?" He asked, already fishing his keys out of his pocket and headed down the stairs.

"She's at John B's." She replied, following him quickly.

Rafe and Sarah both climbed into his truck. He turned it on and quickly threw it into drive as he sped off towards the Cut.

"Tell me what happened, Sarah." Rafe demanded.

Sarah had never seen her brother like this and it frightened her.

"Uhm, I don't know everything just that her dad beat her and drugged her when she got home. When JJ found her she was unconscious and her dad was getting ready to sell her off to some men. JJ got her out of there right when they showed up." She explained.

Rafe clenched his fists around the steering wheel as he sped faster towards John B's. Sarah gripped her seat tighter, nervous at the speed they were accelerating to.

Rafe pulled up in front of John B's house and quickly threw the truck into park before hopping out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," John B said as he watched Rafe quickly approach his house. Pope stood behind him, ready to fight if need be. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"He just wants to help," Sarah said, standing between Rafe and John B.

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice was shaky.

John B stared at him for a moment before nodding towards the door. "On the couch," He said.

Rafe pushed past him and went inside, immediately seeing your bruised unconscious figure laying flat on the couch. Kiara had just put you into sweats and a t-shirt before using a warm rag to wipe away the rest of the blood from your wounds.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked as she turned to Rafe.

"Fuck," Rafe cried softly as he fell to his knees beside you and Kiara, taking your hand gently in his and putting it to his cheek.

"What the fuck?" Kiara mouthed to John B as him and Sarah came inside. John B just shrugged with wide eyes, equally confused as the rest of them.

"John B do you have like any clean-" JJ began as he entered the room. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rafe?" JJ spat when he saw Rafe kneeling by your body. "Get the fuck away from my sister!" He said, lunging towards him.

Rafe fell back and held his hands up. "I just wanna help!" He yelled. JJ paused as he saw Rafe crying. "Please," He whispered. "Let me help her." He begged.

"We can take her to Tanneyhill." Sarah chimed in. "Our parents will be gone for the rest of the week. She can recover there. And whoever is looking for her won't find her."

JJ thought for a moment, biting his lip. "Okay." He agreed, realizing that would be the safest place for you while he sorted all of this out. "Let's take her there now." He said as he went to lift your off the couch.

"Grab her shit," JJ said to Rafe as he nodded at the bag beside him. Rafe did as he was told.

Rafe ran out of the house and opened the door to the back seat. JJ climbed inside with you, resting your head on his lap. When Rafe was sure you were safely in the truck he jumped in the drivers seat. Sarah climbed in the passenger seat and the rest of the Pogues got in the bed of the truck.

You could make out voices around you but you couldn't get your eyes to open. The voices were familiar. "JJ?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here," He said as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"Is she up?" Rafe asked, constantly glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

"Barely," JJ replied.

Rafe chewed on his bottom lip the whole drive back to his house. Once he pulled into the driveway, everyone was quick to help you out. Sarah guided them to the large spare bedroom and JJ laid you gently on the bed.

_____________

That night, Sarah started a fire in the fire pit out back. The Pogues sat around drinking beer and laughing. Rafe, however, never left your side. He sat in the chair next to your bed, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully.

"How do you know her?"

Rafe looked up to see JJ leaning against the doorway, beer in hand as he examined your state.

"She, uh..." Rafe began. "We met a couple months ago. Never met anyone like her before."

JJ nods his head. "She's a good person. Smart as shit too. Which makes me surprised she hung out with you."

Rafe chuckles and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. "Yeah, she's, uhm, special. The only person that's ever really given a fuck about me."

JJ was silent as he came to the other side of your bed, running a light finger over the stitches on your face.

"I was a dick," Rafe spoke up. "I fucked things up and I need to make them right. I mean, I-I just can't believe this happened."

"Well, I can't make her forgive you. And quite frankly, she's too good for you. But," JJ began. "I need to go find dear old dad and make sure she's going to be safe. Can I trust that you'll keep her safe here?"

Rafe nodded eagerly. "Yeah, of course. Anything I can do to help."

JJ studied Rafe's expression for a moment. He was being genuine. As much as JJ hated Rafe, he could tell the feelings he had for his sister were real and trusted that she'd be safe in his care.

[indecisivemuch]

Flatline

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: A certain hospital equipment exposed Luke's feelings for you (funny, fluff, friends to lovers, banter dynamic, minor injuries, happy ending).

Note: I’m sorry if this is not as good as my other works, writers block + being sick has been killing me.

Word count: 2.7k

It was somewhat strange at first to see Luke in normal clothing rather than that bright orange camp shirt that you’ve grown so familiar with. But after spending four days outside of camp and on a quest together, you’ve actually somewhat grown fond of the sight. You could still vividly remember the moment he picked you as his quest companion without an ounce of hesitation. It wasn’t surprising, considering you two have always made a good team, a likely result of training with each other for three years straight. Nevertheless, it warmed your heart that you were his first pick. 

“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting Luke's wound as he sat against a tree and sighed in relief when you realized the cut was not too deep. 

Just a couple of minutes back, you two were walking through the forest and on your way to the nearest bus stop that could take you back to camp. However, the universe must have thought the long journey was not enough of suffering because somehow, you two came across a chimera that managed to claw your arm and Luke in the abdomen. 

“It’s not too bad. I think we can still make it to the last bus if we just quickly wrap your wounds up,” you noted. 

Meanwhile, all Luke could do was watch you. He knew he should be listening, but how could he when you were so attentive to him at that moment? He hungrily took in the way you were taking care of him in such a worried manner as if you were his personal guardian angel. Part of him wanted to soothe your worries, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy it this time because it was for him. 

“Hey, did you hear what I said?” you asked when you didn’t hear a reply. You turned towards Luke, but was quickly caught off guard. 

There was something sincere and sweet about the way he was staring at you. However, somewhere along three years of knowing him, you have concluded that Luke Castellan must have made it one of his life missions to annoy you because he has never passed up on any opportunities for flirty antics just to see you grow flustered. Hence, you ignored how he was gazing at you, though you scowled at yourself internally upon feeling your cheeks warm up. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you forced out. 

“Like what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Luke almost chuckled at how you started blushing from just the way he was watching you. Oh, if only you knew. Luke loved getting your attention on him. He would snatch up any chance just to have your eyes on him or to have you care for him. The boy loved just seeing you blush over his little teasings. It was also fascinating to him how you never realized the true intentions behind his actions. Luke knew that half the camp probably knew that he was absolutely dotted on you from the way he was acting like a five-year-old boy chasing after his crush. Though, you always deemed his words and gestures as playful and jokes rather than genuine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. However, the cheeky grin on his face told you otherwise, and you hit his arm in retaliation. “Ouch, is that the way to treat an injured person?” Luke joked.

“You’re barely injured. The wound is not even that deep.” 

“Well…surely, if it’s not that bad, you can just kiss it better, right?” Your cheeks tinted a more evident shade of pink at his words, and you let out a deep sigh before giving Luke a playful glare. He only smirked at this, and Gods, you found that annoying yet endearing at the same time. Meanwhile, the boy was proudly relishing the idea that he was the cause of the blush that was adorning your cheeks.

“Okay, I say, let’s find somewhere safer, and then I’ll disinfect and wrap your wound up, yeah?” You suggested, purposefully deciding to ignore Luke’s previous words.

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke breathed out. 

However, before you could help Luke up and relocate, two hikers spotted the both of you. It was a middle-aged married couple, and you slightly cursed under your breath. As you predicted, they started panicking at the sight of Luke’s bleeding wound and asked if you both needed help.

“Oh no, we’re fine,” you tried saying, though you could see the husband already calling 911. “Seriously, we have this handled,” you tried to reassure them, reaching out to the husband so he’d put the phone down, but the wife touched one of your shoulders.

“How did this happen?” the over-caring strangers asked.

“It was…a bear,” you settled on saying, grimacing when you realized you were less convincing than you wanted. You hoped the woman would not ask for further elaborations because that would require the impromptu level you were not ready to play at.

“The ambulance should be here soon,” the husband informed while keeping 911 on the line, and you abruptly turned to him. Now, your mind started panicking. You two were meant to keep a low profile.

“What? No, he’s really fine. It’s just a minor injury. Look! He’s practically like he always is. Right, Luke?” You turned back to Luke, hoping he’d attest to your words against these strangers. However, you were caught off-guard by the sight of him with his eyes closed instead. “Luke?” you called again, this time louder. Yet, you were met with the same response - utter silence.

Then came the sound of sirens, and the next thing you knew, you were sitting on a chair next to a hospital bed where Luke was lying still. You’ve been sitting there for two hours, calmly waiting for the boy to wake up after recovering from the initial panic over the thought of something seriously wrong with him. The only noise in the room was from the ticking clock on the opposite wall to you, as well as the occasional sound of magazine pages being turned.

“Y-Y/N…?” The quiet sound of Luke calling out your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from the magazine in your hand. “Where are we?”

“The hospital,” you answered promptly. You watched as the Hermes cabin counselor looked down at the item in your hand, then back up at your face again. 

“Well, you seem awfully calm. Not even worried at all about me?” You almost chuckled at his words, slightly in disbelief that even after getting knocked out, Luke somehow still had the energy to joke.

“Nah, the doctor told me you were going to be fine. Apparently, it was the mild concussion from knocking your head against the tree that made you pass out. Said you’d be up in like three hours or so.” Luke nodded as he remembered the chimera shoving him, causing him to bash his head against a tree. The boy sat up on the hospital bed, and you helped him by adjusting his pillow so he could lean against it.

“So you would have cared otherwise?” He gave you a teasing grin. Things like that had you thinking sometimes if he was just being playfully flirty or if he meant more. Luke does not seem to do this with anybody else at camp. But once again, you ruled out the theory of him having feelings for you in that way. 

“Only because I would not have anybody else to harass if you die,” You poured Luke a glass of water and handed it to him. He only smiled at your witty reply and took a sip of water. However, you took the opportunity to be honest, just so he’d at least know that you do care about him, despite the sarcastic remarks before.

“On a serious note, though… I’m glad you’re okay, Luke,” you sent Luke a sweet smile. Though there it was again — that look. However, for some reason, he didn’t whip up a clever, flirty line to joke around, which made you wonder what was on his mind.

Meanwhile, Luke felt as if his lungs had lost half its capacity. Gods, under the moonlight, you looked ethereal. It made him wonder for a second whether he was in a coma because you felt too good to exist in this ever-so-cruel world. Don’t even get him started on the way you were smiling at him, so sweet like caramel that his eyes were tracing to forever remember. He internally sighed, wondering how many more signs must he give out before you would get that he was genuinely interested in you.

You misinterpreted Luke’s look as one of vulnerability. Your brain theorized that maybe he was shaken from the chimera attack, so you slowly but surely grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. However, you didn’t notice the slight hitch in Luke’s breath as soon as you did this. His eyes almost fluttered shut at how nice it was to have your hand around his. If he could hold your hand every day, he absolutely would. You started rubbing your thumb on his knuckles as well. Oh, to be somebody you found worth worrying about and caring for. Luke thought maybe he did win the lottery after all. He could feel his heart wanting to crack his ribcage open to jump out of—

Unexpectedly, you heard a sudden continuous beeping from one of the equipment nearby and looked at it. Luke followed your gaze, and his face immediately started flushing over the drastic change in the heart monitor’s graphic representation of his heartbeat. The beeping still continued when you looked back at him with evident concern on your face.

“Woah, are you alright?” Luke tried muttering an affirmative answer but froze when you leaned closer and lightly graced his forehead with your hand. The boy gulped while you were cluelessly trying to see if he was coming down with a fever or not — which you assumed he was due to the way his face seemed to have warmed up. However, you were greeted with a normal body temperature and the sound of the heart monitor beeping even faster.

Suddenly, everything clicked. You cast your gaze on Luke again, tilting your head in amusement.

“Am I making you flustered?” Luke’s cheeks flared even more at your words. The Hermes cabin counselor looked away from you, taking his hand out of yours now as he attempted to slow down his heartbeat. However, you immediately took hold of his face and moved it back towards you. A mischievous grin grew on your face as you took in Luke’s blushing. How could you pass up the opportunity to finally torment him and get him flustered, especially when he has been doing the same thing to you for the past years?

Luke watched as you had him wrapped around your fingers both figuratively and literally, smirking as if you knew you had entire control over him. But he knew you only knew the surface level of it because even he doesn’t know the extent to which he would go for you. The only thing he knew was that he was in deep, deep trouble. He knew whatever part of him that was logical would perish as soon as you let him be yours. Yet he did not seem to mind discarding all his senses and submitting to whatever these feelings were.

“Careful there, Castellan, keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to believe you’re secretly obsessed with me.” You were only joking, but the way his eyes fluttered when you said that made you gulp. 

“And what if I tell you I am?” At his words and the sound of his heartbeat speeding up on the heart monitor, you froze. 

It was as if all the clues had come crashing down at once. It finally sunk in for you that perhaps you were wrong this whole time for thinking Luke was not into you. Because now, this hospital room had somehow become a crime scene filled with evidence of his feelings for you - the way he was intensely looking at you with dilated pupils, the uncontrollable speed of his heartbeat that you could feel where your fingers lay near his neck and pulse point, his shallow and nervous breathing, the beeping sound from the heart monitor that would make others think it has gone haywire, and most of all, the earnest and resigned look on his face as if he had already embraced the fact that his feelings for you would not change whether or not they would be reciprocated.

Your hand left his face to brush his dark curls. Your eyes cast down at his lips quickly before looking back up. You noticed the yearning in his eyes and how he copied your actions. 

“...Can I?” Luke uttered breathlessly as if all the air in his lungs had been replaced with pure, relentless wanting. Even as a victim of heavy longing and subjected to desire, Luke still awaited the green light. His eyebrows slightly scrunched as if silently asking for permission, and you knew exactly what he wanted when he glanced down at your lips again. 

One tiny nod from you, and he pulled you in. His hands delicately held the sides of your face as your lips clashed. Almost instantly, Luke felt as if he might flatline soon from the way your kiss was seemingly sending him into a cardiac arrest. He practically melted as you giggled into the kiss when the heart monitor started beeping even more frequently, indicating Luke’s increasingly erratic heartbeat. Something about this moment felt so urgent yet endearing like a long-awaited wish come true.  

Slowly but surely, he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you up onto his hospital bed effortlessly, as if desperately needing you to just be closer to him. You both somewhat laughed at this before you wrapped both arms around his shoulders without breaking the kiss. 

One of your hands started playing with his hair. You were not sure why but you pulled it and almost instantly, Luke had to break away from the kiss as a raspy groan escaped his lips. Your other hand on the side of his face and neck could feel the way it echoed as a hum in his throat, and you gulped at your effect on him.

Luke licked his lips as he stared at you again. He came to the conclusion that after that kiss, you were wrong that he was obsessed with you. Instead, he was everything above that - devoted, fervently fixated, infatuated, an addict who shamelessly wanted and needed you. Gods, maybe he was a madman when it came to you.

Your eyes flickered to the clock nearby and noticed it was 4:41am, realizing there was just enough time for the two of you to leave the hospital and catch the next bus back to camp. That prompted you to whisper, “I think we should leave now. If we do, we’ll be on time for the next bus.” Luke groaned at your words while you hopped off the hospital bed and grabbed your jacket. The boy unhooked himself from the heart monitor, though his eyes lingered on it for a bit while a smile grew on his face. 

“Why the rush?” He asked, grabbing his own jacket before opening the door for you.

“Cause as lovely as that was, I don’t want to make out again in a hospital,” Luke froze before grinning at your words.

“Oh, does that mean it might happen again? Us making out?” He asked, watching as a cheeky smile grew on your face despite you opting to just shrug at his question. You fanned your hand out before him, smiling even more when he put his hand in yours. 

With that, you led him out of the hospital hand in hand while he grinned like a fool behind you.

Honestly, Luke would blindly go anywhere you lead him.

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

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[atsumutu]

it’s your scream that wakes him up. a shrill cry that has zoro jerking upright and latching onto the hilt of his swords. 

it takes him barely a minute to get to you, calling out your name as he enters your shared room where he finds you wide eyed and backed into a corner.

“what’s wrong?”

a quick scan of the room comes up empty for intruders so he returns his attention to you, closing the distance between you two with a few steps. 

there were intruders. just not the human kind. 

“c-cockroach!” you cry, pointing towards the corner of the room where sure enough, there’s a cockroach scuttering past. 

zoro turns to you, unimpressed. it’s a tiny thing that hardly called for this level of reaction. it most definitely didn’t warrant cutting his mid afternoon nap short. 

“seriously? i thought you were dying.” sleep still clings to his voice making it more rough than usual. 

your frenzied eyes move back and forth from the cockroach to the swordsman. “please zoro, if you love me you’ll-“ a squeal cuts off your pleading when another one decides to make an appearance. with nowhere left to run, you just push yourself further into the corner, shutting your eyes. 

before your scream comes to an end, zoro’s taken care of the situation, disposing off the offending creatures before returning to you. 

“god, such a crybaby.” he grumbles, pulling you towards him. a warm palm settles on your back, rubbing up and down between your shoulder blades. “it’s gone now, okay? it’s dead.” 

you peer at zoro through your lashes. “both of them?”

“yes, both of them.”

although his words comfort you, you seek further solace in his embrace, grabbing the fabric of his t shirt and nestling into his chest as he continues running up and down your back. 

a few seconds pass before zoro pulls back, remembering something. “i thought you were going out?” he asks, recalling the lively chatter over breakfast as the straw hats made plans to explore the port town they were docked in for the next few days. 

“I decided to stay in, thought you might appreciate some company.” you grin, mood perking up now that the cockroaches were dealt with. 

zoro rolls his eyes, sassy man that he is, and you suddenly find yourself thrown over his shoulder. 

“what i would appreciate is going back to my nap.” he huffs, making his way towards your shared bed. 

giggling, you give his firm bottom a few pats. “of course, my hero deserves some rest.”

zoro tolerates it all with a smirk playing on his lips, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze. when he reaches the end of the bed, he drops you onto the mattress, chuckling mildly at the disgruntled noise you make. he makes quick work of removing his swords, resting them on their usual spot against the bedside table, before joining you. 

it’s only when you’re tucked into zoro’s side that you pipe up again, lifting yourself to rest on your elbows, feeling playful. “zoro?”

he can already tell this isn't about to be a normal conversation just from the mirth dancing on your lips but he indulges you anyways.

“hm?”

“would you kill all the cockroaches in the world for me?”

zoro snorts at your absurd question. “that’s ridiculous.” he scoffs, fixing an arm behind his head and using the other to have you lie on his chest before answering, only because he knows how this goes with you. “yes, i would.” 

he’s rewarded with a chaste kiss on the lips and the melody of your laughter. its enough to fill his entire body with warmth. 

half an hour and several questions later, sleep still calls to him but his smile remains, content to humour you until your words begin to jumble into one and your breathing evens out into a familiar rhythm, convinced he could do this for an eternity with you.

[mistiell]

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight

summary: While on a supply run with your (insanely attractive) neighbor and friend, Joel, you nearly die twice. Once to an infect, and second to hypothermia, when you fall through the ice while trying to take a short cut home to Jackson. Joel spends the night trying to warm you up and keep you alive, and the morning after, you both come to a realization.

wc: 8k (Yikes, sorry y’all)

warnings: VOMIT (For my fellow emetephobics, I put ** at the start and end of the part), Fem! Reader, canon typical violence, graphic description of killing an infected, hypothermia, near death experiences, body heat as a survival tactic, like brief indirect mention of Star Wars that might be inaccurate bc I’ve never seen it (DONT COME FOR ME, I JUST HAVENT GOTTEN AROUND TO IT), Worried and protective Joel, very very briefmention of original characters towards the end bc i needed people and didnt feel like searching the wiki, slightly jealous Joel but it passes quickly. if i missed anything lmk. NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: Hello i have returned with a fic i started last year and just finished (oops lol), and it is my longest fic to date so enjoy! This will likely have a smutty part 2 if i ever get around to it.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

You don’t hate Joel Miller, but you really hate him right now.

Tommy was supposed to do this run with him – something about guitar strings for Ellie that they couldn’t get awhile ago – but something had come up. Joel had come to you to ask if you’d go with him instead, and your will to please him overrode your vehement dislike of sub-zero temperatures. It’s become apparent in recent months that you just can’t say no to the man; a flaw that you are actively going to work on fixing when you get back, you decide as you trudge through what has to be double digit inches worth of snow.

“Remind me why we couldn’t have ridden the rest of the way?” You huff, lifting and heaving your heavy winter boot yet another step after him. You really wish it were safe to wear snowshoes out here. It would make travelling through this shit so much easier. Alas, while it’s great for travelling faster over snow, the same can’t be said for escaping any infected you may have the misfortune of running into out here.

He sighs, but reminds you again for the third time in thirty minutes, “Horses can’t make it through this way in the winter.”

“Couldn’t we have found a way around?”

Bemused, he shoots you a sidelong glance, “Unless you wanna walk home in the dark, no. Sun’s already too low for my likin’.”

“It’s barely afternoon, Joel.”

“Might be past that by the time we head back.”

“Might be isn’t will be.”

Shaking his head, he breathes an exasperated chuckle. You’d think he was genuinely annoyed if this wasn’t your routine. You try to vex him, he pretends it’s working. He looks fond as he shakes his head, “D’ you gotta be so goddamn argumentative all the time?”

“‘Course.” You grin puckishly, “Part of my charm.”

He snorts, lifting a tree branch and letting you duck under his arm, a little bit of snow flaking off the nettles and dusting your hair and eyelashes, “Charm ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Yeah? What word would you use, then?” You ask, turning to look at him just as he ducks under the branch after you. As he straightens, you realize you’re so close, you have to tilt your head back a little to look at him.

It’s only when you’re this close to him that you’re reminded of just how broad he is. Broad shoulders, broader chest. One of his hands could encompass nearly a whole half of your face, you’re sure. Leaving the two of you in spouts of steam, you watch your breaths mingle and dance in the space between you. Humming a low rumble, his mouth twists and eyes narrow as he pretends to think, and you almost forget what you’ve asked until he replies, “Annoyance.”

Moment lost. You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you sweet.”

He chuckles, the sound rich in his chest as he continues on and prompts you to do the same. As you emerge from the treeline, you spot your destination a ways away. A small, rundown town centre. You can just barely see a sign with a treble clef peaking out from behind the large building blocking your view.

“You’re sure this area’s clear, right?” His silence unnerves you. “Right?”

“Should be.” His brow creases. He looks about as reluctant to be doing this as you are, but Ellie needs new strings and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get them before her birthday. The things you do for those you love, you suppose, “Keep a look out, just in case.”

“Yup.” You sigh, popping the ‘P’.

The town is a frigid wasteland when you make it onto the main street, storefront windows smashed to bits with snow drifts sloping up the walls and creeping inside, blowing snow whooshing up in swirls like mini tornados across the open spaces. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you traverse the street, nerves buzzing with the anticipation of danger that is ever present out here.

More walking, before glass crackles underfoot as you step through the mangled metal frame of the music store’s front door, careful to avoid the jagged pieces still jutting out of the rust-flaked steel. The two of you split up to look around, Joel making his way over to a wall that houses a couple of fair quality acoustic guitars while you survey a few shelves lined with CD’s and tapes on the other side of the room.

“Y’know guitar strings ain’t gonna be over there, right?” He calls, and you roll your eyes.

“Obviously. I figured I’d try to find something for her, too.” An album cover catches your eye and you slide it out, tilting your head uncertainly. It looks old, but you recognize some of the songs off the list on the back, “You think she’d like ‘Heart’?”

“What, the band?” You call back in confirmation, and he hums out a breath in thought as he picks over his side of the store, “I reckon she might.”

“‘Heart’ it is, then.” You murmur to yourself, slinging your pack from your shoulders and kneeling to unzip the main pocket.

Something clatters somewhere ahead of you, and you freeze, head snapping up in the direction of another door, wooden this time. You watch and wait, unblinking, palming the hilt of your pistol. Quads, hamstrings, calves wound tight and poised to move quickly, you rise slow into a half crouch, holding your breath. Something bumps again, chittering, hard enough this time that the door shudders in the corroded frame.

“Joel-!”

The door flings open and hits the adjacent wall with a BANG!, and with a guttural, inhumane cry, something flings its body at you chest first, knocking you off your feet. Your shoulders slam into the tiled floor with a hollow thud, knocking the air from your lungs and taking your ability to scream with it. You flail, forearm pressed hard against the infected’s fleshy throat as you fight wildly while trying desperately to breath, scream, something.

A large hunk of Cordyceps encompasses a quarter of it’s face, rubbery ridges stretching several inches from the surface of its skin. One wild, bloodshot eye meets yours, pupil blown and lids split so wide with hunger you can see where the yellowed white begins to curve into its skull. Your heart thrums painfully in your throat as you realize you’ve nothing to do but stare back and pray Joel gets the hell over here before the thing tears into you. Its teeth gnash, still shrieking, mouth opening so wide you can see the mottled grey of its rotting tonsils behind flashes of bloodied incisors. Its rancid breath has your stomach churning.

A strong arm wraps around its neck from behind, and then it’s off you, and you’re staring wide eyed at the ceiling listening to the cracking of bone, a far off, dying keen. The wet squelch of brain matter and rotten cerebrospinal fluid spilling out of its skull and likely splattering over the wall is muffled but just as terribly, egregiously sickening. Its only once you’re pulled up by the shoulders and spots dance across your vision that you realize that you’ve still yet to take a proper breath.

Joel takes your face between large palms, lips moving with no sound beyond the ringing in your ears. You watch his mouth wrap around your name, then the words ‘Breathe’and ‘Please’ several times over as he pats feeling into your cheeks. Over his shoulder, the thing lays motionless, its head so mangled, its just a wet mess of reds and greys and sharp fragments of bone. Your stomach rolls. **You twist out of his hold just as it contracts and spills its contents over the grimy floor, black pressing into your peripherals until you finally shut your eyes, retching. A hand smooths over your shoulder blades while the other collects any loose strands of hair and holds them back behind your nape. **

Its easier to breathe by the time you’re done, and you can finally hear his voice again, low and soft as he soothes, “S’ alright, you’re okay.”

“Oh, fuck.” You rasp, throat burning something awful as you spit the acrid taste from your mouth

“I know, I know.” He turns you to him by your shoulders as soon as you’re done and looks you over, gaze frantically jumping between your face, neck, shoulders, arms. “Did it get you?”

You blink dumbly at him.

“What?” Your mind is still catching up to the present moment, and it takes too long for you to process what he’s asked.

“Were you bit?” His voice is high, shaking and scared, his hands on your shoulders like vice grips.

“N-No.” You force out just so he’ll calm down. You’re not actually sure yet, adrenaline still prickling in your extremities, so really, you could be. Its just that seeing him so genuinely panicked is more than a little disconcerting. His hold on your shoulders starts to ache, and you squirm, “Joel, you’re hurting me.”

He lets go like he’s been burned before gently pushing your jacket and shirt collar to your right, then left as you slide your sleeves up a little to check your wrists. No bites, no scratches. You both breathe sighs of relief.

“You get the strings?” You rasp, and he looks at you incredulously.

“You almost died n’ you’re worried ‘bout the guitar strings?” You shrug, and he breathes a laugh, beard scratching under the pads of his fingertips as he rubs at his mouth, “Christ, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I got the damn strings.” With a quiet grunt, he rises, holds out a hand, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Clapping your hand into his, you let him hoist you to your feet.

---

Walking, freezing, joints aching, the sun looms low in the sky, stealing away with it slowly the light of day. Joel holds up two fingers to the horizon and scowls. You sigh, trek onwards, a shiver jittering down your spine and making your teeth chatter briefly, causing you to accidentally nip the tip of your tooth paste coated finger as you attempt to rid your mouth of the remnants of your earlier close call.

“You alright?” He asks for what has to be the thirtieth time as you spit into the snow and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

For the thirtieth time, despite feeling a little gross, you answer, “Fine.”

“Y’sure?” He rubs a gloved hand roughly along the length of your shoulders, warming the nape of your neck even through layers. “You’re shiverin’.”

You want to curl into his side. Slide under his arm, wrap yours round his back and squeeze so close you’d have to mirror his gait so you don’t trip over his ankle. You shake your head minutely. The cold is weakening your resolve.

“I’m okay. Just wanna get home.” You try to sound normal, like his touch isn’t setting you on fire.

He gives you a soft squeeze and retracts his arm. You mourn the loss swiftly and silently, “You n’ me both.”

The shadows around lengthen considerably as you keep going. Glancing up at the sky, the sun has dipped lower, turning the sky a dusted pink. You scowl at the realization that he was right. At this rate, you won’t make it back to Jackson before dark.

“We’re not makin’ good time.” He articulates your thought with a sigh, brow creased.

“We could pass over the lake?”

He hesitates, then makes a face like he’s smelled something rotten, “S’ not a good idea.”

“It’s been frozen over since November.” You argue. It’s nearly March now, but the snow is still crisp under your boots and the wind is cold enough that your cheeks and nose are numb. It’s the quickest way back, you know he knows that.

There’s a pause as he contemplates whether or not it’s worth the risk. There are about a hundred things that could go wrong, and you watch him mull over them all in the minute it takes for him to finally reply, “Fine. But if you fall in, you’re gettin’ yourself out.”

There’s no truth to it. He might scold you, but he’d do it while breathing life back into you, cursing you between each exhale. Your breath comes out in puffs of fog as you chuckle, “Deal.”

By the time you reach the crossing, the sky has taken on a lovely lavender hue that serves as a less lovely reminder that you’re quickly running out of daylight. Joel hums doubtfully as he eyes the ice, sizing up the distance between the two of you and the bank on the other side.

The lake isn’t very large to begin with, and the path crosses a narrow strip where the water tapers in like the neck of an hourglass. It’ll take you fifteen minutes or so to get all the way over to the other side. In the height of winter, you can even get the horses safely across. But while it’s still well below freezing, and the ice looks thick enough to jump on from here, it could be weaker further out.

Hands in his pockets, Joel frowns, “I really don’t know about this.”

“It’s fine.” Emboldened by thoughts of your warm bed and a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the other side, you step onto the ice and turn back to him, “See?”

“Mm-hm.” He hums, displeased as he follows after you carefully.

Ten minutes of walking and you’re already a little ways passed the halfway mark. Joel’s had his eyes on the dark abyss beneath you nearly the entire time. “If you keep looking down like that, you might fall.”

“N’ if I don’t, both of us might fall.” His use of ‘fall’ means something different to yours. Humming, you turn your gaze forward again.

“We’re close, now. The ice is stronger closer to the edges, right?” You already know the answer. There’s no point in asking, but you do anyway just so he’ll talk.

“Mm.” He grumbles. That stubborn crease between his brows has deepened, you find when you glance sidelong at him.

“Exactly. We’re fi-.” An ear splitting crack bounces off the ice, to the trees, and back again in a terrible echo as the ice splinters beneath you. You nearly slip in your haste to stop. The both of you go stiff as statues. You’re petrified. Joel looks doubly so.

“Joel.” You whisper, as if your voice weighs enough to be the extra bit that sends you plunging into the icy depths below. The chalky cracks are in stark contrast to the dark backdrop of the water beneath. Just how deep must it be for you to be unable to make out anything below you?

You feel like you might be sick.

“Hey. Look at me.” Tears hot with panic well in your eyes as you do as he says, and the look on his face makes it worse. You know that look. He thinks might lose you, and he’s decided he won’t let it happen. His breath trembles, but his voice doesn’t waver, “S’ gonna be alright, yeah?”

You manage a nod, and only then does he look down, then left, scouring the ice and treeline barely fifteen feet away. Back to you, and you both realize he’s to far to reach you. Second time you’ve almost died today, and this time he can’t come to your rescue.

“M-Maybe I can...” You bend your knees a little as if to move and he throws a hand out.

“Don’t-!”

The ice gives, and the fear takes up so much space you’ve barely room to take a breath before you’re engulfed in painful cold. It bites at your face as you attempt to swim up. The water muffles everything but the sound of your heartbeat as you fight against the weight of your clothes and backpack. You make the mistake of opening your eyes and find yourself swimming up, up, up through far too much nothing. It hurts to kick your legs hard enough to propel yourself, and it takes what feels like forever for you to breach the surface. You take in a heaving lungful of air as Joel calls your name.

He’s on his belly, body parallel to the edge and arm outstretched, but not close enough for you to grab just yet, “Don’t pull yourself up. Just- Just get your arms on the ice n’ kick your legs a little, alright? Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh.” It comes out jittery, jaw vibrating, teeth clacking together painfully as you hook your arm clumsily up over the lip and do as he says. The lower half of your body gradually rises until you’re level with the ice, and it’s then that he beckons you closer.

“Now scooch forward.”

You kick your legs harder and carefully pull yourself toward him until your chest is out of the water, then your torso. The ice dips a bit as you reach for his outstretched hand, and as soon as he’s got yours, he pulls hard enough to get you the rest of the way out, nearly wrenching your shoulder out of the socket. The moment you’re close enough, he wraps his arms tight around you and rolls you both away from the hole in the ice.

Panting, trembling, he keeps you there in his arms moments longer than he probably should.

“Don’t you ever do shit like that again.” His voice breaks on ‘ever’. “Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack. Too old for this shit.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ do it on pu-purpose.” You slur with lips too stiff to fit around the words right. Even your tongue feels frozen, but you think that’s probably more from the shock, “Thought y’said I’d have’ta get myself out.”

He huffs a short laugh, incredulous and utterly relieved. “Had a change a’ heart.”

“C’mon.” Carefully, he shifts onto knees before standing. He doesn’t let go of you once as he helps you to your feet, “Gotta get you warmed up ‘fore you freeze.”

He says it like there’s somewhere warm waiting for you just beyond the ice. You’re too tired to be outwardly pessimistic. “Yeah.”

You should be anxious as he shuffles the two of you to shore as quickly as is safe. When you make it there, he stops you only to peel off your mitts and scarf before ushering you forward. It’s freezing, you’re soaked. It’s a recipe for a very miserable death, you think dismally. But you trust Joel, and the tight grip he has on you makes you relax, even when you’re toeing a very fine line between life and death. You know he won’t give up on you easily. If you started spontaneously disintegrating tomorrow, he’d carve out pieces of himself just to keep you whole. There is no way in hell he’ll let a little cold take you from him.

“Y’see that?” You lift your head sluggishly to see a small opening tucked into the drop off of a very large, rocky hill. “Just gotta make it there, alright?”

You try for an ‘okay’ but all that comes out is a small hum as you slump further against him. Maybe you’ve relaxed too much, “M’ tired.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.” The pet name sparks something in you, and you try to foster it, let it liven you up a little. Darlin’ Darlin’ Darlin’ like a mantra over and over in your head. He squeezes your arm roughly, and you peel your eyes open as he pleads, “Just a little further n’ you can sit down, okay? Promise.”

Sit down, not sleep. You know you can’t sleep until you’re not at risk of freezing to death anymore. By the time you reach your destination, you can barely feel your fingers and toes.

Joel has to duck to get the two of you out of the cold and into the cave, but he manages. It’s warmer in here, you think. Although maybe its not warmth, but just the absence of the wind nipping at your skin. You’re a little alarmed that you can’t tell the difference.

Sliding down the wall to sit clumsily, you watch him as he slings both his and your packs from his shoulders. You vaguely wonder when he’d managed to take yours. The zipper clinks sharply as he sets it down and reminds you suddenly.

“The CD.”

He frowns, “Huh?”

“Ellie’s birthday gift.” You clarify through the haze rolling over your brain. “The ‘Heart’ CD. I left it.”

He blows a short huff out his nose as he reaches into his back pocket, sliding said object from the denim and giving it a waggle.

“Oh.”

Breathing a very small laugh, he shakes his head, “You’re welcome.”

Theres a short lull, although it feels like longer. He looks you over, jaw working before, “You’re gonna have to strip.”

You blink owlishly, “Huh?”

Cheeks and neck flushing a lovely rose, he clears his throat, “Your clothes are soaked. You’ll freeze if you keep ‘em on.”

“Oh.” That checks. You’re sure your face would be on fire if your blood wasn’t slush in your veins, “Right.”

Tentatively, you attempt to peel your jacket off while he unrolls his sleeping bag, but your arms won’t cooperate with you. They’re slow and hard to maneuver. It feels more like operating two arcade crane machines simultaneously, and you huff after failing to get the cuff of your sleeve unstuck from your wrist.

“Here.” He sighs, kneeling in front of you to tug it the rest of the way off and toss it aside. It’s stiff as it lands, mostly frozen. When he looks back at you, the corners of his mouth twist down, and he takes one of your cheeks in a big, calloused hand, thumbing under your eye. You were right. It does encompass nearly the entire side of your face.

“What?” You ask weakly, head lolling until the full weight of it rests in his palm.

“Nothin’.” He replies quietly, shaking his head. You watch his gaze dip to the hem of you shirt before it meets yours again, wary, “Can I... You want help?”

All you can do is nod. It’ll be quicker – safer – if he does it for you, you justify, as he carefully slips his fingers just under the hem and lifts. His knuckles feel like brands where they brush over your ribs, and you jolt reflexively.

He pulls it over your head and off your arms, “You alright?”

“F-Fine.” Just being undressed by the man you think you’re in love with. No big deal.

He gets off your boots next. Wetting his chapped lips briefly, his fingers twitch as he glances down at your jeans, “These too?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s not asking if you want them off, but rather if you want help getting them off. You swallow, then through chattering teeth, “Uh-huh.”

Wordlessly, he undoes the button, then the zipper without dawdling, strictly business. You plant your palms and use what little strength you have left to lift your butt from the floor so he has room to wiggle them down your thighs. They slip over your calves and past your ankles with ease, taking your socks with them.

“You, uh...” Again, he clears his throat. “You can get in the sleeping bag ‘fore you take off the rest.”

Drawing your knees in makes your bones ache, and you list to one side when you attempt to shift your weight forward onto your feet. He catches you roughly by the shoulders and soothes, “Easy. C’mere.”

He helps you over and into the sleeping bag, zipping you up. It takes effort, but you manage to unhook your bra, throwing it near your other clothes weakly. Joel’s got a gloomy look on his face as he scrubs a large hand over the length of your bicep. The warmth from the friction seeps through the fabric and into your skin, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

“You’re wet too.” He looks down at himself at your observation. The front of his clothes are indeed wet. The fact that he’s not near freezing is a miracle.

He hums, hand still heavy on your arm, “Only got one sleepin’ bag.”

“Body heat. S’ better for kee-keepin’ warm anyway, right?” A strange look crosses his face, then, and you feel a little silly for suggesting it. “Only if you want.”

Only if he’s comfortable.

Tentatively, he asks, “You alright with that?’

“Mm-hm.” It sounds too eager. You’re too tired to care.

He hesitates a moment, before nodding, “Alright.”

You mourn the loss of his touch briefly as he stands, moving your packs closer before sliding off his jacket. He lifts his shirt just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the soft slope of his abdomen before seemingly remembering himself.

“Don’t look.” He mumbles, suddenly shy. You do as he says, listening to the shucking of fabric, the clinking of his belt buckle, the zipper of his jeans.

The soft sound of socked feet padding quickly over stone as he rushes to escape the cold. He hisses as he slots himself in behind you.

“Christ, woman, you’re like ice.” His skin is blessedly warm as his torso presses hot against your back.

“Think I don’t know that?” You quip with no malice, body wracked with shivers that aren’t entirely to blame on the cold anymore.

Puffs of his breath fan over your ear as he chuckles, “Wasn’t thinkin’ when I said it. Sorry.”

“S’ okay.” You lift your head so he has space to stretch out his arm, and the curve of your cheek bone fits snuggly into the crook of his elbow. You find his bicep makes a very comfortable pillow, “Your arm’s gonna fall asleep.”

“You comfortable?” He asks, and you nod, “Then I don’t much care.”

You pray he can’t feel your heart palpitating in your chest as you whisper, “Okay.”

The heat radiating off of him could rival a space heater cranked up to the highest setting. It’s doing wonders, thawing your own body and slowly bringing your temperature back up to something more human, less breathing corpse. He’s stiff as a board, though. The arm that isn’t under your head must be tucked tight against his side, and his bare legs are as far from yours as he can get them in the too-small sleeping bag. You want him and his warmth closer.

“You can touch me, Joel.” He stills, and it occurs to you how that must have sounded. “I mean, you’re not going to make me uncomfortable. You can relax.”

“Alright.” His voice is a low rumble in your ear as his hand just barely creeps over your bare waist. He’d be leaving goosebump in his wake if they weren’t already there. “This okay?”

It takes a moment to find your voice.

“Yeah.” It feels funny in your throat. You swallow in an attempt to fix it, “S’ good.”

You feel him finally relax, and try not to jump when he snakes his arm – his very naked arm – around your front, forearm flush against the soft flesh of your stomach and knuckles a little more than a hairs width from the underside of your breast. If you tilted your head just a bit and strained your eyes all the way to the side, you think you could catch a glimpse of his collarbone. You’re too cozy in his hold to move.

“Feelin’ any warmer?” Eyelids fluttering, you hum contentedly. The tip of his nose smushes firm into your shoulder as he murmurs, “Can’t fall asleep yet.”

“Please?” It must come out strangely by the way his breath hitches, “M’ warm enough. Swear.”

“That’s a load a bull if I ever heard it.” He snorts. The vibrations of his voice leave your skin humming, and it coaxes you further into him, “You’re lukewarm at best.”

“Word’s got ‘warm’ in it, doesn’t it?”

He tuts at you. You can hear his smile as he grumbles, “Don’t get smart with me.”

“You love it.”

He chuckles in strange way, “I do.”

Silence. Laying in his arms comes more naturally to you than it probably should. Especially given the fact that the two of you are mostly naked. And warm. So, so warm. Fatigue weighs down your eyelids. You’ve done so much today, you deserve the rest, it whispers.

“You fallin’ asleep over there?”

“Mm-mm.” You grumble, peeling your eyes wide open for a second to wake yourself some before they slide halfway shut again of their own accord, “Some old man keeps yapping in my ear every time I drift off.”

“You watch your mouth.” He growls, joking. Something stirs in your belly. You curse yourself for being too tired and too weak to do anything about it.

You settle for teasing instead. “Or what?”

He scoffs, “Frozen half to death, but still got ‘nough brains to give me lip, huh?”

“Mm-hm.” More silence. The sound of his breathing starts to lull you away into something too far from consciousness, and you drag yourself from it woefully, “F’ you want me to stay awake, you’re gonna have to talk my ear off, cowboy.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.” Everything. Even if you weren’t trying to stay awake for the sake of staying alive, you’d let him ramble about whatever he wanted as long as he’d let you listen.

“Alright.”

He talks about the things he has to do when you get back to Jackson. Apparently, his work room needs a good tidying. When that gets too dull, he tells you about the movie he and Ellie watched last week for movie night. He asks obvious questions throughout explanations to keep you awake. ‘The guy working with the small green... thing, what was his name again? Right, now where was I?’ It feels like a good few hours before he lets you start to drift off. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, the feel of his warm body tucked in close to your back, and dream of deep space and empires beyond your comprehension.

---

By the time you wake, sunlight is pouring in through the mouth of the cave, and the snow just beyond burns a horizon into your vision when you blink your eyes open. You stretch your legs out a little only to find them tangled between Joel’s. The movement must wake him because he takes a slow, sleepy breath, and squeezes closer.

“Joel?” You breathe. He startles.

“Wh-?” His head lifts and he tightens his hold on you for a split second, head on a swivel. When he realizes there’s no threat, he sighs heavily. You shudder when his arm slides over your bare stomach as he moves to scrub a hand over his face, “Christ.”

“Sorry.”

“S’ fine. My fault for fallin’ asleep.” He drawls, voice gravelly. You shift, and he scoots back just enough to let you turn over, “Time is it?”

“Definitely past dawn.” His eyes dart behind you, and he scowls at the sun. Yours follow the lean tendon in is neck as he lets his head fall back, and you suppress the urge to trace the length of it with your finger.

He curses, and it occurs to you that he hasn’t made much of an effort to disentangle himself from you. Now of sounder mind and warmer body, you notice the hair of his legs prickling against yours. You notice your bare chest pressed close to his, the steady rise and falls of them both as your breaths sync. Eyes trail up his collar, his neck, his face. Russet eyes bore into yours, and your breath hitches. They flick down to your lips. The little space left between you is charged; static electricity that spiders over your skin and lifts the hair on your arms.

“You, uh,” His hand skims over your skin once more; gentle, tentatively affectionate, as if he’s afraid to touch you now that you aren’t in need of his warmth. It settles into the curve of your waist like it’s meant to be there. He’s still staring at your lips. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Yeah.” You breathe. He looks back up at you, then, “Much.”

“Good.” He murmurs just as soft. His eyes dip back down to your lips.

You must be dreaming. Or dead. Or some other state of being beyond reality. Because there is no way he’s leaning in. There’s no way the tip of his nose is brushing yours. There’s no way he’s close enough that you can feel each one of his exhales fanning over your mouth.

“Joel...” It comes out a sigh, barely audible. You’re not even sure you’ve actually said anything aloud until he responds.

“Tell me to stop.” The words leave his lips in a low whisper and settle heavy on yours. You hold your breath as his hand sweeps over your ribs, the length of your collar. It envelops the entire side and back of your neck, igniting your skin as he draws a feather-like line over the edge of your jaw, “Tell me to stop, n’ I will.”

Any minute now, your heart is going to burst through your ribcage. You’re sure of it. Mind blank, you can’t think of anything to say. But you don’t want him to stop. You’ll never want him to stop. A shuddered breath, and you timidly press your the tip of your nose into the apple of his cheek, lips barely a hairs width from his. He turns his face just so, and you almost jump when his cupid’s bow just barely grazes your upper lip.

Your name sounds from somewhere far away, followed by his. The two of you startle, and in an instant, the moment is gone.

“Goddamn it, Tommy.” He huffs under his breath, rolling out of your space as much as he’s able within the confines of the sleeping bag. As glad as you are that someone’s found you, the man’s timing could not be any fucking worse.

“We best get dressed.”

“Yeah.” Your cheeks warm as he begins shimmying out from next to you, gaze catching on his broad chest, the soft muscle of his stomach, the hair trailing from his abdomen down somewhere lower, beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You close your eyes before you can see anything more.

With him gone, you’re cold again. The frigid air nips at your bare chest, and you snuggle deeper into the sleeping bag until he’s done dressing. His clothes appear to be dry and fit to wear again. Yours are a different story, frozen solid in the shapes they landed in when you tossed them into a pile last night.

“Here.” Something soft plops down in front of your face, and when you open your eyes, there’s a stack of messily folded clothes on the stone floor with a sheepish looking Joel bent over his backpack a little ways away, “You can borrow those.”

Something warm and syrupy fills your chest and squishes between your ribs as you murmur, “Thanks.”

Keeping his gaze on the floor, he only hums in response. You take that as your cue to slide yourself out of the warmth of the sleeping bag. The only thing of yours that doesn’t need to be thawed is your bra, though it’s still cold against your skin as you slide your arms through the straps. Joel’s long sleeve is next. It’s soft, and smells like cedar and something uniquely him. You resist the urge to bury your nose in the fabric, too afraid he’ll decide to look up and catch you doing it.

When you’re done, you make your way to him and catch the quick once over he gives you.

“Like what you see?” You grin. He rolls his eyes.

He jerks his nose in the direction of your belongings, grumbling, “Get your stuff.”

You oblige, slinging your pack over your shoulders and stepping out into the sun after him. It blinds you, and the backs of your eyes ache as you blink to adjust them to the light. Luckily, the weather is significantly better today. No unexpected squalls, blue skies, and just a little warmer than yesterday.

“Tommy?” Joel suddenly calls out into the woods, his volume startling you bad. He grimaces, looking disproportionately apologetic, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” You scoff, grinning playfully and shaking your head, “Nuh-uh, that was totally unforgivable.” You bump his shoulder with yours, “You’re really gonna have to make up for that.”

A dampened smile turns the corners of his mouth up as he bumps you back lightly, breathing a laugh, “Not a chance.”

“Joel?” Tommy calls back, closer than before. “This way!”

He’s brought a search party. A fair sized one, judging by how many voices respond at varying distances. It’s not long until you spot two people on horseback through the trees, one with familiar curls and a newer face with sandy blonde hair.

“Joel!” Tommy sounds utterly relieved as he slides off his gelding and engulfs him in a hug, clapping him over the shoulders before pushing him back, stern, “What the hell happened? We all thought you’d gotten yourselves killed!”

“One of us almost did.” Joel mutters, shooting a look at you. “Twice.”

Tommy gawps, looks like he’s about to ask before sighing in resignation. “You can tell me about it on the way home. Ellie’s been losin’ her mind since last night. Girl hasn’t slept a wink. Had to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t take off to find y’all by herself in the dark.”

Joel tuts and shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face, “You find our horses?”

“Yeah, Maria and Bev found ‘em early this mornin’.” He leads the two of you back towards his horse. “You’ll have ‘ta ride back with us.”

“I’ll ride with Jamie.” Jamie’s sort of new to Jackson, newer to you considering you’ve only been there about a year and he’s got a quarter more on you. He’s friendly, you like him. You have a feeling Joel holds a very different sentiment as he glowers, displeased as the man helps you up.

“Hold on tight.” He grins. Joel looks about one more dazzling smile from murdering him in cold blood.

He’s quiet the whole ride back, broody with his face set in a scowl. Tommy makes conversation here and there, asks what happened again and nearly breaks his neck when he whips his head to look at you in shock. You get similar reactions when you make it back to Jackson and explain.

“Joel!” Ellie flings herself at him and nearly bowls him over in her rush to hug him. You’re next, though with noticeably less force. You must still look a little rough, “What the hell happened?”

“We were passin’ over the lake n’ she fell through the ice.” He omits the part before that where you’d nearly gotten your face eaten by an infected, and for that, you’re thankful.

She pales, looking at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “You what?!”

“I’m fine.” You rush to reassure, glaring at Joel where he’s slipping the reigns off Tommy’s horse out of the corner of your eye, “It’s nothing to worry about now.”

“Like hell it ain’t.” He grumbles under his breath as he carefully slips the bit from the horse’s mouth and gives him a pat on the cheek, muttering a clipped ‘hey’ when you thwack his shoulder as hard as you’re willing. He gives Ellie a short, well meaning lecture that’s met with a very prompt dismissal consisting of some very colourful language as you move to help Jamie with his mare. Maria stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Jamie’s got it, you go home. I don’t want to see you working for the next couple of days, alright?”

“But-?”

She cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Alright.” You sigh, handing Jamie the reigns. As you’re leaving, you barely catch Joel whisper a ‘thank you’ to her and whip around to glower at him. “You’re responsible for my involuntary sick leave?”

“Necessary sick leave. And no, I’m not. You’re just known to be lackin’ in the self preservation department, so we gotta have some for you.” He teases, bumping your shoulder a little in a way you think is supposed to be playful. “C’mon. I’m walkin’ you home.”

“Yeah? Finally done with your brooding?”

He clicks his teeth, “M’ not brooding.”

“Not now, but you were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Quit it.” He breathes a laugh, shaking his head. You grin, victorious.

“I’m serious, you scowled the whole way back. Between the cold and the time it took to get here, I was a little worried your face would get stuck like that. I’d never get to see that charming smile again.”

He rolls his eyes. “How would you ever survive?”

You both chuckle, before falling into comfortable silence. You pass house after house, before taking a right onto your street. Through their front window, you can see a couple you’ve yet to meet properly stands in their living room, swaying in an embrace, gazing at each other with an appreciation you only come to grasp when you’ve nearly lost someone. The man slides a hand from her waist to her cheek, thumbing the underside of her eye, and you’re reminded of the feel of Joel’s calloused palm holding your frigid cheek.

You frown, pulling your prying eyes from the sweet scene as you near your own home, “Hey, why’d you... hold my face for a second out there?”

He flushes, clears his throat with a frown, “Your pupils were so big, could barely see any colour.”

As you reach your porch, he looks deep in thought and- Worried? Rattled, maybe. Moreso as he softly admits, “You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.” In a rare act of bravery, you take his warm hand and squeeze, gazing at him earnestly, “I’m really sorry.”

He visibly softens, the perpetual wrinkle in his brow smoothing into something warmer, a little hesitant, dare you say even timid. You watch his gaze flick over your face before he squeezes back cautiously, “S’alright. Was my fault. Knew we shouldn’t a’ crossed that way this time a’ year.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I suggested it, it was my fault, too.” You reply, firm but gentle.

He looks down with a hum, scuffing the toe of a heavy boot over the concrete path that leads to your house. There’s a small silence, and you’re trying to find the words to assure him you were both idiots for trying to pass over that damn lake when he pipes up again.

“I meant it, before,” He smiles cautiously, unsure of himself, “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

You laugh, glad the mood has shifted to something lighter, still holding his hand as you shake your head, “I meant it too! I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He chuckles, looking down to your linked hands. You watch his expression carefully, and something bittersweet twists his lips when he gives yours one last squeeze before pulling away.

“See you ‘round, yeah?” Your heart sinks to your stomach and hollows it out, making room for a strange disappointment. Something that feels a little like grief as you watch what could have been as it slips through your fingers and takes half a step back from your porch.

“Yeah.” It soughs out on a breath that leaves your lungs too quick, and you take another, controlled and slow. You nod, smile tight lipped, “See you around, Joel.”

You turn, make it up the wooden steps of your porch and through the threshold of your door. It shuts, and you just stand there, snow melting off of your boots and coat and soaking into the door mat below. It feels wrong, leaving whatever happened between you undiscussed, and the hollow feeling pulses achingly in your throat. There’s something there, something palpable. Something that could be real, if only you would reach for it. You wish he would have reached for it. You wish you would reach for it now. But it’s impulsive. It’s reckless. He knows that, that’s why he left it alone. It needs more thought, you rationalize.

You turn on your heel and reach for the door handle. He’s already standing there with a hand raised to knock when it opens, looking as startled as you are.

“Listen, I-.” He clears his throat, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It’s endearing to see him so bashful, “What happened out there... I couldn’t not say somethin’.”

There’s too much air in your chest. Your vocal cords feel more like wind chimes – unpredictable, and at the mercy of something more so. You don’t trust your breath to sway them the way you want them to.

“Yeah?” You try anyway. It drifts out soft and hangs in the air.

“Yeah.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glances over your shoulder with a sniff, then chuckles nervously, “Hadn’t actually thought about what that somethin’ would be ‘fore I did this.”

You chuckle with him; startled, shy.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” He asks like it’s easy, but the colour in his cheeks give him away. They’re a bit too pink for it to be just a cold flush.

Your stomach does a strange flip. You’ve waited months for him to ask, too afraid to ask yourself without knowing what his answer might be. You dig your thumbnail into the side of your index finger and rejoice at the pinch. He’s real, and he’s really asking.

The sound you make is halfway between a laugh and a sigh, “This is a little backwards, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, usually you take a lady out to eat before you sleep with her.” You simper, your teasing tentative. He stares at you, stunned, for a long, unbelievably nerve wracking moment.

“I take it back. I’ll eat by myself.” He laughs, shaking his head. He stays standing on your porch.

“Wha-,” You gape, laughing as you thwack his arm, “Hey, you already offered, you can’t take it back now!”

He smiles so terribly, wonderfully soft. “So I take it you do, then?”

God, it has to be illegal to look at someone like that, you think. It’s got to be some sort of health hazard, the way you feel as though you might just go into cardiac arrest right here on your porch. You smile, giddy and trying your damndest to smother it into something just a little less eager, “I’d love to have dinner with you, Joel.”

“How ‘bout tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the grin that sneaks up on you, “Yeah, that’d be good.”

He smiles back, soft and warm in a way you have a feeling is reserved for you, “Pick you up a six.”

“You’re right across the street, Joel.” You laugh, gesturing to the house maybe fifty paces from yours if you took long enough strides.

He chuckles along with you, “So?”

“So, I could just come over.”

“You could.” He shrugs a shoulder, grinning something that makes him look years younger; the ghost of a cheeky, twenty-something year old buried under as many years and then some, breathing his first breath in decades with heartbeat restored, “But what kind a’ gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you there?”

“Alright.” You smile soft, committing his expression to memory. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Countin’ the minutes.” He takes your hand again and steps in close, leaning in to press his warm lips to the apple of your cheek, beard prickling ticklishly. Good god, you can’t feel your legs. Your is heart bouncing between your ribs so quick its making you a little lightheaded. You wonder if he’s grinning because he could feel the heat rising off your skin. He squeezes your tingling fingers and lets his slide from them slow like he’s loathe to leave. “See you ‘round.”

“See you around, Joel.”

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° make me feel like someone else

( shidou ryusei x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — part 5 in my seven petals, all poison series!! ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — shidou ryusei x fem! reader, lol i swear this one has a happy ending, suggestive content ( not explicit ), all characters are 18+!!, set it where shidou still plays for Paris X Gen (PXG), forbidden relationship, unrequited love, secret relationship, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — when shidou finds himself under the care of the team’s new personal trainer—you—what starts as a dangerous game of lust turns into something far more complicated. Shidou begins to question if all-consuming want can slowly turn into love—and what it means when the one thing he never believed in starts to feel real.

── .✦ feelin' your lips on my cold neck , magnetic everything about you

You're used to athletes. The rigid discipline. The sweat and soreness and endless repetition.

You're not used to him.

Not used to Shidou Ryusei.

The first time you meet, you’re crouched beside Karasu, checking the strain in his hamstring, when Shidou’s voice cuts through the gym.

“Yo, sweetheart,” he calls. “Think you could give me a little hands-on attention when you’re done with crow boy over there?”

Karasu sighs, already too used to it. “Ignore him. It’s how he says hello.”

You do. For the first week. Maybe two. But Shidou is persistent. Not in the sweet, slow-burn kind of way. He’s all jagged edges and reckless heat. He likes to flirt like he plays—aggressively, unapologetically, like there’s nothing off-limits.

But you’re his trainer. That should make you off-limits.

And yet—

It starts small. Too small to even notice at first.

A cocky smirk when you correct his form during a lift. The way he groans during stretches, a little too deliberately. “You tryna kill me, babe? Or just like having me under you like this?”

You roll your eyes, but the worst part is… your hands linger. Just a second longer than they should.

It’s supposed to be routine. You’ve worked on plenty of players before—wrapped ankles, iced shoulders, reset joints. But Shidou comes in one afternoon with a low groan and a wince that doesn’t look entirely exaggerated.

"Quad’s tight," he grunts, hopping up onto the table. "Probably from carrying the team all morning."

You raise a brow but say nothing, reaching for the massage oil and gloves. Your focus is automatic, almost detached—thumbs working along the inner thigh, then outward, across the line of tension built up from too many sprints.

“You gonna talk to me, or just keep pretending I’m a mannequin?” he mutters, voice low, half-laughing.

You don’t answer, just press deeper.

Then—

He breathes out hard. A sharp inhale, not pained. Something else.

You mean to move on. Your hand should leave his thigh.

But it doesn’t.

Not immediately.

Your fingers hover, press again—just barely. You don’t look up, but you can feel his gaze burn into you. Your thumb traces the same spot, once, twice, and then you pull back. Flustered. Disoriented.

Shidou doesn’t say anything. Not at first. But when he finally speaks, his voice is different.

Low. Almost amused. Almost reverent.

“…You feel that too, huh?”

You freeze. Your heart kicks up. And you lie.

“No. I don’t know what you mean.”

But it’s already happened.

You both know

The line is gone.

The worst part is the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t.

Like he sees past your professionalism and into something hungrier.

Something you’re trying to ignore.

The moment everything shifts is quiet. Stupidly so.

It’s late. The facility’s almost empty. Shidou’s the only one still around, half-sweaty from his extra reps, bruised and breathing heavy. You should go home. You tell yourself that.

“Don’t suppose I could get a massage,” he says, smirking. “Got this knot in my back that’s been killing me. Might need your magic hands, doc.”

You sigh. “Fine. Shirt off. Face down.”

You try to stay clinical. Professional. But his muscles are tense under your palms, and his breath hitches every time you press too deep. And then—

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs, voice low. “Like, really good. No wonder the team keeps you around.”

Your hands still. He lifts his head to look at you, and there’s something in his eyes—soft, curious, dangerous.

“You ever get tired of playing by the rules?”

“Shidou—”

He sits up, sudden. Inches from you.

“Say my name like that again,” he says, voice rough, “and I’m gonna forget you’re technically not allowed to fuck me.”

You should walk away.

Instead, you kiss him.

It’s fire. All-consuming. All teeth and want and months of suppressed tension snapping free. His hands are rough, desperate, dragging you into his lap. Yours grip his shoulders, nails digging in, anchoring yourself to him.

You shouldn’t. You do.

You don’t talk about it. You pretend it didn’t happen.

Until it does again. And again.

It’s always behind closed doors—your office, the locker room, his apartment. You tell yourself it’s just physical. Just lust.

But he remembers the things you say in passing. Brings you snacks when you forget to eat. Slows down during sets because he knows you’ve had a long day.

It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s not just sex anymore.

He touches you like he wants to claim something.

He kisses you like he’s starving.

And you—stupid, soft, already too far gone—you let him.

It sneaks up on Shidou.

Not during sex—never during that. It’s always too heated, too consuming. 

Lust is easy. It’s natural for him, primal and wild. 

But love? That’s foreign. Love is quiet. Love doesn’t punch you in the face.

It happens on a random Thursday.

You’re sitting beside him in the recovery lounge, hair tied up, scribbling on a clipboard. There’s an energy bar between your lips, forgotten as you focus, your brow furrowed in that way you do when you’re double-checking reps and schedules.

He watches you. Not because you’re hot. (You are. That’s a given.)

He watches because you look tired. And you’re still here. Still helping him, even after a fight the night before—words exchanged too sharp, boundaries blurred too far. You’re still here, in his space. Looking after him like he’s more than just your job.

You glance over, catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, frowning. “Did I mess something up?”

He shakes his head slowly. Something stirs in his chest—ugly and soft.

“No,” he says. “You just… look good. Being all smart and shit.”

You roll your eyes, biting the bar between your teeth. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “But I think I’m in love with you.”

You freeze.

He hadn’t planned to say it. It slips out like a truth that’s been dying to breathe.

You look at him slowly, wide-eyed, mouth half open.

“…What?”

Shidou scratches the back of his neck, then shrugs. A small, crooked smile.

“I’m serious. You make me wanna be… not better, but like—less shit. You know?”

There’s no poetry to it. No flowers. Just Shidou, stripped bare.

He thinks you’ll laugh. Or worse—leave.

Instead, you reach out, touch his knee, gentle.

“…That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grabs your wrist, tugs you into his lap with a grin. Kisses your temple like it’s his first time doing anything carefully.

“You’re mine,” he mumbles, breath warm against your skin. “And not just in that filthy way.”

You kiss him slow.

Maybe lust brought you to this place.

But love is what’s going to keep you there.

Rumors start.

Whispers in the halls. The captain gives you a long look one afternoon after practice. Teammates make jokes that hit too close to home.

“You spending a little too much time stretching out our striker, huh?”

Shidou brushes it off. Winks. Grins.

But you’re not smiling.

“This isn’t sustainable,” you tell him one night, your hands against his chest. “If anyone finds out—”

“So what?” he shrugs. “They do. Let ’em.”

“You don’t get it. I could lose my job.”

“Then quit.”

You blink. “What?”

“Quit PXG. Come with me. Wherever I go next.”

“Shidou…” You can’t even breathe.

But he just looks at you—calm, steady, real. The first time he’s ever looked like that.

“I want you,” he says, quiet. “Not just for this. Not just behind closed doors. I want you. All of you.”

You don’t say yes. Not right away.

It takes weeks. Time apart. Time to realize what life looks like without him in it. You miss the chaos. The fire. But mostly, you miss him—his laugh, his heat, the way he’d always meet your eyes across the gym like he was just waiting for an excuse to touch you.

Eventually, you reach out.

It’s raining. You find him at his place, hair wet, mouth curled into that same wicked grin you’ve always hated loving.

“You said you wanted me,” you whisper, voice low. “I want you too.”

He doesn’t ask if you’re sure.

He just kisses you. Long. Deep. Gentle for once.

And this time, it’s not just attraction.

It’s everything.

am i insane for making shidou have the only happy ending in this series ( so far ) ? perhaps. do i regret it? hell no.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[heavenlybodies333]

Florida Kilos - R.C

Dealer!Rafe Cameron x bsf!reader

You should’ve known Rafe was going to fucking kill you for this.

you were barely standing, sticky with sweat, body buzzing from the free molly Barry’s boss slipped you like a bad little party favor. the strings of your white little bikini cut into your flushed skin, tits practically spilling out, denim shorts riding so far up your ass they were basically a denim thong at this point. and you loved it. because when you looked across the yard, Rafe Cameron was staring at you like he was ready to fucking murder you.

Rafe, who never got jealous. Rafe, who didn’t give a fuck about shit unless it was coke, cash, or a faster way to piss off his dad. Rafe, who called you his best fucking friend while he watched you climb into Barry’s boss’s lap thirty minutes ago to seal the deal.

you had never seen Rafe that angry. and you knew it would work.

he’d thrown this entire party to prove he could bring the clientele, move the weight, make the money. but Barry’s boss didn’t give a shit about Rafe’s promises—not until his beady little eyes landed on you, all bright eyes and glossed lips and sexy set of tits.

It took all of fifteen minutes of you pretending to care about his stories for him to agree to move half a kilo through Rafe by the end of the month. easy fucking money.

and you did it all for him. for Rafe. because you were a stupid, hot, high, horny bitch in love with her best friend.

you found him out back, standing with Barry and that greasy fuck. they were laughing, all passing a blunt around, and when you flounced up—hips swinging, tits bouncing—Rafe’s jaw locked up tight.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard Barry mutter, flicking his eyes up and down your body. you ignored them, slipping your arms around Rafe’s neck from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

“m-missed you, rafe,” you whispered, drunk and smiling against the cotton of his shirt. Rafe didn’t move. didn’t say shit. just stood there, his body stiff, fist tightening around the beer bottle in his hand.

“Bro’s got it made,” Barry’s boss slurred, laughing. “I might need to reconsider the pricing if she’s included in the deal.”

you felt Rafe’s muscles flex under your palms, hard and hot. you pressed closer, pressing your tits against his back so he could feel exactly what you wanted from him. his voice dropped low and quiet as he tilted his head towards the side so only you could hear. “princess you better behave or—”

"you owe me whatever I fucking want," you demanded.

for a second, he didn’t move. then suddenly, Rafe’s hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist so tight you gasped.

"you're fucking right, baby," he muttered low, dragging your hand off him, spinning to face you. "I do owe you whatever you fucking want." he grabbed you by the waist and hauled you through the yard,

you stumbled after him in your little cut off shorts. "you're welcome,"you said sweetly, shoving your tits out shamelessly as he dragged you through the crowd like you were nothing but a little ragdoll—tight fingers bruising into your hips. “Rafe,” you whined, laughing, stumbling into him when he yanked you into his bedroom and slammed the door.

“you think you’re fuckin’ funny?” he barked, voice sharp.

you blinked up at him, innocent. "What's wrong, Rafe?" you teased, cocking your head, walking backward toward his bed, swaying your hips.

"you thought you’d get me the deal and then—what—what, princess? You want me to say thank you? Get on my fucking knees for you?"

you grinned, lips shiny and parted, hips rolling against his without even thinking. you were drunk on him, on the way his jeans were stretched taut around his cock, the way his hands were shaking from trying not to snap.

"I got you the deal, didn't I?" you purred, tilting your head up, eyes glittering. "I thought you'd be... grateful." you blinked up at him, the very picture of innocence—except for the way your hips kept grinding against the muscle of his thigh, desperate, shameless, already wet through your stupid little denim shorts.

"you want me to be grateful?" he repeated, voice rough, dangerous. he took a step forward. you matched him, step for step, "Grateful," he echoed, tilting his head like he couldn't quite believe you. his fingers slid into your belt loops, yanking you closer until your tits pressed into his chest. "you wanna see how fucking grateful I am, princess?" he growled, hands shooting out to grab your waist, shoving your bikini top up over your tits, squeezed them, bruises into the soft skin. he shoved your shorts down so fast you almost tripped, hiking your leg over his hip, not even bothering to unbuckle his jeans — just pulling himself free, thick and leaking and so hard it made your mouth water.

"look at you," Rafe sneered, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your soaking folds. he pushed in slowly — inch by inch — like he wanted to feel every second of it. like he didn’t want to miss a single fucking moment of being inside you.

you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by how good it felt — how full you were, how perfectly he fit. "you like that?" Rafe gritted out, pounding into you, each snap of his hips jarring a high-pitched whimper out of you. "you like bein' my little whore? my good fuckin' girl?"

Rafe ducked his head, mouth latching onto one peaked nipple, tongue swirling slow and filthy, hands roaming down your stomach, splaying wide over your hips to hold you still. you gasped, fingers diving into his hair, tugging when he bit down just enough to make you cry out.

"Fuck," he muttered again, voice wrecked. "you're so fucking pretty, baby. you don't even know." you arched into him, wanting more, wanting everything.

Rafe fucked you through it, watching you with possession in his blue eyes, "you gonna cum for me, baby?" he panted, forehead pressed to yours. "take it," he grunted, hands bruising your hips, hips pounding mercilessly into yours. "cum for me princess. you fucking earned it." two more brutal thrusts, and he was spilling inside you, feeling warmth spirting inside you.

you were still trying to catch your breath when Rafe pulled out, the loss leaving you empty and aching. you whined softly, reaching for him, but he caught your wrist midair, pinning it down against the mattress with one big hand.

"don’t," he warned, voice rough, like it hurt him to even look at you.

you blinked up at him, dazed and desperate, still high off the crash of it all — the fucking, the fighting, the feeling of being wanted by him, finally, after all these years.

"Rafe," you whispered, unsure if you were begging or apologizing.

but he just shook his head once, jaw clenching. he grabbed your jaw forcing you to look at him, "you’re gonna regret this shit in the morning, princess," he muttered, voice low and wrecked, like he already knew exactly how bad this was gonna hurt when the high wore off. but he didn’t let you go. didn’t move away.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, yanking hard enough to make his whole body tense. he turned away, like he couldn't stand the sight of you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. What’d we just do"

the shame slammed into you like a freight train.

this was Rafe. your goddamn best friend. the one who used to sneak into your window at night just to bitch about his dad. the one who used to call you "kid" and mess up your hair, who dragged you to parties and held your hair back when you threw up, who said he'd kill anyone who looked at you wrong.

fidgeting with your hands you stuttered, “shit I’m sorry rafe, w-we shouldn’t of done that, I shouldn’t of—”

looking back up at him you felt him guide your hand to wrap around his hard cock, "you wanna regret it?" he drawled, voice slow and thick like syrup, cocky and careless. his hand snaked around your waist, yanking you onto him, your bare thighs straddling his jeans.

"fine. regret it tomorrow." he grinned then, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your still-bare tits. "but right now, you’re gonna fuckin’ stay right here," he murmured, voice commanding, "and you’re gonna let me enjoy it."

a/n: can’t blame a girl for trying

MASTERLIST

[whowrotethenote]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲

A/N // This is a short story (not short at all lol) from the universe of Biggest Fan. It takes place right before Pt 3 All We Do. If you choose not to read this you’re not missing anything significant within the plot. Just more insight to the characters and their relationships.

Warnings // Minor smut // Consumption of alcohol // Profanity // Adultery // Age gap // Angst // Brief grief

Word count // 8k

Inspo // Company by Trey Songz

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

“Alright, bitches! At midnight our babygirl will officially be twenty-two,” Anthony announces from the front seat. Earning a round of hoots around the black Suburban. Heat rises to my cheekbones. A product of the two shots taken at the hotel, combined with the attention received since our plane landed last night. “First time in Miami. Let’s make it a memorable one. My mission this weekend is simple. Our girl is already paid. So, let’s work on getting her laid!”

“Anthony!” I tug at his wrist, watching the amusement on the face of our Uber, Byron, through the rearview. An older, but definitely not frail, Caribbean man—who if I have to guess is anywhere between sixty and seventy—and to my fascination is seemingly unfazed by the car full of obviously tipsy young tourists. He speeds through the vibrant and crowded streets of Miami, filled with palm trees and half naked pedestrians, without batting an eye. 

“Girl, this is Miami. He’s witnessed and heard far worse in this car. Right Byron?” Anthony asks like he’s known Byron his whole life. The older man offers a hearty laugh following a nod. “See.”

At midnight I shed skin. Twenty-one has been without a doubt, a fucking rollercoaster ride. Twenty-two please be good to me.

Birthdays and I have a funny relationship. It was only two weeks before I turned fourteen, that they sat us down to divulge the worst news a daddy’s girl could hear.

“Daddy’s really sick…they’ve caught it early, but if he has any chance they have to act fast and aggressively.”

His own body was betraying him. Cancer cells growing like weeds. Almost too fast to contain and keep the garden pretty. And it wasn’t in his leg, his testicles, his kidneys, or his colon—or some other part where they could just cut it out. His fucking brain. He was literally at war with his own mind. A battle he won, but ended up losing much more in the end.

Nevertheless, the birthday party I spent hours planning with my mom—I ended up just canceling. It didn’t feel right celebrating life when the ghost of death had swept through our household like a plague. Nothing felt the same. My world went from bustling pastels to black and white. 

And it stayed that way every year after. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and then nineteen. He officially rang the bell that year. But I had already grown accustomed to the colorless motion picture of my own life. 

Demi always went out of her way to make birthdays special for me. Freshman year, she set up a picnic for us and the fleeting crew of girls we came in with. With only fifty dollars to work with, she snagged a cake from Walmart, supplies and decorations from Family Dollar, and made the pit on the south of campus look like a tourist attraction. 

Sophomore year, she convinced the older quarterback who had access to the Sports Center on campus, to let her hold the key to the pool for a night. It was supposed to be just a mere twenty people, two bottles of cheap vodka and wine coolers. Before midnight even struck and I officially turned twenty, the pool was packed wall to wall. There were empty bottles everywhere, and a fight even broke out between two girls—who discovered they were both fucking the quarterback who gave us the key in the first place. Heads still gone from all the alcohol, we laughed all night long until our stomachs went tender, about pulling the girls apart from damn near killing each other, when Demi was in fact fucking him too. 

Last year, we kept it simple. Twenty-one meant no more fake ID. So, I proudly barged into our nearest liquor store to purchase the biggest bottle of Don Julio they had, with my very legit ID. Demi and I barely put a dent in the liter bottle before we went drunk bowling—mostly falling and barely earning spares—before we had to make a swift exit due to me throwing up in the arcade section. 

This year I vow to put the fate of my birthday being special in my own hands. With everything that’s happened since my last one, I've developed a new attitude toward my colorless life. It's starting to feel warm again—the color gradually filling back in. 

So, in the heat of the moment I booked myself, Demi, Anthony, his twin girl cousins— Indiya and Asia, and my biology lab partner—Aaliyah, tickets to Miami. Seventy-two hours. That’s how long we have to usher in another year of my life, get white-girl wasted, stand on couches in a club section, and potentially get laid as Anthony so scandalously declared. 

Three shots each, taken at the grossly expensive W hotel, was definitely setting the tone for the rest of the trip. We exit the Uber—already tipsy and pumped up, singing “get it sexy,” the entire walk down the dock to meet Shiloh—our rented yacht’s captain. Rays from the son maximizing the color of our stringy bikinis and glistening skin. Designer slides scraping over the wood is music to my ears. 

I spot the Azimut yacht with the words Dream Chaser emblemed on her side, just as Shiloh described on the phone earlier this morning. Leading the buzzing group, I start to reach in my purse for the money I promised to grant him upon our arrival, when he jumps down with a heavy thud—sweating with sunblock splattered on his nose.

“Sorry ladies! There’s been a change in schedule. A very high-profile regular has requested the boat. And since you all booked just this morning, I’m afraid I can’t hold it for you all.”

All excitement is vacuumed right out and a ripple of shock cascades through the group, as we all blurt out individual confusion.

“Wait, what?” My arms drop at my sides.

“To be fair there was no deposit sent.” 

“Yeah, cause I told you I had cash. Remember our phone call?” I protest, but it’s meaningless against the persistent shake of his head. I purposely emptied out a cool five thousand dollars cash—courtesy of my Tribal Chief. I did not plan on swiping my card on this vacation. Too much scamming goes on in cities like Miami. 

“I know, but the man has already paid in full. Again, I am really sorry.” I fold my arms across my chest, mouth catching flies, in disbelief still. I thought money could solve all my problems. Now, I know. Money grants access, but only connections can cast you before the next person, who also has a handful of cash. “I have a slot for nine tonight, if you are interested?” He bargains.

“That won’t do. We have reservations for Nobu at nine. Then, it's straight to the section in LIV. I reserved it for eleven.” Anthony reads off the mental itinerary he so graciously made for us on such short notice. 

“Maybe he can recommend another boat?” Asia suggests.

“We checked late last night. Everything is all booked up. It's still spring break season,” Anthony informs.

“I told you we should’ve looked beforehand. Like, last week.” I raise my brows at Demi, who since we met, has always been content with just crossing the bridge when we get there. The bridge is usually closed by the time our unconventional asses arrive. 

“There’s gotta be something.” Aaliyah pulls her phone. 

“We could always just get drunk on the beach,” Indiya proposes.

Amidst the dysfunction and throwing of ideas of how to pass the time, Demi leans into me. “This might be a reach—but I know he has to have a boat out here.”

“No.” I block her shot of a suggestion immediately, upon realizing exactly the he she refers to. “No,” I repeat. Ignoring her poking bottom lip. “I cannot ask that.”

“Oh—but it's okay for him to call in the middle of the week for your company and services?”

With a shake of my head, the bitter taste of the truth she speaks resonates on my tongue. As of late, the texts from Paul have been more frequent and sporadic. It's hardly ever just a weekend anymore. Weekends and day trips have turned into weekdays and flights at the most unimaginable times. I’m fortunate to have such an amicable relationship with my supervisors and professors; otherwise my ass would be failing and jobless. 

“Just ask, Lana. The worst he can say is no.”

“You know I don’t communicate with him directly unless I see him in person.”

“So, call the Wise Man and ask for the Big Man.” She speaks low through tights lips, as to not alert the rest of the group. I survey them—all on their phones, brainstorming and scouring the web for an alternative that didn’t exist. My eyes drift back to Demi, awaiting my next move.

“Fine.” I give in. 

Byron is gracious enough to have been watching the whole ordeal play out with the Captain who never was. He says he didn’t want to pull off until he knew we were safe and situated, as he’s seen young girls from all over come to this city and get taken advantage of.

I gave him the bizarre task of taking me to the nearest payphone. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they’ve done away with most of the pay-phones in the city.” His eyes flicker to the phone planted in my grip. “Everyone has a mobile phone now. There might be one in the train station.”

“And where is that?” I inquire, not remembering seeing one on our way to the beach. 

“Maybe twenty minutes. It's in Brickell.”

I huff. “Oh, no. That’s damn near an hour to get there and get back.”

“I don't get this whole pay-phone situation anyway.” Demi blurts. “I mean, maybe in the beginning—but it's been a year now.” A dent forms between her brows. “It’s one thing to not be able to get to him. But you can’t just call Paul?”

Another gram of salt on my tongue, courtesy of my outspoken and strongly opinionated best friend. The pay-phone mess is and has always been a pain in my ass. Especially right now, when I just need a quick yes or no.

“I’m calling,” I declare, before I overthink myself into doing nothing. The phone rings in my ear as I watch Demi’s small figure descend back to the group by the dock. Pacing, I hang up mid ring and call again. 

“Lana, I hope this is an emergency.”

“Define emergency.”

“A call from a reporter—or TMZ. Pregnancy. A near death situation.” My lips twist as he lists off all the things that are definitely not in relation to why I am calling. 

“I need to talk to him.”

“About?”

“I just have to ask him something.”

“Is it in relation to your current arrangement?”

“…No,” I hesitate. I’m sure Paul’s been given his own special course of action to follow, when being contacted by one of his regulars. The man is always moving about for work matters and if he’s not, he has a full house to tend to, that I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist. However, that harsh reality is nearly impossible to be stricken out. A very ugly stain on a pristinely white dress shirt. A huge pimple on an otherwise glass-skin adorned face. Or maybe it is me that is the stain—the pimple. The ugly dot on his perfect life that he pretends for majority of his days, doesn’t exist. Then again, if his life is so perfect and intact—what was the need for me?

“It's a simple and quick question that requires a simple and quick answer. How is it that he can always get through to me and I can’t ever get through to him?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The high of vacationing in another city and the thrill of taking on another year begins to dwindle, as thoughts I constantly have to force into a deep pit inside my psyche assault me. Paul’s latest comment—another blow to it.

It seems it's so obvious to everyone that what’s happening here is wrong. Yet and still, it remains. Every encounter making it more intricate.

“Can you just get me him. Please?” I ask in a flat tone. An uneasy feeling resting inside of my throat. 

He releases a deep breath after a beat. “I’m only doing this because I think I like you.” Not entirely confident that I’ve been paid a compliment, I don’t bothering extending gratitude. 

My leg bounces frantically to the sound of the ringer. I can’t go back to the group with nothing in my hands—not even the answer of no. 

“Paul!” His voice—abundant with charm and the comfort of a man at home. Sucking in a sharp breath, the butterflies invade my stomach, but quickly transform to dust, hearing tiny high-pitch screams out of recreation, or whatever other reason a little one would scream. “What’s going on, man?”

“Eh—you might want to get alone.”

Sounds and artifacts of a full house seem to get louder for a second, before fading and dispersing altogether. I breathe again. 

“Everything okay?”

“Joey, I have Alana on the line…”

In between making out his background, getting lost in the warmth that is his voice and picturing what he looks like in the light of day—I don’t realize that might’ve been my cue to talk, until there’s nothing to listen to for a while. 

“—Hi,” I blurt into the silence of the call. 

“Did something happen? What’s going on?”

“No—no. Nothing’s wrong.” I rush to disarm him. Your secret thing on the side, calling midday is grounds for immediate anxiety. “I just really need to ask you something, that’s all.”

“…Okay.”

“It’s—and you can say no.” I offer a disclaimer, but no, is not something I need to hear right now. “It’s my birthday and—”

“Happy birthday.” His deep voice intercepts. 

“Thank you…It’s tomorrow—but still, thank you.” The clearing of Paul’s throat, magnifies just how awkward and abnormal this whole exchange is. “Uh, we booked a boat. But when we got here, the captain told us he gave our slot away to someone else, since they already paid a-and they’re a regular customer of his.” Get to the point, Lana. “I guess I’m just—I don’t know—maybe you have a boat or something that we could use?” I wince at the deafening silence. Preparing myself to hear the word—

“No captain? Just the boat?” 

There’s an underlying amusement in his tone— a resemblance to the man I’ve spent countless erotic nights with, lying in an unnecessarily large bed, pillow talking.

“Yeah, I would need a captain too.” I bite my lip in an effort to not laugh. 

“Right. Where are you?”

“…Miami…South Beach��” 

All the times he’s requested my presence, it’s never been this close. I’ve never been this close. We don’t touch Florida. No—Florida is where Joe, happily married with five kids lives. 

“You’re in Miami? Right now?”

“Yes,” I reveal—holding my breath in angst for whatever comes next. 

“…Alright…I got it. I’ll make something happen.”

If Paul were in front of me, I’d stick my tongue out like I used to when my brother painted me as a villain, just for my dad to wave a hand at any wrong doing from his only daughter. 

“Thank you—”

“There is one condition,” he adds. 

“Yeah?”

“You’ll come see me later?”

A familiar tingling invades my core and my face grows hot at him doing this in front of Paul. “Where?”

“Not too far from you. Reach out to Paul when you’re ready.”

“Okay—and Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I stroll back to the group with good news and better plans than we originally had. We wait—and wait—and wait. Buzz from the alcohol and meter of excitement plummeting with every fifteen minute interval that passes us by. We walk down to the beach to get our feet wet and pass the time. To escape the raft of the Florida sun—we all bunch together under a palm tree for a while, before walking back to the deck where I assume whatever captain he sends will meet us. 

The time on my phone reads 10:51 A.M. An entire hour and a half past the time we arrived. Releasing all the air in my lungs, I uncross my arms and turn to face the ocean. Demi leans on the rail bars beside me with the rest of our group beside her. Everyone on their phones, heads hanging to the side in defeat. Anthony sits on the cooler we brought, filled with  two bottles of 1942, most likely floating in water in place of the ice now. 

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Naive. And more importantly, delusional. If in their heads they all judge me in this moment, it's well deserved. Expectation invites disappointment. This is not us. It's not apart of this thing we have. Favors, promises and whatnot. I don't know what I was thinking even asking that of him.

A low snicker beside me, pulls me from my dispirited thoughts. Raising a brow, I turn my head at Demi, whose shoulders are shaking in laughter.

“You know when people call their life a movie?” I frown awaiting for her conclusion. “Ours must be a fucking Telenovela.” She nods to the pathway we had to walk to get down here.

The sight that greets me as I turn around has my jaw hitting me the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Hello, ladies!” He beams before he even reaches us. “And gent. My name is Paul Heyman.” He places spread fingers over his chest. Sun reflecting off the brown tinted sunglasses adorning his face. Linen short set flapping from the breeze of the salty Atlantic not far from where we stand. “And I will be your humble captain aboard today.” Clasping both hands togethers he scans the young faces pointing back at him. Not a Telenovela, but a fucking horror movie.

I stare at him. A cloud of angst looming over me hoping—no praying, that no one here has watched WWE within the last decade.

Cutting the lingering silence like a butcher knife, Anthony stands. “Well, it's about time Mr. Heyman. I have a tan and I haven’t shook my ass once. Something is wrong with that picture.”

“It’s shot o’clock bitches!” One of the twins announces, sparking life back into the group. I can breathe again. 

We follow Paul down the other end of the dock. The boats growing bigger in size the further we walk. When he stops—holding his hand out like he’s showcasing an antique car for sale—all of our necks crane up to view the masterpiece that makes Shiloh’ s boat look like a canoe. The Last Laugh. 

“Oh, this is my kind of carrying on!” Aaliyah cheeses. 

My eyes immediately find Demi’s. “A generous Tribal Chief,” she mouths.

Paul lays down the rules of the day. The basics. No jumping overboard when the yacht is in motion, responsible drinking, no items thrown overboard, and life jackets on when he says so. 

One by one they file up to the flybridge area. I stay behind and wait until I can only hear the distant hum of their voices, to speak. I clear my throat dramatically to steal his attention.

“What?” He asks with a look of genuine confusion. “All the captains I know were booked and busy. Apparently it's still spring break season.” He moves about gathering things while I stand here dumfounded. 

Don't get me wrong, I’m appreciate as fuck, but how is this happening right now? Who even knew he could drive a boat?

He stops his pursuit once he realizes I haven’t moved yet.

“Consider it a birthday gift—”

“From my Tribal Chief. I know.” 

“Oh, no.” He places a chubby hand to his chest with that smile that usually predates mischief on television. “This one’s all me.”

“Thank you, Paul.” The gratitude is deeper than anything that’s transpired today. Although, a hassle and a piece of work in his own right—Paul has served as the glue to this whole arrangement. Seemingly, going unnoticed since he is not the object of my affection. 

“Don’t mention it.” I nod, turning away to join everybody else upstairs. “No seriously. Don’t mention it. He’d die if he knew I came myself.” Lovely. No one told me adulthood is just burying yourself in endless secrets, until you’ve curated a web so intricate and endless you get tangled and stuck in it. 

Reaching the top of the steps, the fever of Miami greets me along with a bottle of 1942. Anthony holds it up with a hand under my chin. “Let's go, bitch. We running behind!”

The wait for our mystery captain was worth every sun soaking minute. From the very second he revs up the engine and leads us into the unforgivable blue Atlantic, the spirit of vacation hits us hard.

Cover-ups go flying off, more than enough drinks are distributed, while hips sway in hypnotic motions and ass shakes to the ongoing rotation of Sexyy Red, Bossman D Low, and any other artist who gets us in that mode. We bring the club to the boat, and even sneak a piece of that relentless east coast swag onboard, as the powerful beat of Jadakiss’ Knock Yourself Out, derives from the speaker. 

“And, yeah, here go a blank check, rock yourself out! But in the mean time, girl, knock yourself out!” Demi and I scream the lyrics in each other’s faces, hand going, while liquid spills from the full cups in our other. I have officially reached that pinnacle in my twenties where I can relate to the lyrics of the music I fill my head with. Artists painting pictures of luxury, celebration, wealth and nights to remember. It’s times like these I remind myself just how blessed I am, and I swell with gratitude.

“Oh, you modeling, momma?!” Anthony—the missing piece to our chaotic puzzle—joins in matching our energy. Vintage VHS Camcorder glued to his hand, to ensure this moment lasts longer than us. 

When Paul comes up to inform the party that we’ve stopped and can swim, it's game over. Bright bathing suits on brown skin, jumping into the glistening blue waters from both sides of the sea-ridden vessel.

The whole scene is something from a 2000’s R&B music video. It’s young, it's wild, it’s reckless, it's free. 

My heart nearly snaps in half as we dock back where we started at South Beach. We arrive earlier than expected. Not quite ready to head back to the hotel to get ready for our next venture. So, we decide to explore South Beach to kill the time.

The alcohol and excitement still lingering on us. Aaliyah finds somewhat of a gym on the beach. Swinging on bars and allowing a man built like an action figure to assist her in pull-ups by pushing from her round ass. Anthony and the twins play volleyball with a group of fine ass women in G-string bikinis, and even finer men with six, seven, and eight packs. 

In between it all, Demi and I find a hammock to unwind on. Enjoying the afternoon breeze and magnetic view of the cerulean sea kissing the clear sky. It's a sight. Being by the ocean always feels so liberating. The freedom in the waves swishing and dancing whichever way they please, a reminder to human life that we can always change and we have free will. 

When my dad’s cancer progressed and he found himself more depleted and sicker than he had ever been, he’d pack me and my brother up and drive all the way to the shore in Jersey City. He never went in the water, for his body was too weak. He’d watch us. And for hours he’d study the ocean. Ogling at the waves—mighty and unforgiving, but also majestic and seductive in a way. As a teenager I didn’t really understand. But right now…I get it. In this moment—Daddy I get it.

We lay in serenity. The seagulls singing to us combining with the crashing of waves, and hum of activity further down the beach where the bigger crowd is. 

Demi begins to twist and play with the costume heart-shaped ring on her finger. A footprint of her late sister’s brief life. The fiddling of it, an indication—that I've picked up on over the years—that something is weighing on her. 

“What’s wrong, Demi?”

"Nothing just…thinking about how much things are gonna change after graduation. How much things have already changed…”

“What do you mean?”

“Our lives are just gonna look different is all.” She shrugs. Her jaw flexes a bit as I focus on the side of her face I can see. “I'm just—I don’t know.” Witnessing the single tear slide down her cheek has a storm brewing inside of me now. “I don’t know if I'm ready for this next phase. I just really like the way things are now. We're all together. We're young. Everyone's healthy—and happy…and I just know that won't always be the case, you know?” Too scared to interrupt up her—I just listen a little harder. “The day—” Her voice cracks so she clears her throat. “The day I lost them—things were just like this. And then it just all went to shit so quick.”

“Demi.” I pull her closer as a river flows from her eyes. The tragedy that came of her father and little sister, lives in that same box I’ve housed my father’s battle with cancer. We’ve pushed that box in the attic and put a bolt lock on it together.  

Demi has always been the stronger of us. Unfortunately, a side effect of always appearing strong, means a lot of things get barricaded inside, until it becomes too much and you're left with no choice but to release. The sight before me is devastating. It's my turn to stand firm so she can lean on me as I do her.

“Look at me,” I instruct. Our teary eyes meet. “I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Things aren't going to change. They're just going to get better. We're getting older—we’ll find better ways to live life, is all.” I knock her apprehensions down even though mine build a house and grow comfortable in my own head. 

Time is a scary concept. The future is just so unclear. No one really knows. We can only hope. I don’t have a crystal ball. I can only pray that the words I speak align with what’s to come.

Timestamps and transitions from one destination to the next, seem to blur as the day progresses. The frequency of the continuous alcohol casts a shield around us to keep us lively and afloat. The Liquid IV’s we’ve consumed before leaving the hotel this morning, working double time to keep us up. 

Walking through the doors of club LIV was like entering a portal to a different world. One where everybody’s religion was euphoria, and alcohol is the holy water to ascend us. The atmosphere is charged and intoxicating. Miami nightlife is top two and it is not number two. 

Florescent beaming lights switching from red to blue to purple and beyond, blind me. We sit high up at a table overlooking the rest of the club. Bottles of overpriced tequila and chasers making their way back and forth, spilling with every song that gets us up out of our seats. Confetti falls and covers everybody like snow, creating a dream-like effect.

Letting the liquor possess me, I swirl my hips, shut my eyes, and shake my head side to side to match the nostalgic beat. Hair swaying with my cup held high, I get lost in the moment. Forgetting everything for just a minute. Syllabi, bills, the haunting future, and whatever else bullshit awaits me back at home—all forgotten. It doesn’t exist here.

At some point in the night I find myself venturing off to release the barrier that is my bladder. Sneaking off and subtly stumbling away, I zero in on the lit sign sticking out with the little female cartoon, indicating the girl’s restroom. I look down and realize I still have a cup in my hand. Drunk shit.

With liquid pushing on my bladder, my steps become more frantic in the Tom Ford heels, knocking me off balance for a quick second.

“Woah, woah!” A deep voice emerges amidst the pumping bass. I collide into a hard chest as strong arms brace my shoulders, preventing me from falling any further.

“Oh my god!” The stain of liquid on his crisp white tee can’t be missed, even under the blue light we stand in. “I’m sorry—I am so sorry—” 

I snatch my eyes from the stain to acknowledge the stranger that just saved me. His sharp jaw flexes as he looks down at his white tee, fingering the wet spot. He shakes a hand out beside him to remove the excess liquid on it, still holding onto me with his other.

When his eyes meet mine, they almost look translucent in this light, but it's only me who feels sheer. They’re hypnotic, like he can read my mind and bend it to his will. My gaze jumps to his mouth. Pink and plump, with a sharp outline of hair over his top lip, connecting to a goatee. The light hits him at a different angle and something in his ear flashes like a camera. I squint at the 23 earring.

I clear my throat, snapping back to reality. Stop staring, Lana. 

Like he actually can read my thoughts, he flashes a sparkling smile, revealing two picture perfect rows of teeth. It's then, I begin to drink him in, in his entirety. Goddamn.

“You keep moving like that, I might have to recommend you to my coach.”

My own smile cracks through. “I was just trying to get to the bathroom.” I explain. An infestation of intrigue of the fine ass mystery in front of me, replacing the urge to pee. "I'm sorry," I repeat.

“Don't be.” In the smoothest fashion and still with only one hand to himself, he reaches behind to remove the tarnished tee up and off his body, showcasing a row of keen defined abs covered in graphic ink—just as his solid arms are. “You got us both.” He nods down to my white tank. A splash of liquid covering the left side. The thin fabric soaking, giving full view of my erect nipple. Oh god. I rush to cover it, pulling a laugh from him. He nods in the direction of my original pursuit. “Why don’t you go ‘head. Meet me back out here. I think I got something for that.”

After handling my business, he leads me to the entrance of the club. The cloudy and intoxicating atmosphere dispersing as we enter into the fresh night air. 

His bare back is strong and I take advantage of being able to watch without disturbance, while he looks through the glove compartment of his matte black Mercedes AMG. He just reeks of new money. Probably newly drafted or something. 

He turns, undoing the plastic of a brand new pack of white undershirts. He takes one for himself and then holds another out. 

“You keep an extra pack of undershirts with you?” I eye him crossing my arms.

“Yeah. For when pretty girls get too drunk in the club and start spilling shit.”

“I’m not drunk.” My tongue rests on the inside of my cheek, fighting back the smile as I take the crisp white undershirt. “Thank you.”

We switch places. I sit in the passenger as he stands in front of me, scanning my entire body. I make wide eyes and twirl my finger.

“Girl.” He sucks his teeth chuckling, but still turning away. His large frame shielding me from the crowd not too far from us on the sidewalk. I remove the soiled tank and replace it, tying a knot in the back to maintain the cropped look. 

“I know you ain't traveling solo?”

“Nope.”

“Where is he?”

I smirk to myself, picking up what he puts down. “They are inside. Probably going crazy, thinking I got snatched up.” I adjust the top of the tank so the right amount of cleavage is exposed. “Good now.” I inform him. 

“Well, did I?” He turns in place, dangerously close to my face.

“Did you what?” My eyes bounce back and forth between his tranquil eyes and those lips.

“Snatch you up? I mean you tried to tackle me a few minutes ago. So, I think that’s a fair trade.”

A giggle escapes me as I return his intense stare. The alcohol giving me a much needed boost. “Is that what you do for a living? Tackle people?”

“Yes ma’am.” He confirms. “Number twenty-three.” He angles his head to the side to flash the earring I caught in the club earlier. “Green Bay. You into football?” I shake my head. 

“I don't know the first thing. My best friend is a die hard Bird though.”

“All them Eagles fans are die hard. She must be intense.”

“That she is.” I grin. 

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You seem pretty chill.”

“Frick and frat. We balance each other out, I think.”

“Is that what you do for a living? Balance people out? Cause you didn’t have much balance back in there.” He chuckles pointing behind.

I playfully nudge his arm. “Oh shut up. And no, I’m in school.”

“For?”

“I’m a Bio major. I wanna be a neuro-oncologist.”

“Damn. So, you like real smart, huh?”

“I do alright.”

“Beauty and brains? Where you been hiding all my life?”

We do this dance with our eyes. Lips twitching in threatening smiles. The world fades away for a bit. I snap out of the trance and slide down and off the leather seat, landing right in his space. 

We spin, trading places as I make my way back to the entrance. If anyone is witnessing this, they’d probably think we were shooting a damn music video. 

“Wait—that’s it?” I raise a brow. “I stop you from busting up that pretty face—pretty knees unscathed. Gave you a fresh one and that’s all I get?”

A warmth spreads inside me. His amusement contagious. Then his face clouds my mind and I’m reminded of my night’s premeditated destination. 

My shoulders go up and then down, not being able to muster the words no to combat his persistence. “Alright look.” He leans up and off the car, reaching inside again for a moment. He backs out with a pen and paper in his hand, scribbling something while taking the necessary steps to me. “How about I give you my number.” He holds the paper out for me. “That way the ball is in your court. No pressure lil’ mama.” No pressure? There’s nothing but pressure building up in my chest at the sight of you.

My eyes flicker down to the paper. I weigh my options. Brain still cloudy from tequila and the thrill of the night’s festivities—I accept it. “I’m Jaire by the way.” I’ve never met this man before and somehow the way he speaks his own name to me is familiar. Comforting. Like a hug from a distant relative you see on Thanksgiving that you used to be thicker than thieves with when younger. 

“Alana.”

“Alana,” he repeats. Something deep lurches within me like it's reaching for him. I nod taking a deep breath. We both just stand in each other’s space for what feels like forever. I’m the first to step back. “Thank you, again.”

He watches me struggle to backpedal toward the building. “You be careful. Alana.”

Lights. Thirty years from now, when my kids ask me what I remember from partying in Miami for my twenty-second birthday— that’s what I'll tell them. I remember the lights. Neon, flashing and oh so bright. And the palm trees. They're everywhere.

They cascade upon the window I have half-way rolled down in the back of this black suburban. It's three in the morning and the city is still as awake as it was when we docked from the boat. The wind and humidity hitting me all at once. My gaze training on the groups of pedestrians. Women in high heels and cut out dresses. Men in the kind of cars you only see in music videos. I could get used to this.

“Here you are, miss.” The driver drops me in front of a condo building I can’t even see the top of, even if I crane my neck all the way up. Just the outside looks like they’d charge me to do a walk-through. The colorful sports cars lining the round drive way serve as a testament to this theory.

My heels clack slow against the marble floors. Completely out of place, eyeing the businessmen in suits and women with evening attire— I make way to what looks like the elevators, like Paul instructed. I stand and wait until I hear the ding. The steel doors open and my breath is stolen. Dressing in only a fitted tank and black basketball shorts, he looks superior to all the men I just passed. 

The ride up is silent, but stimulating. Every time I’m in his space, it feels like the first time. A tornado brewing in my stomach mixing with the flirtatious acts of a first date. Subtle touches—like his pinky grazing against mine. Shifty eyes—like how ours snag every once in a while and I have to prevent myself from jumping right on him in the enclosed space. The alcohol now settling in more sensitive areas. The hand he places on the small of my back to guide me around isn’t helping.

“Let me show you around.” He maneuvers his large frame ahead of me, holding a hand back for me to take. My stomach does summersaults once we connect.

I don't know if it's the alcohol, but the condo feels like a palace. He leads me further and further, exposing a different room, a different space, so extensive almost like it shouldn’t fit. Everything pristine and cream colored. Appliances either a white marble or steel so sleek, I can see my reflection in the dark. The blue lights from the pool, glow through the sliding door that leads to the balcony. He drags me out and the view looks like a piece of heaven. The whole skyline is lit up. I can see everything from up here, almost like I’m on top of the world, mirroring the feeling in the center of my chest when I feel him staring. The wind blows my hair in my face slightly as I turn to meet him. 

“What?”

He shakes his head. Those big eyes sparkling. “You straightened your hair again?”

“I did.” I run a hand through it. “You don’t like it?”

“It's perfect.” Heat ensues as we stay focused on one another. “How was the boat?” He inquires, leading us to the cream chaise lounge chairs set up. 

“The boat—” I have to take pause, remembering the Captain Who Wasn’t Supposed To Be. “Um, it was amazing. Thank you, again. I know it was real short notice.”

“Captain was alright? Treated you good?” I move to sit on the one next to him, but he pulls me into his warm lap instead.

“Mmhmm.” I hum. He nods while, leaving a trail of goosebumps where his slightly rough hand rubs my bare thigh. 

“That’s good. It's past midnight. Officially twenty-two?”

“Yup. I don’t feel any different yet. What did you feel at twenty-two?”

He blows a big breath past those luscious lips, raising his brows. “Shit. That was a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t even recognize a twenty-two year old Joe if he walked up on me.”

“I feel the same way about my teenage self. I guess that feeling never goes away then?”

“Not really. Time is…”

“Scary,” I finish for him. Just this time last year, we were the most unlikely pair. Me on one side of the map, him on this side. Me, completely enthralled by his character and even more captivated by the wee flashes of the man behind the pyro lights he chose to share with the world. “You ever—You ever feel like life is moving too fast? Like you almost can’t keep up?” The alcohol pushes me through translating my thoughts to my mouth. The conversation with Demi on the hammock has been poking at the back of my mind. 

He takes awhile to answer. The pause makes me feel uneasy. Have I said something wrong? I should’ve just kept my drunk thoughts to myse—

“All the time,” he whispers just inches from my face. I hone in on the distant look in his eyes. I’ve never wanted to get inside of another person’s brain so bad. He has his own thoughts—his own internal strife that he’ll probably never share with me. It's unfortunate, because I’ve come to adore him so much, that I’d hold his hand the whole way as he tackles them. 

His eyes switch to mine and instead of shying away like I usually would, I fall deeper into him. I don’t know how it happens. I don’t know who leans in first. Our lips crash into one another’s. This kiss is passionate. Lustful, with a hint of something else lingering. It accelerates like a glass rolling down the steps. Breath hitching and faces meshing into one another. It's all a blur, but the feeling is distinct. Pleasure. Bliss. 

I rise slightly to straddle him. My sequin skirt rising, granting him the opportunity to grab two handfuls of ass. “I could kiss you all day,” he mumbles after nipping my bottom lip.

A smirk plasters my face as his comment ignites something in me. My mouth finds his again and then his thick neck, ready to come undone for him.

“Not while you’re drunk. Okay?” He puts a big red stop sign up.

“I’m not drunk. I swear.” I try to muster up the most convincing tone possible. “I can walk in a straight line. Look.”

I rise in the six inch Tom Ford heels. His eyes following my every movement as I put one foot in front of the other. That unnatural, warping focus only alcohol can bring takes over me and on the fourth step, my ankle almost gives out. He rises in my peripheral and is at my side in a flash. 

“Let's—let's just take it easy. Okay?” I don’t miss the smirk pulling at his lips. 

He guides me back to the seat by my hips. Crouching down and undoing the strap of my heels one at a time. “Thank you.” He nods.

“The last thing I need is you falling in the pool, babygirl.”

“It's the heels, I swear.”

“Of course it is.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, accessorizing the grin covering the bottom half of his face. He has the prettiest smile. I love how it always reaches his eyes.

“What?”

“Your eyes…”

“What about them?” His lips twitch almost in a smirk. They’re fucking beautiful. But there’s no way he doesn’t know that. Years of being hassled by erratic fans and almost a decade of marriage. He’s probably been paid every compliment there is. So, instead of answering what he must already know, I lean in again. Pressing my lips to his. Softly as first, but the more our lips meet the more urgent it becomes. Tongues colliding and hands gripping. And somehow I end up on top of him again. I feel his member jump under me, and I slip a hand down to show it attention, earning something between a growl and a groan from him.

“Lana.” He strains, breathless, breaking the kiss. A firm hand gripping my wrist. So much for birthday sex. Anthony will not be happy to hear that his mission has failed. 

“What’s next for you?” I swirl my feet in the cool water of the infinity pool, creating ripples. “I see you took a step back.”

“Can’t tell you that. Then you wouldn’t watch when it's time.” He sits next to me on the edge of the pool. 

“That’s not true. I watch even when The Tribal Chief is not in attendance. Of course you’re the main reason I watch. The Bloodline story really is a sight to see. Y’all really came a long way. Especially you.”

“What do you think my best match was?”

“Mm,” I hum. Eyes rolling up to rake through my brain. “Probably you and Brock. Wrestle-mania 38.”

“Really?” His face twists. 

I nod. “You don’t think so?”

“I mean—I’ve had better.”

“That was Brock Lesnar. And you literally buried that man. Everybody likes to talk shit about how you didn’t do it yourself. How the Usos helped. But I think that’s the whole point of the Bloodline story. Y’all do what y’all love and you always do it together. Always show up for each other.” 

“I never looked at it like that.”

“What do you think your best match is?”

“Honestly— I don’t think I have one.”

“Awe come on. There has to be at least one. One that you always think about?”

“Hell In A Cell. Me and Josh. It was like a rebirth. It was the match that really jumpstarted this whole Bloodline thing…”

In the wake of diving into the topic of his career, his eyes light up—like a child recapping their favorite animated movie. A writer describing their favorite novel. An artist letting you hear their favorite artists’ catalogue.

Seldom. When most people are probed about their career path, there is a subtle dread that spells I didn’t choose this—it just happened. A more than unfortunate symptom of adulthood. Choosing the path you had to, not the one you wanted.

Not him. No— he loves what he does. He’s one of the lucky few. Watching his eyes sparkle, I almost lose sight of the words coming out of his mouth. Too busy admiring him, I have to force myself to pay attention as I catch the last bit of his words. 

“It was a crazy time, really. So much was happening even behind the scenes.” His eyes reach mine. “I wish we could’ve me—”

His words trail off and silence controls him like he’s possessed. “What?” My eyebrows dent.

He shakes his head. The energy that was previously lighthearted and carefree feels heavy. I develop chills even though it's humid as fuck out here. 

The sound of the water is loud as he rises from the edge. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.” He holds a hand out. 

“Um…I think I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit longer…”

He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, but something is pulling him. And I don’t believe it's sleep. “Alright,” he finally says. “You can come in when you’re ready.” I lean back on my palms, admiring the scenery. “Don’t drown please.”

I laugh to myself. “Are you gonna take your shirt off and come save me?” I tease with one eyebrow raising, looking back at him. He flashes that Colgate commercial smile before disappearing inside. 

It seems the better it gets—the more experiences we convey to each other—the deeper into each other’s minds we dig—the darker the end seems. The more severe the unorthodox circumstances surrounding this thing seems. 

But I can’t worry about that shit right now. Not when I’m sitting on the twenty-seventh floor, of a Downtown Miami condo, overlooking the skyline of one of the most lively cities ever, at just twenty-two. Bank account ornate with commas. A drop-dead gorgeous superstar in the bed waiting for me.

Happy birthday to me. 

A/N // I thought I’d share this. Y’all deserved it. 250+ followers is crazy considering I just started posting my work. Forever grateful and I appreciate every single one of you! (Also, I heard that allegedly Papa will be at work for two more weeks so I got a little excited)

I realized by doing so many time jumps, I kind of robbed you all of seeing the little moments and progression of the characters and their relationships. With that being said, this most likely won't be the last short I post. I'll try to actually keep them short lol

- What are your thoughts on the relationship between Paul and Lana?

- Any extra thoughts about Jaire and Lana now that you see how they met?

- Any thoughts about the conversation between Demi and Lana on the hammock? Do you agree with her perspective?

- What do you think Joe was about to say before he stopped himself?

As always, if you read it or even just a portion, I am forever grateful and appreciative.

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[faggotbeloved]

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

1: Sanitized (~1k words)

Cw: Canon typical violence, my headcannons for post-crash Curly's wounds, no beta we close our eyes, body horror, lots of painkillers

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN at the end.

└───────────────────────┘

It had been only a few hours after saving a man from a three decade old craft when you’d determined that he was going to be under your primary care, aside from medical, from now on.

The man, as you’d discovered, was in fact the captain of the Tulpar. Upon inspection of his wounds, which only occurred back at the ship and with him sedated, Rhodes discovered the harrowing truth that he’d been in a state of third degree full-body burns for over four months. Worse still, he had one half-functional eye with the eyelid burnt shut though the other was severely dry, eyelidless, but still in surprisingly good condition.

Immediately, Rhodes ordered someone to get the passenger’s company issued bio-fabricator, a critical technology with the ability to take biological elements and grow genetically similar (but not identical) copies.

Technically, it was reserved for creating more plants or animals in a biosphere lacking most of the required succession elements, but it’d be easy to grow supplemental skin, hair, and blood to perfectly match the burnt man’s body. He also ordered silver sulfadiazine cream to soothe the initial burns, and for the first time since the man was in the accident he seemed to not be in agony.

──────────────────────

You sat beside the man. He still had his tongue and vocal cords, so he could talk (with much effort), but he was fully deaf so you had a captioning machine set up for him to read your words. Once he awoke, you silently showed him your badge with your name, picture, and title, which he read and nodded once he was done.

“Are you able to talk, sir? We need your name,” you said softly, watching as your head doctor, Rhodes, finally replaced the sticky, deteriorating bandages that practically cemented to his raw flesh. Luckily, the man was unable to feel it with how numb his entire body was.

He nodded weakly, eye never straying from you for long, and coughed. He spat up blood and saliva, to which you gently swiped a rag across his chin to remove it. “It’s okay. Take your time. This is Rhodes, he’s your doctor for now, but one of the passengers here is also a cosmetic surgeon and can start skin grafts once you’re ready.”

You sat back to give the man some space and idly wondered if the bio-fabricator could make enough connective tissues, nerves, and muscles to give him back his limbs. Rhodes left after replacing his arms and legs bandages, and soon the man tapped your resting hand with one of his handless arms and you looked back at him.

“C…url…y,” he rasped out. His volume was lacking, but he couldn’t hear himself so it was to be excpected.

“Curly? Is that your name?”

He nodded weakly. You spoke again, “Curly. Okay, and can you answer a couple questions for me? Shake or nod your head, if you can’t talk.”

Curly nodded, and you began questions. “Were you the captain of the freighter I found you on?” Nod. “Were there exactly five people, counting you?” Nod. “Did the crash do this to you?” Nod.

“Was the crash on purpose?”

He hesitated, then nodded very minutely.

“Did you–” you were cut off. “Jim…my,” he croaked. Well, it sounded more like ‘Jenny’ on account of his lack of lips, but you got the gist. “Jimmy crashed the ship?” Nod. “Did the crew know that?” Shake.

“Shit.” Nod. You chuckled at the nod and he looked up, like he was proud of making you laugh.

“So… do you have your ID with you?” you asked, and he produced a fresh ID from a lanyard under his gown. “Huh. Did Jimmy put that on you?” You asked, to which he nodded. “Was he your friend?” A weak nod. “Do you know why he went batshit? I mean, he’s the only one who could have killed all of your crewmates.” Curly tilted his head like he was wondering what you were asking. You rambled too fast for the machine to pick up. “Oh, yeah. Do you know of a motive?” Shake.

You glanced from the ID card to his face. There’s no mistaking those eyes. You notice there’s something written on the back, but the handwriting is awful. “Um, it looks like Jimmy tried to give me instructions and told a five year old scribe. Can you decipher this?” You asked, showing him the text. Shake. “Fine, I guess. It’s good you have this, facial reconstruction can probably get you pretty close to your face from then.”

He shrugged and laid back, gazing at you. “Wait…” he gasped. “‘lease.” Please.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?” He pleaded, using what remained of his forearm to lock around your arm and keep you (only barely) in place. “’m… s…cared."

“Scared?” You echoed, settling back into your chair and placing a hand on his thigh. “You’re safe here. Everyone who goes in and out of here has high clearance and I know them all personally.” Even still, Curly shook his head. “‘lease,” he echoed.

“I… suppose I could get Sealegs to move my desk into here. Would that be good?” Nod. Nod. Nod. “This is Captain to Sealegs, Sealegs, do you copy?”

“I copy. Whatcha need?” Sealegs hummed. The sound of a familiar video game caught your attention.

“Quit playing Snake on government computers, first of all. Wheel my workbench to the medbay,” you requested, only endearingly annoyed at your nephew. After a few minutes, a young boy with the same eyes and hair as you came in with a rolling desk equipped with robotics equipment, soldering items, and more. Curly seemed to relax once you situated beside him and the two of you slipped into a comfortable silence.

“Hey, Curly, can I take some measurements of you?” You asked after a couple minutes. “Arms and legs,” you added. Nod. Curly lifted up a handless arm and waited for you to start, to which you took diameter and circumference of his arm, approximate length, shape of the amputation, and more. You did the same for the other arm and both legs, then you sat back down to work.

──────────────────────

In a few minutes, you put your higher education to use and attached a crude prosthetic to his leg, but since he was numbed to hell it wasn’t causing him any pain. You worked, he watched, and soon he fell asleep painlessly for the first time in probably a half of a year or so, for him at least.

Once he stopped coughing every time you looked away for too long, you were able to get some work done and sent off an update to your boss–you told him that you had a new crew member on board, that you authorized the use of the bio-fabricator, and that you’d pay for his medical costs. Of course, you wouldn’t tell Curly that. Feeling indebted to someone is a terrible thing.

You were in for a long night. You wanted to give him the most mobility possible, but it’d be up to him ultimately to use them. The least you could do is build him the choice.

┌───────────────────────┐

I’m not happy with this, but if I didn’t get it out now it’d rot forever :( thank you to everyone who’s left kind words and reblogs and likes!! It means so much and if youve left any asks I’m so sorry but tumblr SAYS i have 6 asks but none show up :(((

[strawberrynightmere]

andrew graves x reader, who broke up with him during the time he was trapped in the apartment because of how he kept ditching her for ashley, so we got fed up and ended it. a little while later, he escaped and goes looking for us and finds us, breaking into our home only to find us having a make out session or like mid sex with some random guy and gets all angry and jealous, threatening to kill the guy if he doesn’t leave. and then it resorts to smut, and he ends up killing that random guy after he’s done with us 🙂‍↕️

Not Over Yet [Yandere Andrew Graves X Female Reader]

TW⚠️: yandere tendencies, canon divergence, breakup, stalking, murder, non-con, smut/nsfw/nsft/18+, reader is not taking place of anyone, female reader,my writingn, etc.

A/n: I'm taking a backseat on writing Julia!reader, though I have one more Julia!reader request to write.

"Again, seriously!?" You ask in disbelief as Andrew has canceled your plans again! And why would that be?

"Can't Ashley just drag Julia to this shit since they're dating!" Right, he was ditching you for whatever load of bull Ashley was pulling.

"They're not talking to each other right now." Gee, you wonder why.

"Ugh. Forget it!" That's the last thing you said before leaving.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"This isn't working out." You said with all the courage you could muster up.

"What isn't working?" You had a feeling he knew what you were going to say. You take a deep breath before answering, "This. Us. We're not working out."

There's silence on the other end of the phone. You bite your bottom lip, begging in your mind for him to understand. You know very well he won't.

"I know the quarantine has been a pain in the ass, but it's not a good reason to break up."

"It's not the quarantine! I had enough time to think, and I realized that I don't want to do this anymore." Again, silence on the other end. It's really unsettling.

"No."

"Andrew, I'm serious. I can't do it anymore." You didn't let him get one word in as you continued. "I can't be with someone who puts me in last place." There is no reply.

"This is for the best. Goodbye, Andrew." And you hung up. A moment passes while you stand still, eyes sting with tears that are threatening to pour out at any given moment. Sniffing could be heard as it came from you.

You collapse on your bed, and all the feelings you've bottled up just break out. You spent a part of the day crying.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"Go flirt with him!" A friend pressured you to talk to a random guy at the club.

It's been a month th since you broke up with Andrew, and now your friends finally got you to go clubbing with them, despite the fact you all had classes in the morning.

After some pushing, with a little help from alcohol, you were finally able to go up to the guy one friend pressured you to.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hooking up was not something you initially planed, you wanted to at least get his number and talk, but this isn't half as bad.

Making out on your bed as you feel his hands going up your dress.

*Thunk!*

The guy collapsed on top of you, and I the moment of your confusion, you see someone standing above you holding a cleaver. Once you realized it was an angry Andrew that just broke into your apartment, you were going to scream, but he covered your mouth.

"Not a word." He threatened.

Andrew removes the unconscious guy from you and drags him out the door. You assume someone is outside your apartment, as Andrew says something before coming back in.

The whole time, you have been afraid to move.

"Care to explain what the fuck that was about?" Andrew asked as he pinned you down.

"Were you seriously going to cheat on me?" His grip on you tightened.

"Andrew, we broke -"

"Shut up!" He cut you off.

"We. Are. Not. Fucking. Over." As he said that, Andrew started biting and sucking on your neck and collarbone. He raised the hem of your dress and exposed your underwear.

You really shouldn't feel turned on by this.

Andrew stopped biting your neck once he took off your underwear. Holding your thighs apart, he starts to aggressively lick your clit. Every time you felt his wet muscle drag itself there, your mind goes a bit crazy.

You ended up squirting over his face.

"So quickly." He said. "You were as deprived as I was." That's unfortunately true. There was only so much that phone sex and your fingers could do.

Before you know it, Andrew had his pants down and was thrusting his dic into you like a wild animal.

And you were loving it.

Digging your nails on his back as you feel him hit that was gonna make you cum. And with the final hit, you came.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Waking up to a headache and aggressive doorbell ringing, you use your pillow to somehow get out of Andrew's hold and adjust your clothes.

You opened the front door and it was one of your friends who was ringing the doorbell.

"Sooo? How did it go?"

"Well, we were in the middle of it.... and then his girlfriend called." You lied.

"What an asshole." And she bought it.

"Anyway, I kicked him out, then drank a bit, and then passed out." You continued with your lies.

"You poor thing."

"I think I'm gonna skip my classes today." That is the only truth you said in this conversation.

"Honestly, I would too if my night turned out like that." You bid each other goodbye.

When you closed the door, Andrew was standing there.

"How did you sleep?" You asked. Andrew just grunted and hugged you.

A/n: And that's all folks!

[kissitbttr]

cake testing with miguel for the wedding!

a/n: featuring a very possessive miguel

continuation from this!

—

it has been one of your favorite wedding plans that you always look forward to. When your best friend got married, she took you with her to help her choose which one was the best. The caterer brought six classic flavors and both of your eyes twinkled with excitement. The same goes for your best friend. You and her almost demolished that one special raspberry lemon cake with her, since both of you have a sweet spot for fresh fruits.

You could guess which one ended up at the wedding reception.

And now, getting to do it with your soon to be husband, Miguel, just seems like a dream come true.

"So, Darla isn't gonna be with us since she's got errands to run, her assistant is going to replace her today." You inform your fiancee as he drives.

He squeezes your thigh with his hand as an answer, focusing his eyes on the road. You look up from your phone to watch him drive. A smile graces upon your lips as you think how good he looks while doing it. Furrowed eyebrows in concentration, a small pout on his lips with one hand on the wheel.

Fuck, he looks absolutely delicious.

Miguel senses your gaze on him, causing him to glance at you for a second before a grin spreads across his handsome face.

"What?"

You shrug. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look sexy while driving"

He snorts out a laugh before making a turn. "I don't"

it's your turn to snort as you shake your head. "Humbleness is good. But God you're a liar."

"Ah, si? But you do love me, no?"

"Unfortunately" You answer, causing him to pinch the inside of your thigh making you giggle. "If we're not on our way to the boutique, I would hop on that dick right now"

He groans at that, eyes shutting briefly as the thoughts of you riding him in the car fill his mind. And seeing the seductive smirk on your face and how divine you look in that white sundress, it's already hard enough.

''Just say the word and I'll pull over mami." He's dead serious. You could see his hand gripping tightly around the wheel.

"And be late? No can do. Plus, I dressed really nicely for today and I do not want to ruin that."

"We can be quick" He tries again, smirking at you. "20 minutes top."

"Knowing you, it could never be 20 minutes. An hour and a half maybe." You point out, re-applying the gloss on your lips before smacking it. "And that's why I'm always late to work"

"You're killing me here, Y/N." He sighs loudly, pulling over to where the boutique is. "I never hear you complain about you being late when my cock is buried deep in your pussy, anyway."

You feign an offensive look as you slowly turn your head at him, shooting a soft glare. "Excuse me? What happened to getting rid of the first-name basis?!"

Yes. You made it clear from the start of the relationship that you refuse to be called by your first name anymore. It simply just won't cut it. You made sure to give him hell every time he called you that, even if he had done it by accident. Miguel was silently pulling his hair because you can be quite mean about that. Though he won't admit how you driving him insane is sexy. Like, really, fucking sexy.

it's a turn-on for him at this point.

"Shit, my bad" He parks the car as you both get ready to walk out. "Sorry baby." He leans over to peck your lips with his hand still on your thigh. The action makes you smile.

“That’s better”

Miguel gets out first, not allowing you both to walk out at the same time because he wants to be the one who opens the car door for you. Despite you telling him that you're perfectly capable of doing that by yourself, he argues with the fact that gentlemen always open doors for their women. Your heart does a somersault every time. It never goes away.

"Got everything, mi amor?" He asks as he extends his hand which you take, before shutting the door. You nod at him, and the two of you walk into the boutique hand in hand. "Dios... You look so good right now, I might just have to fuck you out here"

You gasp at that, slapping him in the chest, earning a low chuckle from him. "Easy there, tiger. I'm not going anywhere" You scold him but secretly love it when his filter's off

“How can i take it easy when your… Girls look so inviting?” His eyes glances at your breasts being pushed up by the cups of your dress, gulping at the sight. “They want me to play with them” A pout on his lips making your heart melt.

“Ugh, Miggy! please do not call them girls” You whine, shaking your head. “I thought we agreed on ‘tits’? Just tits.”

“Alright, alright fine… You’re no fun sometimes” He jokes, kissing your cheek. “Now, is this it?”

You nod, pushing your sunglasses up to the top of your head. “Darla said we can just walk right in.”

Miguel opens the door before allowing you to walk in first as he follows from behind. Red orbs scanning over the interior of the shop. It’s pretty. Lots of flowers in each corner, the paint is mostly pink and white.

“So is this where you and Darla had done the cake testing?” He asks, hand snaking around your waist.

“Yes! It’s so beautiful isn’t it? It’s like something coming out of fairytale or that ‘Enchanted’ movie we watched the other day. Darla really did amazing with this one. Though i did advice her to fix up the ceilings a bit and enhance the structure on that specific corner there.” You point with your manicured finger. “I offered to redesign and oversee the construction more. Just to help her a bit.”

He hums, squeezing your waist before planting a kiss on top of your head. “Look at you go… My little architect” He mumbles softly.

There’s no doubt on his mind that he’s proud of you. He loves seeing you work and help your friends who are in need. And that smart little brain of your is one of the things that made him fall in love with you in the first time. Jess had introduced you to him one time when he was scouting for a new architect to remodel the Spider Society’s HQ.

He was definitely entranced by your beauty when he saw you walked into his office with Jess by your side. You looked so sophisticated and elegant with glasses and the dress you had on that time. Long hair fixed into a messy bun as you shot him a smile before saying your name.

From that moment on, he was hooked. And made it his mission to make you his.

“Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. O’Hara?” Both of your ears perk at the sound of someone calling your names. You see a man, who’s probably in his late 20s emerging from the back with a smile. No doubt about it that he is quite handsome.

“Hi there! How are you? My name is Cameron, i’m Darla’s assistant. And my my, Darla didn’t say anything about her client being beautiful.” He chuckles as he lets out the joke. “She said you are stopping by for the cakes?” He flashes his toothy smile at you, and only at you.

Miguel frowns, at that. That doesn’t seem professional now, does it?

You choose to ignore that comment before smiling. “Yes, we are actually! I mean, I’ve done it with Darla about two weeks ago but my fiancé haven’t. So I’m bringing him, so he can taste it for himself.” Your hand squeezing your lover’s arm that is still settled around your waist.

The man nods, smiling as his eyes aren’t leaving yours which makes Miguel even more uneasy. And the way he looks at you from head to toe makes his blood boil.

He knows how men think, and he thinks. No, he knows that this asshole is basically undressing you with his eyes.

But Miguel is not the type create a confrontation. At least not anymore now that he’s with you. So he might’ve to push those feelings aside because he knows how much this means to you.

“Well step right here, I’ve prepared it all just for you, Ms. Y/L/N” He winks, gesturing you to follow him to where the cakes have been displayed.

Is he fucking serious?! Miguel thinks.

“So 6 different flavors, yes? Chocolate Lava, Lemon Raspberry, Strawberry Champagne, Red Velvet, Hazelnut Praline, aaand Hawaiian. That one is vegan” He checks off the last one on the list. “Customer’s favorite always been the Praline or Lemon Raspberry. You look like you deserve the latter. The best reserved only for the prettiest”

Again, you ignore his comment. “Oh well i tasted the Strawberry Champagne and it was amazing. But I’m leaving it to my fiancé here, so he can choose” You look up to him and notice there’s a slight frown on his face. “Baby?”

Miguel regains his composure when you call him, snapping him out of the thoughts of him killing Cameron in his mind. “Oh. Yeah yeah. Sure. You know my taste buds don’t matter just as long my woman is happy”

He makes sure to emphasize the words ‘my woman’ just so the guy can get the picture but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“Well, we’re in this together so your taste does matter, as well.” You’re completely oblivious with the soft glare that Miguel throws at Cameron’s direction. Hands softly picking the forks from the table to cut a piece,

“Here. Let’s try the Chocolate—“

“Why don’t you feed it to me, mi amor?” He asks, looking at you with a smile. “One fork for two.”

If he can’t be violent then he’s got to find a way to make sure that this Cameron fellow understands that you’re fucking off limits.

You raise an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Sure, papi” You mirror his expression before cutting the cake, lifting it to feed him,

He takes a bite. Eyes dead set on the man who stands awkwardly from across, gaze looking anywhere but him.

“Hm” He nods. “That one’s good. Dark chocolate is it?”

“Right?” You ask cheerily. “Darla is amazing, i swear i need them all 6.” As you turn to fees yourself with the chocolate cake.

He shrugs, wiping a bit of the frosting from the corner of his mouth. “You’re the bride baby, you can have all 6 for the wedding, i don’t mind. I got the money for it anyway.”

You smile at him, kissing his jaw. “I love you, but we can’t be too greedy now can we?” A giggle escape your lips.

Oh he knows. He just wanted to make sure that son of a bitch gets it through his thick fucking skull that you’re his.

The two of you continue to feed each other’s cakes— more like you feeding it to him to be honest— rating each and every single one. Making sure to put a mental note on whichever you prefer before coming back next week and pick one.

Miguel glances at Cameron every now and then and watches how he stays quiet for the rest of it, letting you and Miguel do your thing. Probably too scared after seeing the intimidating look on his face.

“Gotta say, Strawberry Champagne and Chocolate one are amazing.” Miguel points, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. “You sure have a great taste, cariño. Confío en ti con todo.”

“Gracias, mi corazón” you put down the fork back on the table, smiling up at Cameron. “That’d be all i guess, yeah? But i think we’ll be back next week to pick one for sure. Will Darla be here?”

“She hasn’t said anything about it but uh, i-i’ll make sure” He stutters a bit, smiling nervously and trying to avoid Miguel’s death stare.

“Okay then. Well, thank you, Cameron for assisting us today. We have to get going now, still have a lot to work on” You offer a polite smile to his direction. “Shall we get going?”

Miguel nods, eyes still fixated on Cameron. “Yeah sure. But uh.. Can you wait for me by the car? I just need a few words regarding with the cakes with Cameron”

He’s not letting this off easy.

You watch how his eyes trained to the young employee, scrunching your brows as Miguel turns to look at you with a soft gaze. “It’ll be just a minute, baby.” He presses a reassuring kiss on your temple,

“Okay” You nod, smiling softly. waving a hand at Cameron before walking towards the exit. Soon as you’re out of their sight, Miguel turns his gaze back on Cameron. The young man looks like he’s about to piss in his pants.

The two stands in silence for a while as Miguel looks at him up and down.

“You ever gotten your ass kicked, Cameron?”

The question throws him off guard. Eyes widening while his mouth hangs open.

“S-sir?”

“It’s a question. Yes or no.”

“Well uhm, n-no sir” Cameron shakes his head. “Wha-“

“You do know that me and my girl came as a couple, yes? Or are you fucking blind?” Miguel’s eyebrow raises at him, arms crossed over his chest.

“I see that, Mr. O’Hara. I-i didn’t— I’m sorr-“

“You flirt with every customers? With their soon to be bride? Or is it just my woman you’re after?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“N-no, Mr. O’Hara.”

“No as in what?”

“J-just her, i-i mean your woman.” He nervously confesses,

Miguel lets out a dry chuckle. “Let’s get one fucking thing straight, kid.” He leans forward, balling his fists before resting them on the table

“If you ever flirt with her, look at her or hell, if you even think about her when we come back next week, i will make sure no one remember how you look. And trust me when i say that this is not a threat but it’s a promise. Understood?” His voice laced with venom as he points his finger at Cameron’s chest who gulps,

Nodding quickly, he answers. “Understood.”

“Very well” Miguel retreats, taking a bottle of water from the table. “Stay away from my wife”

With that he walks out of the boutique, breathing out a heavy sigh, unscrewing the bottle cap before taking a gulp.

“How’s the interrogation goes?” You speak up with a playful smirk. “Did you manage to make him piss?”

He looks at you as he walks towards the car, shrugging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He replies.

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms. “I saw you, papi. You almost kill the kid.”

“Again, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiles innocently, both arms snaking around your waist to pull you close. Seems like a good kid. So i didn’t say anything”

A laugh escapes from your lips, one that he loves most—besides your perfect moans— “I know you, O’Hara. Like i said, a bad liar.”

“Alright fine, you caught me” He holds his hands up in defense. “He’s lucky i didn’t punch him.”

“That would be a sight for sore eyes.” You tease. “You know there’s nothing to be afraid of, right? Ain’t any other man could possibly steal my heart like you did three years ago.”

“Yeah well maybe if you stopped looking so fucking beautiful with your big pretty eyes and soft pouty mouth, then maybe men wouldn’t try to chase you off and i wouldn’t have 50+ competitions” He complains. But in reality he doesn’t mind.

“Oh excuse me, Mr? You don’t think i got one too?” You ask him through your lashes since his physique is towering you. “I had to put your ex back in her place at the Gala we attended three months ago, you remember? Slimy bitch.”

He laughs hard at that, head shaking at the memory of you confronting Dana was truly one of the unforgettable moments he has of you. “So, what’s next on the agenda?”

You look back at your phone before replying, “Seating arrangements on 112th street. Now this, we can use that 20 minutes up for something else since they’re running late.”

Miguel’s eyes harden as your finger running up and down his chest. “You mean—“

“Offer still stands. Want me to ride you while we wait?” You chew on your lower lip, gazing up at him and giving him your best doe eyes.

“Baby, if i ever said no to that question… Please feel free to grab my gun under my desk and shoot me in the head” He states, making you laugh as you throw your head back.

-

This feels like shit :/ I’m sorry but i need to clear out a few WIPs in my drafts

Though i still hope you all like it!

[megalony]

Meet My Family

This is an Evan Buckley imagine requested by anon, I hope you will all like it. Let me know what you think.

I'd love to do a follow up or two if anyone would be interested.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

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Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: Evan has been waiting for the right time to introduce the team to his family. But when his son is ill and he has to leave shift early, he tells the team about his family. (Autistic! son)

Enjoy.

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A shudder tore down Evan's spine and tingled throughout his arms when his son screamed.

It didn't matter how many times Evan had heard Rowan scream or make similar screeching, high-pitch noises, each one always cut through him.

With his lips rolled together, Evan tried again to reach for the shirt on the bed that he needed so he could get dressed ready for work. But Rowan moved faster. Despite the crackling coughs passing the five year old's lips, he took a dive and grabbed the shirt next to him on the bed, pinning it to his chest.

Evan took a deep breath before he crouched down on his knees at the foot of the bed so he was level with his boy. He watched Rowan tilt his head to the side, snuffling and huffing into the shirt he was cuddling like it was one of his many toys.

"Please." He kept his tone gentle and held his hand out, but Rowan wasn't agreeable today. Evan rose a brow and moved to tap the logo on the shirt that had the fire station name and number sewn into the crest. "Daddy's going to work. I gotta get dressed." He tapped the crest again before pointing to himself, but all he got was a sad scream that twisted into a cry at the end.

He knew Rowan knew what he was saying, or at least what he was trying to convey to him.

Evan was an expert on Rowan's different noises by now, he had to be. Noises were a way Rowan communicated because he couldn't speak, so Evan and (Y/n) had learned to decipher which ones were happy, which ones meant he was in pain and what sounds were angry or frightened.

Right now he was both in pain and angry. He didn't want Evan to go to work. Rowan didn't know what to do when he wasn't well, he knew he wasn't going to school because Evan hadn't gotten him into his school uniform and that meant his routine was disrupted.

A barking cough left Rowan's lips which made his chest sound like it was made of tissue paper that was ripping and crinkling apart. He pinned Evan's shirt to his chest and Evan sighed before he reached out.

He lifted Rowan up off the bed and let him snuggle against his chest. Since the moment he was born, Rowan had been a cuddler. Nothing couldn't be solved by a cuddle and it was something Evan loved about him.

Evan knew a few of the other parents from Rowan's school and he knew half of the kids there didn't like physical contact as much as Rowan. Some of the kids couldn't handle cuddles or long hugs or interacting with their families. If Rowan had been like that, it would physically kill Evan. He was so, so relieved that every day he got to pick his son up and lather him with kisses and hold him and show him he was loved.

And cuddles were a way for Rowan to express himself. He couldn't speak, (Y/n) and Evan were never going to hear their son tell them he loved them, but at least he could show it through touch and contact.

Rowan's birth had been a horrid experience that resulted in him not breathing for the first few seconds of his life and caused brain damage.

And when he was two and a half, after noticing little patterns and different behaviours in Rowan, added to the fact that he hadn't learned to speak, they ended up getting an autistic diagnosis.

He was non-verbal, granted Rowan could make noises, he made lots of sounds. He loved to click his tongue and make a noise that always reminded Evan of the Crazy Frog. And Rowan could scream, he would belt out a scream if he was angry or make a squeal if he was happy, but he couldn't say any words.

That meant it was sometimes hard to figure out if Rowan was in pain or the reasons why he was upset. They only knew Rowan was ill yesterday because he had a temperature and he was coughing and screaming. They were starting to use picture cards with him, but it was a slow process. They wanted to teach him to point to a picture to show them if he was in pain, such as if he had a tummy ache he could point and show them. At the moment, they used pictures for him to point out where he wanted to go.

And they had a picture board depicting what they did each day to try and help him have some control and sense of understanding.

"Alright buddy, alright."

He felt Rowan snuggle down against him until his head was tucked beneath Evan's chin and his arms loosely draped around Evan's neck, leaving the shirt hanging over his back, tightly gripped in his son's hand.

Tipping his head down, Evan kissed the top of Rowan's matching curls and smoothed a hand up and down his back as his other arm wrapped across his legs to keep him perched on his chest. He kept him snuggled close and kept kissing his head while he turned to leave the bedroom. There was no point arguing like this, Evan was just going to have to go about his morning routine and show Rowan that he would be leaving for work soon.

Rowan had been glued to both parents all night because he had a horrid chesty cough and Evan was sure he was going to start throwing up soon. He couldn't sleep and therefore Evan hadn't managed to sleep much either, most of the night was spent laid up in bed with Rowan on his chest.

Evan slowly made his way downstairs and padded through into the kitchen where he knew (Y/n) was because he could hear the radio humming softly through the air. He bounced Rowan a bit higher on his chest and continued to kiss the top of his head as he wandered past the kitchen table towards (Y/n).

His eyes instantly landed on (Y/n) and a soft smile flooded his face as he approached her. She was wearing a pair of leggings, mostly covered by one of Evan's long button up shirts which hung off (Y/n)'s frame since it was about two sizes too big, but she still made it look good. Her hair was pinned back and despite the tired look in her eyes, just looking at her made Evan smile.

"Morning sweetheart," Evan walked over to (Y/n) and stood behind her, curving his right arm around her waist while his left arm kept Rowan in place against his chest.

His fingers feathered up and down her waist and he took the time to kiss the top of her head while (Y/n) leaned her head back on his shoulder so she could smile up at him.

He pecked her temple again and reached his arm up from her waist to rattle through the medicine cupboard above her. All medicines had to be in high cupboards so Rowan couldn't get hold of them, he had a tendency to grab anything and stick it in his mouth. All the cleaning products were in the top cupboard above the counter because Rowan had tried to eat the wash liquid. It was either put them high up or get locks for the cupboards.

Evan grabbed the Calpol and the thermometer, grinning when he felt (Y/n) twist her head to the side so she could press her lips against his neck and graze her teeth over his skin. Not enough to mark him up for work, but just enough to make a red scratch worm onto his skin.

"Morning… you get hot or something?" (Y/n) did a quick sweep up and down his frame, wondering why he was wearing everything but his shirt. He didn't usually walk about in trousers but no shirt, it was more usual to see Evan either fully dressed or simply in his pants, there wasn't an inbetween.

"Someone's got my shirt." His eyes drifted down to the person in his arm who had gone quiet all of a sudden. He couldn't even feel Rowan humming or making his usual clicking sound which meant he was either tired or feeling unwell, possibly both.

Ducking his head down, Evan nudged his nose against (Y/n)'s until she got the hint and lifted her head up to meet him halfway. His nose nudged her cheek and his lips smothered hers, stealing a kiss that took all the air from (Y/n)'s lungs.

She groaned against his lips which gave Evan the chance to slide his tongue past her lips to tango with hers. He could feel her hand gliding across his chest, her nails leaving just the slightest scratch into his skin to wind him up and she gasped into his mouth when his hand holding the medicine bottle swatted down against her bum.

At least Rowan never seemed to mind whenever Evan wanted to steal a kiss from (Y/n) or when he curled around her and laid with her. They could hug and kiss and be intimate without Rowan making a fuss or getting protective or whining like most other kids would do.

"He's flushed." (Y/n) whispered against Evan's lips when she felt Rowan pressing up between them.

She pulled back from Evan's tempting lips so she could kiss Rowan's forehead which was hot and slightly sweaty. He was probably going to run a fever soon if he wasn't already.

"Alright buddy, let's take a look at you," Evan turned around to face the kitchen island and gently sat Rowan down on the counter.

He noticed Rowan's breathing was slightly crackly but he wasn't snuffling like he had a cold. The five year old's gaze seemed to be focused on the tattoo on Evan's left shoulder, he didn't understand them or what they were, but he seemed to love staring at them.

He cuddled Evan's shirt to his chest and stayed unusually still while Evan kissed his temple and tried to listen to his breathing.

He hadn't been well yesterday either, but he still went to school because he wasn't lethargic and he was active enough to go. But during the afternoon and into the evening his coughing got worse and he was clearly sick today.

"Okay, ready? Be brave, just like daddy."

Evan turned on the thermometer and pressed it into his own ear so Rowan could see it wasn't something that would hurt him. The five year old was a menace at the doctors. He wouldn't let them look in his ears, his mouth, if they touched him he screamed and vaccinations were the worst. He wouldn't let any of the teachers give vaccinations at school so Evan always made sure he had the day off and they got his vaccinations at the doctors.

One of them, usually Evan, had to pin Rowan to their chest while the other talked to him and held his hand so the doctor could inject him.

Once it was done, Evan held the thermometer out to Rowan. The young boy shook his head and made a discontent noise and when Evan pushed it in his ear, he screamed and tried to hit Evan's arm. It gave Evan the chance to snatch his shirt from his son and toss it somewhere behind him to be put on later.

"Done, all done." Evan placed it out the way so it couldn't be weaponised since Rowan was now upset. "Thirty-nine point four, he's got a fever."

"Great." (Y/n) murmured defeatedly and when she passed him, she leaned over to kiss Evan's shoulder. At least Rowan was up and active and making noises. If he was lethargic they would have cause for concern, and his fever wasn't too high or in the danger zone yet which was a relief. He would be okay for now, (Y/n) would keep an eye on him.

Evan held the Calpol out on a spoon which Rowan happily accepted. The good thing about him was that he didn't complain about medicine. He took anything given to him whether it was a liquid or a tablet or a cough sweet, but it usually had to be liquid. Rowan didn't understand that some tablets couldn't be chewed, he would chew any he was given.

Reaching out for him, Evan gently lifted him up and set him down to his feet so he could trot over to (Y/n). He swiftly pulled open the bottom drawer where he knew all his cups and beakers were kept and held a beaker out to (Y/n), his way of asking for a drink.

"Rowan, buddy, look." Evan tugged his shirt over his head and tucked it into his pants before he reached out for his son's hand.

He gently tugged until Rowan finally looked at where he was pointing. The whiteboard stuck on the fridge.

It was their now and next board. They printed pictures such as food, drinks, places like the park and cinema or school, and stuck them on the board so Rowan knew what was happening or so he could pick what he wanted to do.

Evan took the picture of himself and moved it to the bottom of the board, leaving Rowan and (Y/n)'s pictures up on the top. That told Rowan Evan was leaving.

"Daddy going to work, you can watch movies with mummy." He put the picture of the tv up on the board but he winced when Rowan stomped his foot. At first, they weren't sure Rowan actually understood any of the pictures or what they were trying to show him, but his reactions told them different.

And just last week, Rowan had noticed that Evan wasn't in the house when he woke up, and he trotted into the kitchen and took Evan's picture off the board all by himself. He stuck it at the bottom of the whiteboard where there was a building to signify Evan going to work. (Y/n) cried when she watched him.

It proved they had a way of communicating and that Rowan was understanding them and what was going on around him.

A rumbling, whining sound left Rowan's lips before he grabbed Evan's picture and moved it up next to the tv. Evan sighed, biting his lip as he shook his head and pointed to his shirt before he slowly moved his picture again.

"No, daddy's going to work."

Evan pressed his hand over the picture so Rowan couldn't try and move it again and it caused Rowan to scream. He tried to pull on Evan's hand, but when he realised his dad wasn't going to budge or listen, he stomped his feet and began to cry.

His cries ended in broken coughs as he flopped down to sit on the floor, his version of a tantrum. He continued to cry but his hands batted out in front of him and Evan wasn't sure what he wanted until Rowan finally grabbed his hand. He held his dad's hand, still crying, and just kept squeezing for a while. Evan didn't know if Rowan was asking for comfort or if he was just trying to convey how upset and sick he felt, but Evan stayed still and let him get it out of his system.

"Baby, here's your drink, look." (Y/n) leaned over him, kissing his forehead as she held his beaker in front of him.

She waited for him to take it but Evan reacted quicker, he could see what the five year old was about to do. When Rowan went to smack the drink away, Evan took it first.

"Fine, daddy will drink it then."

Rowan was stumped. He stopped crying, tears still running down his face and his chest heaving, but he stopped making any noise. He watched Evan take the beaker and take a sip and that was enough to snap Rowan out of his tantrum.

He pushed up and took the beaker from Evan as if his dad should know that he was not allowed to do that. And he flopped forward into Evan's chest, seeking a hug while he calmed down enough to have a drink.

"If you need anything today just call me, okay?" Evan looked across at (Y/n) and his expression softened when she held out a cup of coffee towards him. She knew he would need one now to wake him up for the drive to the station and then he would have another one as soon as he got to work.

"We might need another tub of strawberries." (Y/n) leant her hip against the counter, her eyes practically melting as she looked over at her boys.

Rowan had a thing for fruit. (Y/n)'s lockscreen on her phone was of Rowan and Evan at the local farm picking strawberries. All the ones Rowan picked went straight in his mouth, and the same could be said for Evan. For every strawberry Evan put in his punnet, he also put one in his mouth.

It was a routine for Rowan to have them at breakfast and they were almost out.

(Y/n) watched Evan nod with a smile and her eyes followed him as he scooped Rowan up from the floor and walked over to her until he was close enough for her arms to bind around. Keeping her and their boy pinned against his chest until it was time for him to go. He didn't like leaving them, especially when one of them wasn't well.

***

"What're we eating, I'm starving." Evan clapped his hands together and leaned over the counter to grab the plates from the cupboard. He was sure in any moment his stomach was going to growl as if to prove his point.

"You're always hungry."He huffed and took a glance over his shoulder at Hen as she passed him to sit at the table.

He couldn't really disagree with that. Evan was always hungry, but he was always on the go. When everyone else at the station could relax and sit down between calls, Evan was restocking the trucks and mopping the floors and tidying up. He couldn't sit still. He worked out a lot in the gym every single day. He was always on the move; he had every right to be hungry every minute of the day when each minute was accounted for.

He set the plates around the table and took his usual seat next to Bobby once the Captain set down a bowl of carbonara in the middle of the table.

Evan couldn't help but zone out of the conversation as he began to eat. His mind was wandering again.

He couldn't help but think back to this morning and how Rowan had thrown another tantrum when Evan tried to walk out the door. He screamed until he started coughing and then he threw up his breakfast. Moments like that made Evan hate having a job. He never wanted to leave (Y/n) or Rowan and when he did long shifts, it upset Rowan.

It was starting to bug Evan to the point he was contemplating asking Bobby if he could go on twelve hour shifts. He didn't mind doing the usual mix of days and nights, but pulling long double shifts wasn't good for Rowan.

"I think that girl on the last call had the hots for you, Buck." Hen wiggled her brows and pointed her fork at him while he felt Eddie nudge him in the side.

"She was a cook, you'd get along great in the kitchen." Eddie piped in and pointed at the food.

A soft smirk filtered across Evan's lips and he flashed his teeth before he shook his head and took a bite of his food. He didn't need to find anyone, he already had a girl waiting back home for him. And he wouldn't get along great in the kitchen with that woman on their call this morning, she seemed bossy and if Evan was bossed around in the kitchen, he got snappy.

"Ah, I don't need a sous chef, thanks."

The team didn't know about Evan's family.

As he took another bite of his lunch, Evan couldn't help but move his free hand towards the chain dangling around his neck. His fingers traced the silver links and wandered beneath his cotton shirt to the wedding ring that was a small but comfortably weight against his chest, right near his heart.

He didn't like wearing the ring on his finger, not in this line of work. Evan couldn't risk losing his ring and he didn't want the constant battle of scrubbing his hands and cleaning his ring whenever he got his hands dirty in this job. Plus, Evan was an accident prone in this job. He knew if he went unconscious at the hospital and he needed a scan or an X-ray, they would cut his ring if they couldn't slide it off his finger. He wasn't taking that risk. Having it hung on a chain was safer and made him feel better and protected.

Evan had been meaning to tell the team about his family, but he hadn't found the right time. He wanted to introduce everyone soon, properly. He had waited to make sure this job stuck, that this team was truly like a family before he opened up the most precious thing he had to them.

It was Rowan Evan was thinking of. It took him a while to get used to new people and Evan didn't want to get Rowan used to them just for this job to go sideways or in case something happened within the team. And Evan had to make sure that everyone would be understanding.

He'd had his fair share of fights with people who had made rude comments about his son or people who dismissed him. Evan had to make sure none of the team were like that before he opened up.

Just as they were all finished and Evan collected the empty plates, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shuffled the plates into one hand, slowing down so he didn't drop them while he fished his phone out his pocket.

'Babe <3'

The air disappeared from Evan's lungs and he hurriedly dumped the plates in the sink before he spun on his heels. He weaved past Chimney and Hen, throwing them a cautious smile so they didn't try and ask what he was doing or why he was staring at his phone like that with his jaw slack.

"Hey baby, everything okay?" It didn't matter how many times Evan told (Y/n) she could and should ring him at work if something was wrong, she barely did.

She would text him, send him pictures and let him know if Rowan was okay or if something was wrong, but she didn't usually ring him. "Hey, I- I didn't wanna ring you but… babe I might need some help."

That alone was enough to put Evan on edge. He could hear the panic in his wife's voice and it sent his heart lurching up into his throat. He took a few steps away from the kitchen until he was leaning over the railing. His back and bum arched out behind him and his elbows dug down into the metal railing as he tried to control his breathing.

"Why, what's happened?"

"His temperature spiked, and he was coughing so much he wasn't breathing properly. The doctor said to come down to the hospital s-so we're at the emergency room. Evan he won't calm down, he knows where we are, I don't think he's gonna let the doctor anywhere near him. C-can you come down?"

She hated to ask, but (Y/n) needed help and that thought alone sent Evan reeling.

He should have stayed home. He shouldn't have come into work, he should have stayed when he saw that Rowan had a fever this morning.

He knew Rowan hated the doctors and the few times he had been into the emergency room hadn't been pretty. Rowan didn't cooperate, he got frightened and nervous and if strangers tried to touch him he would scream and have a meltdown. Added to the fact that he didn't feel well was a recipe for disaster.

"I'll talk to Bobby and come straight down, okay? Try to keep him calm and wait outside for me if you have to, I won't be long baby I promise."

"Thank you."

Evan raked his fingers through his hair and spun on his heels, scouting round to look for Bobby. He saw Bobby sat at the table, nursing a steaming cup of tea, sat chatting to Chimney about something that was clearly amusing since they were both laughing.

He began tapping his phone against his thigh as he headed over and stood at Bobby's side, gingerly tapping his shoulder. "Can we talk?" Evan dipped his head to the side to silently plead that he wanted a word in private.

He could see the concern pooling in Bobby's eyes but the Captain nodded nonetheless. He set down his cup, nodded at Chimney and got up to follow Evan towards the stairs. Clearly something had to be wrong if Evan didn't want to talk in front of the team.

"What's up… is something going on?"

"I…" He didn't know how to word this. He hadn't told any of them about his family, none of them even knew he was married. Let alone that he had a son.

He sighed, tapping his phone against the palm of his hand as he fidgeted his weight from one foot to the other. He had to do this, he had to go because it wouldn't be fair to (Y/n) or Rowan to leave them both at the hospital without him. Rowan was going to have a meltdown, he would be scared out of his wits and if they had to take him for a scan or give him any kind of shot or IV, (Y/n) would have to pin him down. Evan had to be there with her.

"Bobby, I don't wanna ask, but I… I have a family emergency, I need to go to the hospital. Can I go? I'll make up the overtime I swear."

"Is everything okay?" He wasn't pushing or prying, he was testing the waters. Testing whether Evan felt comfortable enough to open up and tell him what was going on.

He sighed and looked down at his phone and when he unlocked it, he showed his homescreen to Bobby. Evan's favourite picture; the three of them when they were at the beach and the five year old had the cheesiest grin on his face. Rowan had such a lovely smile and his laugh was like music to Evan's ears, but it was hard to capture his smile in a picture, he seemed to sense the camera and stopped smiling immediately.

Which was why Evan loved the picture, it had been the first selfie he took of the three of them where Rowan continued to laugh. Evan had (Y/n) laid between his legs and Rowan stood up in her arms, leant back against her chest, his head tossed back in the brightest smile Evan had ever seen.

"My boy, Rowan. He's in the emergency room, he's not been well but he's got brain damage, he… he doesn't like doctors, I need to be there to help calm him down."

He could see the wave of emotions rushing across Bobby's hazel eyes. Surprise, confusion, revelation, happiness and then panic. All together, all at once. All for Evan.

"Go. Don't worry about the overtime, as long as you message me and let me know everything's okay and how he is. And I wanna know everything about them when you're back."

Relief had never taken hold of Evan so much as it did in that moment. He could feel his knees close to giving way beneath him and before he could stop himself, he pushed forward and looped his arms around Bobby's neck. He reeled his Captain in for a hug that took him by surprise, but caused a quiet laugh to rumble Bobby's chest.

"Thank you." Sincerity clung to Evan's voice and he felt Bobby pat his shoulder before he spun and bolted for the stairs.

He had to go grab his bag and keys and make his way down to the hospital. He had to go get to his family.

It didn't take him long to get there and Evan pulled up in the closest space he could find, barely locking the jeep before he was bolting down the path towards the emergency room.

His body turned to the right, aiming for the reception desk, ignoring the waiting room that was oddly full for lunchtime on a weekday. He knew the protocol, they would see that Rowan was autistic and they would try and get him seen to first. And if Evan couldn't hear his son then he wasn't in the waiting room, he would be in one of the assessment rooms with a doctor.

"I'm here for Rowan Buckley, my wife brought him in about twenty minutes ago."

"Buckley… he's in cubicle three, straight down the corridor, I'll buzz you in."

Evan sighed and mumbled his thanks before he bolted through the door as soon as the receptionist pressed the button, allowing Evan through into the assessment ward.

He couldn't contain the relief he felt as his knees shook and he bolted over to his family once the room was within his sight.

(Y/n) was stood in the middle of the room, next to the bed that Rowan was sat on. She had her arms around his middle, letting him lean back into her chest while she kissed the top of his head. But as soon as Rowan looked up, something sparkled in his eyes and he started his round of screeching noises that sounded similar to 'mememe' over and over.

"Hey buddy, hey I'm here." Evan crouched down in front of the bed and let Rowan push forward into his arms.

He could feel Rowan's crackling breaths in his neck and his usual murmurs and noises faded into sharp breaths. He'd never heard Rowan so out of breath before. Rowan could usually make noises over and over without looking like he was breathing, he even hummed as he ate sometimes. Hearing him so out of breath and feeling the way he clung to Evan made him want to cry.

"How is he?" Evan let Rowan tuck into his chest and he kissed his hair before he looked up at (Y/n).

"They think it's pneumonia, I asked them to wait for you, they wanna do bloods and an X-ray, he's not gonna like that."

A groan burned at the back of Evan's throat and he tilted his head down, burrowing his nose and lips into Rowan's curls for a few moments to try and gather some strength and courage from somewhere. Rowan wasn't good with needles, he wouldn't be okay with them taking bloods from him and an X-ray was going to frighten the life out of him. Evan had had more than his fair share during his teenage years.

(Y/n) moved round the other side of the bed and perched down next to Rowan while she reached down for Evan. Her fingers feathered along his neck and across his shoulder and she managed a soft smile when Evan leaned his head on her thigh.

They stayed like that for a few moments until the door opened and the nurse who had seen them earlier walked back in along with a doctor.

Nurse Janey had been very sweet with Rowan and he had been calm enough to let her take his temperature, but he wouldn't let her do anything else.

They had all been very understanding whereas some people, even health professionals, weren't considerate with Rowan. (Y/n) had walked out of a doctor's appointment before when the GP sighed and tutted at Rowan as if he could control the way he felt or the noises he made and he hadn't understood why Rowan wouldn't sit still or cooperate.

This room was a children's assessment room, clearly. Evan took note of the flowers and clouds painted onto the walls and the few toys in the corner of the room to help kids concentrate and feel calm.

"I take it this is dad?" Janey placed a clipboard down on the table and smiled at Evan when he stood up and nodded. He kept an arm around Rowan's shoulders, letting his boy lean against his leg while he coughed and rocked back and forth on the bed.

"I'm Frida, I'd like to check Rowan over and then take some bloods. I know that won't be easy, but if we can get this confirmed as pneumonia, we can get him on antibiotics and hopefully send you all home."

The doctor walked over to the three of them and wheeled a stool over so she could sit in front of Rowan. She removed the stethoscope from her neck and placed it in her ears, looking between both parents for their approval before looking down at Rowan.

"I need to listen to his breathing."

She tried to move the stethoscope near Rowan's back, but he wasn't impressed. He leaned back into (Y/n), pushing back when she tried to lean him forwards and as soon as the doctor's hand was near him, he smacked her hand away.

"Rowan no, don't do that." Evan held his hand and sat down next to him on the bed while (Y/n) kept hold of his waist and tilted him forwards.

A low grumble whined past his lips and he mixed between coughing and something like a growl when the stethoscope pressed down on his back. He shimmied his shoulders from side to side, trying his best to get away but he was surprised when the doctor pulled away after a minute. He clearly assumed every test was going to hurt.

"Okay, blood pressure next. This doesn't hurt, sweetheart." Her smile was calming, but she could see the five year old didn't trust or understand her.

His head tilted to the side and a perplexed look filled his curious yet weary eyes when he looked at the black band that was moving suspiciously near his arm. He let Evan lift his arm up but when the band went around his wrist, he screamed and flung both arms out, shuffling back into (Y/n).

"Baby it's okay," (Y/n) soothed, kissing his temple as she leaned into the bed to cuddle Rowan, but he shook his head from side to side and kept screaming in protest. His arms flapped at his sides like a bird trying to take flight and Evan dragged his hand across his chin. He wished he could show Rowan it wouldn't hurt and that he was safe, but words weren't going to do that.

"If he'd feel safer with you doing it, that's fine." Frida held the blood pressure cuff out to Evan when she clocked the logo on his shirt.

He knew what he was doing and Rowan was his boy, he would trust Evan not to hurt him.

"Buddy, look. Safe, see, it's okay." Evan slipped his arm through the cuff and strapped it around his forearm to show Rowan it wasn't something to hurt. He kept tapping it until Rowan reached out to skim his fingers across the material, and then Evan tapped his shirt. It was like a piece of clothing.

Part of him felt bad. He knew once the band tightened around Rowan's arm, his son was going to lose trust in him. He was going to have a fit and scream and become angry that Evan had lied to him because that tightening feeling would resonate as pain for Rowan. But they needed to make sure he was okay and the more tests Rowan had, the more he would become used to them.

They had to get him used to hospitals for the future, for any other illness or problems he had. He had to know that this was to make him better.

"Daddy's doing it, see?" (Y/n) murmured against his ear and she lifted Rowan up to sit him on her lap.

He coughed and made his usual mumbling sound, but he stopped fighting when Evan slid the band around his arm and strapped it around.

The way Rowan looked between Evan and the band had Evan's heart picking up and he felt like he was going to be sick once he turned the machine on.

(Y/n) looped both arms around Rowan's waist, her eyes locked with her husband as he shuffled closer until their knees were touching. She shivered, pulling in on herself when a shrill scream left Rowan's lips. His right hand immediately moved towards the band and his breathing turned into escalated, shallow huffs as he began to panic.

He dug his fingers into the band and tried to wrench it off until Evan held his hand, but he flung his arm out, trying his best to hit Evan or (Y/n) or anyone he could reach. He didn't like it. They were hurting him. They were scaring him.

He continued to scream until he didn't have any air left and his shoulders bashed into (Y/n)'s chest as he wriggled from side to side, trying to shimmy his way off her lap.

"Shh, baby it's okay. Almost done, almost done baby."

"Buddy, look at daddy. It's okay." Evan kissed the palm of Rowan's hand before he pressed Rowan's hand against his cheek. He leaned closer until their noses were touching, something Rowan loved doing almost as if it was his way of giving kisses to those he loved.

Their eyes locked for a few seconds and Rowan paused his screams and slowed down his wriggling attempts to break free. Evan knew his boy had to be calm or the blood pressure reading would be sky high and it wouldn't be accurate. He had to calm down to get the most accurate reading so they knew if he was okay or if his blood pressure was high before he began to panic.

"All done."

As soon as the band was unstrapped from his arm, Rowan let out a frustrated scream and slapped his hands down on his legs as he shook back and forth like he was telling them he wasn't impressed.

"What's the best way to take bloods? I'd assume he won't like his arm being held behind his back?"

For some children, they would get them to have their arms pinned against their back so they couldn't see the needle. But Doctor Frida guessed that would only send Rowan into a further state of panic which they didn't want to do. But they needed to take bloods, and it would be best to do that now rather than have to get a specialist to come down to put him under anaesthetic which would only upset Rowan all over again.

Evan looked across at (Y/n), both of them sharing a look before Evan reached out for him. They were going to have to restrain him. It was the only way Rowan would let them do anything.

"What we did for the vaccines?" Evan muttered, to which (Y/n) nodded. They had formed a routine for his vaccines which had worked well, only giving Evan minimal bruises afterwards.

Shuffling back, Evan sat up on the centre of the bed and spread his legs. Once he patted his thighs, Rowan immediately crawled over to sit with him. Evan spun him round so Rowan was sat with his back against his dad's chest and he smiled when (Y/n) shuffled closer next to his thigh.

Evan deadlocked his left arm around Rowan's torso, pressed his lips against his head and pinned his right arm over his son's chest right across his collar bone. He made sure he wasn't holding too tight, but just enough so Rowan wasn't going to be able to get out of his hold.

"Hands please." (Y/n) smiled and held her hands out to Rowan, waiting patiently for him to place his palms in hers and squeeze.

"Quickly."

Evan's marching order was heeded and understood.

The doctor placed a tie strap around Rowan's right arm just above his elbow which made him frown, but he didn't move. As soon as his eyes locked on the needle, he was pushing back into Evan's chest like it would make a difference or allow him to escape.

(Y/n) held his hands tightly, trying not to hurt or bruise him and she pulled on his arms so they stayed straight and he couldn't hit out at them.

Once the needle was in his arm, Rowan screamed.

It was a horrid sound that mixed with the tears that began to stream down his face. He gasped, drawing in another gulp of air that he used to belt out another scream. His feet began to lift and swat down against the bed until Evan lifted his right leg and looped it on top of his son's legs, pinning them down to the bed.

Evan braced his chest but he gasped when Rowan slammed his head back into his chest. It was enough to wind him and he knew he would be bruised later, but he held strong and tensed up into Rowan. This was for his own good and it wouldn't hurt for long.

"Shh, buddy it's okay."

"Brave boy, you're doing so good." (Y/n) kissed the back of his hands but she bit down on her lip when Rowan screamed and tried to scratch her wrists. His nails pierced her skin deep enough to draw blood and he shook her arms until she pinned his arms down into Evan's thighs. He couldn't do that or he would move the needle imbedded into his elbow. They couldn't have him ripping a vein and getting blood everywhere, that would be extreme pain that Rowan wouldn't be able to cope with.

The doctor murmured "Almost there," as she switched the vile for another one. They had all agreed to do as many tests as they could, to make sure everything else was alright. They wanted to test for any infections other than pneumonia and make sure Rowan wasn't lacking any vitamins and blood tests would check his organs like his liver and kidney function.

It was safer to do more tests since Rowan couldn't tell them if he was in pain or if anything was wrong. This would keep him safe and healthy.

"Shit! Rowan- Rowan don't do that!"

Evan growled, closing his eyes and tipping his head back when Rowan sank his teeth down into Evan's forearm.

He'd never done that before.

He had hit, slapped and kicked both parents before when he was frightened or in a meltdown, but he had never bitten either of them. But Evan's arm was across the top of his chest. It was pinning him down, preventing him from moving. It was right there and with his legs pinned down and (Y/n) holding his arms, the only way Rowan could express his fright was to bite down on the arm beneath his chin.

"Rowan no!" (Y/n) fumbled to hold his hands in one so she could reach out for his chin. She wriggled his jaw and leaned closer to make him relent, if he locked his jaw he would bite Evan hard enough to draw blood and they didn't want that.

"Done."

The doctor was quick to pull away from the situation and as soon as she did, Evan loosened his grip. He held his arms out at his sides and moved his legs, letting Rowan scuttle from his arms and flop onto (Y/n)'s lap instead.

He screamed into (Y/n)'s knees, bashing his fists into her legs as he curled up over her lap, shaking and silently asking for comfort.

"Are you okay?" She looked across at Evan and shuffled closer while she lifted Rowan up and settled him on her chest so his head was on her shoulder.

Her eyes focused on Evan as he shook his wrist to get some feeling back but he let her reach out for his arm. He skimmed her fingers over the teeth marks in his forearm and cringed. He was going to have a large bruise there in a few hours, and those indents were sharp enough to draw blood wheels beneath the skin.

"That hurt more than a tattoo." Evan muttered under his breath, but there was no malice or annoyance in his tone. He understood Rowan's fright and seeing Rowan curl into (Y/n) told them he knew he had done wrong.

A bite mark was worth it when it meant making sure Rowan was going to be okay. It was more than worth it.

***

"Cap… you're here." Surprise flooded Evan's voice but he couldn't help the way his lips curved up into a smile when he looked down the corridor.

They were all here.

His team had come down to the hospital to see him- to see his family. They didn't have to do this. They had all done a long shift, they should be heading home to their own families and relaxing before their next shift. They didn't have to come down here and check on him.

"We don't wanna intrude, but you didn't call."

"We just want to know if everything's okay." Hen stuffed her hand in her back pocket and jutted one hip out to the side.

She still couldn't quite believe that Buck had his own little family. She pegged him as being in a relationship by the way he didn't talk about going on dates or meeting anyone and every time someone on a call asked him on a date, he just blushed and kindly turned them down.

And there was something natural and loving about the way Evan was with all the kids when they were out on a call. He knew how to calm them down and talk to them and get to their level, but no one guessed he had a wife and child hidden away at home.

"Cap said you've got a boy, why didn't you say anything? You know him and Chris will probably hit it off, right?" Eddie nudged Evan's arm and gave his shoulder a tap before he looked around, trying to guess which room held Evan's family.

It had been a long time since Eddie had been down in the children's ward of any hospital. He forgot how bright and colourful everything was here.

"I just wanted to find the right time to introduce you all… Rowan can get attached but, not everyone can understand him." It may take Rowan a while to get used to new people, but once he did, he loved them completely. Evan had to be sure the team could understand him and more importantly, be willing to take the time to learn his ways, before he introduced them.

"Is he okay?"

"Pneumonia, but he's on antibiotics, and he takes after me with his appetite, so he's gonna be fine. We can head home in the morning."

Rowan had no problems taking the liquid antibiotics the nurse brought round every few hours. And he had eaten all the dinner they gave him and he tried to take Evan's dinner too which showed he was feeling better.

He had taken a powdered inhaler, mainly because he thought it was a toy, and his breathing was evening out.

The only thing the nurses couldn't do was give him an IV drip or an oxygen clip in his nose. But they were satisfied that Rowan was drinking enough of the shakes and juices they gave him so he didn't need an IV. Once he was cleared in the morning, he would be going home with a weeks supply of antibiotics.

"Oh, Buck that's great." Bobby nodded and his smile was full of relief. He had been on edge all afternoon since Evan left. He just wanted to know everything was okay.

It made sense, all the pieces clicked into place after Evan left. His little ways, his habits, his nervousness about wanting to go home or when something seemed off. It all made sense when Bobby understood who Evan had waiting for him at home, and he wanted to check on Evan before he went home so he didn't have to worry all night.

"Do you wanna come and say hi?" Evan pointed behind him at the room he had been ready to enter before the team walked down the corridor. He had gone for a coffee for him and (Y/n) while Rowan was settled.

"You sure?"

"Come and meet my family." Evan opened the door and pushed in before anyone could give it a second thought.

He knew the team were going to be his second family from now on and he wanted them all to meet and get along. If they could love and embrace his wife and son like they welcomed him into their family, everything would be fine.