#i got too frustrated and just turned off everything

[solxamber]

oh goodness I hope I'm not too late- the surprise of this event shocked me really bad 😭😭😭

I hope this isn't too hard of a request but,

Deuce, Romantic, "I like me better" by Lauv

Thank you very much and I hope you have a great day!!!

"I like me better when I'm with you" || Deuce Spade

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: I Like Me Better by Lauv

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 820

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Pre-Relationship

Deuce had never been in love before.

Sure, he’d had crushes—fleeting, clumsy things that never lasted long. He had admired people from afar, stumbled over his words when talking to someone he found attractive, but nothing like this. Nothing that made his heart pound so hard it drowned out the world, nothing that made him feel like his chest was too small to contain it all.

Because this—you—were something entirely different.

He didn’t know when it started, only that one day he looked at you and felt it. Like a switch had flipped, like the world had rearranged itself to make you the center of it. It wasn’t just admiration or excitement—it was warmth. It was wanting to be better, to be someone worthy of standing beside you.

You made him feel good. Not just about you, but about himself.

Deuce had spent so much of his life struggling with the person he used to be. The anger, the reckless choices, the reputation that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to shed it. He still fought against it every day, still worried about slipping up, about ruining everything he’d worked for.

But with you, it was different.

You never looked at him like he was the sum of his mistakes. You never treated him like he was constantly on the verge of losing control. When he got frustrated, you didn’t flinch or scold—you laughed, nudging his shoulder and telling him to “save it for a real fight.” When he worried about not being good enough, you reminded him of every time he’d been there for his friends, for you.

You saw the best in him. And when he was with you, he started to see it too.

It wasn’t just the grand moments—the late-night conversations where he almost told you, the times he caught himself staring and had to force himself to look away. It was the little things.

The way you cheered for him at flight lessons, loud and unapologetic. The way you called his name before running up to him, always excited, always happy to see him. The way you stayed close in crowded places, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the way, when he looked at you, the world felt lighter.

He liked himself best when he was with you.

And maybe—just maybe—he would gather enough courage to tell you one day.

Deuce exhales sharply through his nose, gripping his pencil so hard his knuckles turn white. The numbers on the page blur, equations twisting into something incomprehensible the more he stares. His frustration builds like a storm, his chest tight, his jaw clenched. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get it right.

He wants to be better. For you.

But right now, he just feels stupid.

You must notice the way his shoulders have tensed because you reach out, your fingers slipping over his hand, stopping his restless scribbling. “Hey,” you say, voice warm, steady. “Relax.”

Deuce blinks, caught off guard by your touch. His fingers loosen under yours, and suddenly, the tight feeling in his chest isn’t from frustration anymore—it’s something softer, something that makes his pulse stutter.

“You always overthink it,” you tell him. “Try again, but this time, don’t try so hard.”

He swallows, his grip easing around the pencil. “I just don’t want to mess up,” he mutters. “I—I want to do this right.”

You tilt your head, smiling like you know exactly what’s going on in his head. Like you see him—really see him. “You will,” you say simply. “You always do.”

He doesn’t know what it is about you, but when you say it, he believes it.

And suddenly, everything shifts. The weight of his own expectations feels a little lighter, the words in the textbook a little clearer.

He tries again. And this time—oh. He gets it.

A grin tugs at your lips when you see his face light up. “You got it?”

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That a single moment—just you sitting here beside him, your hand still resting lightly over his—could make him feel so much more than he ever has before.

But it’s true.

Because he’s been trying so hard to be something better, to prove himself, to reach higher and be stronger and smarter.

And yet—when he’s with you, he already feels like the best version of himself.

His fingers tighten around yours for just a second before he lets go, trying to pretend he isn’t completely overwhelmed by the feeling.

But later, when you lean your head on his shoulder, still laughing about something dumb, Deuce realizes—he doesn’t want this to be just a moment.

He wants this forever.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[harmonyrae]

Crimson Ice

Synopsis: Zayne is the most self-less, kindhearted person you know. He remembers everything you like and is very aware of your needs. He's done his research and has encouraged you to consider his offer. And tonight, you are more than ready, but there's one thing you need to do first.

Content Warnings: SO FLUFFY but then steamy, explicit language & sexual content, mentions of menstrual cycle, feminine products, blood/bleeding, fingering, oral (m&f receiving) & yes oral while on period so blood near mouth (I researched it don't worry), needy Zayne, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5k  

You lean against the counter and close your eyes, letting the steam from the tea kettle warm your face. The phone barely rings twice before Zayne picks up. 

“Everything okay, my love? I just got off work.”

The butterflies in your stomach swirl when you hear him use that name. You giggle to yourself and try to ignore how the butterflies turn to fireworks.

“I was wondering if you could stop at the store for something?”

“What do you need?”

You’re glad he can’t see how you’re blushing. It’s not that you’re embarrassed, you’re just not sure you’ll ever get used to talking about your period so openly with him. 

“Can you pick up some pads for me?”

You hear the door to his car close and assume the Bluetooth is connected. His voice sounds far away when he speaks again, you can tell you’re on speaker phone.

“The same kind I’ve gotten for you before? Or something else?”

You hesitate for a moment and wait until you hear him driving to speak again. You didn’t need anyone in the parking garage to overhear your pad preferences. You’re about to speak when you hear a faint chirp.

“I’ve taken you off speaker phone.”

You laugh softly, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Thank you… Yeah, the same ones. I should have picked up more yesterday.”

“So the tracker app I recommended was accurate then?”

“Yes… it was. I don’t know how, but it’s strangely accurate with the predictions. It sent me a message yesterday to make sure I was prepared and I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Well now you know for next month. Did you need anything else? I can pick up dinner?”

Your stomach growls, how long has it been since you ate something? The nausea is always bad on day one, so you’ve barely eaten. Now that the sun was setting, you were ravenous. Instantly, the image of a massive burger comes to mind. Followed by a milkshake. 

“Is that burger place you took me to still open? The one with the really weird milkshake options?”

“Yes, last I checked it is still open. Do you want a cheeseburger?”

You turn off the stove and move the kettle to the counter. You struggle to open the honey jar with one hand and drizzle honey on the bottom of your mug. Your grunts of frustration echo through the phone. You hear Zayne’s low chuckle. 

“You know you can put me on speaker, right?” 

You scoff and close the honey jar loudly. You drop the tea bag into the mug and pour the steaming water on top of it.

“I had it handled…” 

“I’ll get you what you ordered last time, with the extra crispy fries and a… carrot cake milkshake?”

The disgust in his tone is evident and you cover your mouth to stifle your laugh. He’s being so sweet… Of course he remembers what kind of pads you use and what you ordered. He always remembers. Your heart pounds and you just want to grab him and kiss him…

“Darling?”

Zayne’s voice cuts through your fantasy and you nearly drop your phone. You sigh and slide onto the bar stool, resting your head on your hand as you wait for your tea to cool. 

“Yes, that sounds perfect. I’m really hungry…”

“Have you been nauseous today? Did you drink some ginger tea?”

You stir the tea in front of you. The strong scent of ginger is almost too much, but it has helped calm your stomach all day.

“Drinking some now. I’ve had a few cups actually.”

“Good, I hope it helped. I’ll be home soon.”

You hang up and sip your tea. When you woke up this morning you knew something was off, you usually don’t have cramps when you start your period so you were confused with your stomach ache. Usually back pain makes you double over, but this month mother nature graced you with something new. When the familiar nausea hit you, you rushed to the bathroom and sure enough.

You were looking forward to a relaxing weekend with Zayne, but he had been called in for an emergency surgery and now your period… You scroll through your phone until you find the checklist you made for this weekend. Shopping for the hospital’s charity gala would have to wait, you were too bloated to find the right dress. Organizing the attic was definitely not happening, you were not risking inhaling dust and sneezing. Baking cookies for the Hunters of Tomorrow… you’d eat all of them and spend the next three days feeling guilty and sick. You take your mug to the sink and quickly wash it, setting it on the rack to dry. You shuffle to the living room and flop down on the couch. 

The next thing you know, the front door is opening, you didn’t know when you fell asleep but your neck was killing you. You sit up and roll your neck, the tense muscles popping. You sit up and try to smile at Zayne as he approaches you. His expression is calm, but is laced with concern.

“Does your neck hurt?”

You nod and sheepishly look away. He sets two large paper bags on the coffee table and removes his coat, draping it over the couch as he walks around behind you. You tremble as his cold fingers trace your neck and slowly massage the strained muscles.

“Sorry…”

He’s always apologizing for his cold hands, but you’ve grown to love the chill that runs through you when he touches you. You tip your head forward to let his fingers work up the center of your neck. His thumbs press against a particularly tender spot and you flinch. He pulls back immediately and places his palm over the spot, gently cooling the skin and easing the pain. 

“Don’t apologize. It feels good.”

He removes his hand and you almost whimper at the loss of contact. You’ve been thinking about curling up with him all day. His skin cooling yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles dipping lower to massage your lower stomach. A shiver runs down your spine, you stretch, trying to distract yourself from the onslaught of dirty thoughts. 

Zayne sits next to you and opens the bags on the table. He pulls out your pads, the exact brand you wanted, and then a new box of ginger tea. You smile when you notice he got the honey ginger flavor. He also pulls out a box of your favorite peanut butter chocolate candies and you let out a squeal. He looks over at you and smiles, those bright green eyes sparkling. 

He opens the food bag next and places the first container down, opening it to reveal a huge order of extra crispy fries. You immediately reach out to grab one, but Zayne smacks at your hand gently. 

“Patience. Let me get everything set up for you.”

He was always pampering you during your period. Massages, cooking, gentle words of affirmation. It drives you crazy, especially with your worst symptom getting harder to ignore. You’ve been in a relationship with him for almost a year and only last month had you finally worked up the courage to tell him about it. He was familiar with your ovulation routine, but he had no idea how feral you became during your menstrual cycle. He spent almost an hour assuring you that it was normal and there had been several studies about sex during your period being healthy. Going as far as explaining that it might help alleviate cramps. You weren’t sure at the time and he left for a conference a few days later, so you didn’t have a chance to revisit the topic.

“Fine. I’ll get some silverware.”

You stand and go to the kitchen to get two sets of silverware and plates. You return to your spot on the sofa and watch Zayne lay out napkins on the coffee table, he reaches for the plates and his fingers brush against yours. You nearly drop them, but Zayne grabs them firmly. He takes your hand and pulls you down onto the sofa. His gentle gaze makes the burning sensation between your legs even worse. 

“A teriyaki-glazed burger with cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo and a thick slice of grilled fresh pineapple. You always go for a sweet and salty option don’t you?”

“Why should I have to choose when this burger exists?”

He laughs and carefully plates your burger. He opens the container with his and your eyes nearly start watering. You cough and lean forward, peering into the box at his burger.

“What on earth did you get?! Why does it smell so spicy?”

He plates his burger and you spot the grilled jalapeños and pepper-jack cheese. When did he start liking spicy food? 

“It’s called a ‘Heatwave Burger’ - it has pepper-jack cheese, caramelized onions, a chili aioli, avocado and grilled and fried jalapeños.”

Your mouth hangs open and you stare at him. 

“I accidentally had fried jalapeños at a banquet during the conference I was at last month and ended up really liking them. Since then I’ve tried a few things.”

He pops a fried jalapeño in his mouth and he sighs, savoring the flavor. His cheeks flush as the heat filters through his senses. His glasses slip down his nose a bit and you bite your lip suppressing every urge to tear them off of his face and kiss him. You weren’t a big fan of spicy food, but tasting the heat on his tongue while his cold fingers held you close… 

You clear your throat and grab your milkshake, sticking your straw in and taking a large gulp. If you can focus on eating maybe this urge to jump his bones will subside. You carefully cut your burger in half and take a bite. Goosebumps rise along your arms as you chew, the sweetness of the pineapple mingles with the smoky teriyaki. When you look over, you see Zayne watching you while he nibbles on a fry. Your cheeks flush and you pout.

“Why are you staring?” 

He smiles and cleans his hands on a napkin. He carefully removes his cufflinks and starts rolling up his sleeves. You freeze, staring at his hands as they roll the fabric up over his elbows. Damn your weakness for forearms. And damn him for having spectacular ones. 

“I’m just happy to see you eating.”

You force yourself to look up at him. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Is he doing this on purpose? Rolling up his sleeves like that? You drop your gaze and focus on your burger. You’re only able to finish half of it and a handful of fries before you’re full. Zayne splits the fries between the two burger containers and you place the half you didn’t eat inside. You both stand and walk into the kitchen, placing the containers in the fridge and the leftover milkshakes in the freezer. 

“They’ll be a nice midnight snack.”

Surprised, you look at Zayne as he washes the plates and silverware at the sink.

“You never approve of midnight snacks… Who are you and what have you done with my Zaynie?”

You hold up two fingers and point your finger gun at him. He chuckles, his shoulders shaking as he turns to dry his hands on a towel. The water drips down his arm and you watch the muscles in his forearm twitch and flex. You let out a shaky breath. He looks so good like this. Sleeves rolled up, glasses sitting low on his nose, face flushed from his spicy burger, just washing dishes after dinner. The domesticity of it all is the most attractive thing in the world to you right now…

“You’re staring again.” 

You blink and watch him step towards you. You instinctively step back and your hip hits the edge of the counter. You wince and grab your hip, Zayne’s hand covers your own and you hold still, the feel of his skin touching yours is intoxicating and you just want to freeze this moment. Zayne steps closer and his breath tickles your ear. 

“Have you thought about what we talked about last month?”

You finally meet his gaze. His eyes scan your face, his other hand stroking your arm. He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I have…”

“My opinion hasn’t changed. Whatever you want to do, I’m here.” 

It takes all of two seconds for you to throw your arms around him and slot your mouth over his. He wraps an arm around you and braces himself against the counter with the other. With your chest pressed against him, you can feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

You drop your hands to his waist and pull his shirt up, untucking it from his pants. As your fingers fumble with the buttons he grabs your hips and starts to pull you towards the bedroom. His lips ghost over your neck and jaw, teasing kisses as he walks. With his shirt open, you run your hands over his chest, your fingers circling his nipples as you latch onto his bottom lip. 

He throws open the bedroom door and you don’t bother to try to close it. Just as you approach the bed, you spin, your hands pushing against his chest to push him down. He grunts as he falls onto the bed. You kneel in front of him and start to unbuckle his belt, but he grabs your hands. 

“Wait, this is supposed to be about you… not me.”

You can’t stand it anymore. You’ve worked hard to find a balance, a give and take, but every time Zayne turns you on you have only one desire. And every time you try to act, he pushes back and pampers you. Even when you’re not on your period, he always focuses on your pleasure first. But now that you’re finally indulging, you can’t stay quiet any more.

“I should –”

You cut him off.

“Zayne, I love you so much, but… I don’t want this to just be about me. You don’t realize how good it feels for me when I pleasure you. When I hear you moan and whimper… fuck, I’m obsessed with those sounds.”

He looks down and runs a hand over the back of his neck. He clears his throat and shifts on the bed. Your hands rise to cup his face and he slowly looks up to meet your gaze.

“You deal with so much every day, your job demands everything from you and you come home and put my needs above your own. You’re the most selfless person I know and I love you for that, but all I want right now is to help you let go. You deserve to feel good, your needs are important to me.”

He runs his hands down your arms. The crease between his brows is deep, you can’t help yourself, you lean forward and kiss the center of his forehead. His face relaxes and he lets out a breath. You rest your forehead against his.

“Zayne, I’ve come from just sucking your dick.”

His grip on your forearms tighten, his legs tremble against your waist.

“You can do whatever you want to me later, but I need this. I need you to let go for me…”

You run your hands down the sides of his neck and onto his chest. His hands rest on your arms, not directing them, simply moving with you. You slide them over his shoulders and push his shirt over and down his arms. He lets go of you and shrugs his shirt off, letting it fall behind him on the bed. Your hands glide down his chest and over his abs. 

“To taste you…”

You lean forward and lick along the hollow ridge at the center of his stomach. He groans, his hands gripping the comforter.

“To feel you…”

You bend your knee and stand just enough to drag your nose along his jaw before dipping down to his collarbone. You place tender kisses along the top of his chest and then turn your head to suck his nipple into your mouth. He gasps and his hands release the comforter to reposition behind him to stop himself from falling. 

“To watch you lose control for me…”

You lower yourself to your knees and continue unbuckling his belt. When you look back up at him, his chest is heaving and his eyes are barely open. He stares down at you and watches you unzip his pants. You hook your fingers into the waist and yank them down harshly along with his underwear. The sudden pull causes him to fall back onto his elbows. 

He gasps as you wrap your hand around his cock and slowly start to pump him. He sits back up, his hands propping him up. You run your thumb over his swollen tip, perfect beads of precum slowly leaking out. Your mouth waters and you squeeze his thigh with your free hand to ground yourself. You don’t want to rush this…

“Wait…”

You barely hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You look up and watch his eyes drop to your chest.

“Take off your shirt.” 

You’re about to argue, but the way he looks at you… he’s begging. God, that’s fucking hot. You release him for a moment to pull your shirt over your head. You reach behind you and unhook your bra, letting the straps drop down your shoulders. You watch Zayne’s pupils dilate as you pull the cups away. 

You lick your hands and rub the center of your chest before tracing circles around his slit gathering more of his precum. His mouth drops open when you rub your hands together and smear his release between your breasts. You wrap your hand around his cock and lean forward, with your free hand you cup one of your breasts and start to rub his cock against it. He struggles to catch his breath, a stream of precum dribbles down from his cock and onto your chest. You release his cock and cup your other breast, bringing it up to the other side. 

You squeeze your breasts together around his cock and use your thighs to move up and down. You keep your eyes on Zayne’s face, his mouth hangs open and he moans as he watches his cock move between your breasts. Your fingertips brush against your nipples making you shiver. He lifts a hand and reaches towards you.

“No!”

He stops and clenches his fist.

“No touching…”

He drops his hand back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You smile at how his glasses have slipped further down his nose and his chest glistens with sweat.

“Take off your glasses, baby.”

He sighs, opening his eyes enough to lift his hand to pull his glasses off to drop them on the bed beside him. You shift to place one foot on the floor under you and use the leverage to bounce up and down faster. His hips twitch as his cock swells and the urge to thrust builds. Just as his grunts turn to whines, you lean back and release your breasts. His eyes fly open and he glares at you. 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. But… I can’t ignore my cravings at this time of the month…”

He barely has time to register your words before your tongue darts out to lick his slit. You finally hear him whimper. You’re about to come just from hearing that tiny sound. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck, you feel Zayne’s legs shake and you look up to see he’s collapsed back onto the bed. You wrap your hand around his base and stroke him slow while your tongue traces circles around his tip. 

A muffled groan causes you to stop, you see his arm draped over his face so you reach your other hand under to cup his balls. You massage him for a moment before gently squeezing. His arm flies off his face and he groans loudly. 

“I want to hear you, let me hear you… please baby…” 

You lick the underside of his shaft, his slightly salty flavor is exactly what you’ve been craving. You can’t hold back anymore, you take him into your mouth slowly. He thrusts his hips and you don’t lecture him, you’re both too far gone to care. You hollow your cheeks and suck all while massaging his balls. You flatten your tongue and start bobbing your head trying to take him as far into your throat as you can. You’re proud of your progress from the first time you tried to deepthroat him - you almost threw up when his tip hit the back of your throat. Now, the sensation makes your clit throb. 

You can feel his legs shake as he tries to stay still for you, but that just won’t do. You squeeze his balls again and he moans your name. You groan and the vibrations of your voice send him right over the edge. His release hits the back of your throat and you close your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. You focus on breathing through your nose and bobbing your head, keeping your lips sealed around him so you can swallow as much of his cum as possible but it still leaks out of the corners of your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck!”

To hear Zayne swear is a treat, he is usually so composed and reserved. You know you’ve achieved your goal of having him fall apart when he’s a babbling mess of whimpers, moans and swears. As he comes down from his climax, you swallow around him and use your tongue to clean up. He’s so sensitive post-release, but shit, he’s still so hard.

You release him and rub your cheek against his shaft. He lifts himself up to rest on his elbows as he looks down at you. He groans at the sight and his hips shift backwards. 

“Please… let me… touch you… now…”

His staggered breathing makes you smile. You nod and he sits up to grab your arms. He hauls you onto the bed on top of him. With your chest pressed against his, he wraps his arms around you, one hand sinking into your hair to keep you where he wants you. He kisses you in a frenzy, not wasting a moment to press his tongue into your mouth and taste himself. You taste the tiniest bit of something spicy and remember how hot his dinner was. The aftertaste makes your eyes water and you tuck your hands under him, letting yourself get lost in his flavor. 

He rolls you over and supports himself on his elbows, he chuckles as he takes in your cock-drunk expression. He dips his head and places kisses along your neck, chest, stomach, hips… As he tucks his fingers into the hem of your sweatpants you try to stop him.

“The bed…”

Zayne kisses your hands, urging you to loosen your grip and let go. When you do, he doesn’t hesitate to tug your pants and panties down completely.

“I’ll buy us a new bed if I have to, please don’t make me stop, I need you… I need this –”

His fingers find your clit and the sudden chill makes your hips jerk. You were so incredibly close, but the thought of your climax wasn’t as exciting when the mess would be twice as messy. You feel Zayne kiss your inner thigh, urging you to spread your legs further. You sit up on your elbows and try to close them instead.

“Za-ayne… You can’t…”

“Darling, as long as I don’t ingest menstrual blood I’ll be fine. Besides, I know you prefer my tongue elsewhere.”

He dips his head just enough to let the tip of his tongue roll over your sensitive clit and you’re gone. You collapse onto the bed and relax your hips so Zayne can spread you open. He presses your thighs down and closes his mouth around your bundle of nerves. His tongue circles and flicks, pausing to suck and kiss before repeating the cycle. He presses two fingers into your tender pussy and you cry out his name. 

“Say my name again… say it just like that, again..."

You do just that, over and over until he is curling his fingers so deep tears are streaming down your cheeks. His tongue matches the pace of his fingers and when he speeds up you only have time to let out a strangled whine before you’re seeing white. 

His fingers continue pumping you through your orgasm, while kissing your thighs. When he finally pulls his fingers away, you sob. He rolls you on your side and pulls you to his chest, letting you cry into his embrace. Damn, your rollercoaster emotions. 

“I’m so-sorry, I don’t kn-ow why I’m cr-crying. That felt so-o g-ood.”

Zayne chuckles and the rumble of his chest against your cheek calms you. Your tears slowly stop and your breathing regulates. Zayne’s hand caresses your back, using his evol to cool you down. You rest your forehead against his chest and slide your hand up his torso. You gently push against his chest so you can look up at him. 

“It really did feel good. So… good. I’m –”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He cuts you off and you smile. He knows you too well.

“I was going to say…I’m ready for round two.”

Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise and you giggle, savoring the moment. It’s not often you render Zayne speechless. It doesn’t last long, he rolls over again and you cling to him as you adjust to your new position on top of him. His hands hold your hips as he guides you into a sitting position. Your muscles stiffen and you look down, expecting to see his stomach covered in blood. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You close your eyes, forcing your hips to relax. You open them to see Zayne looking up at you like you’re his entire world and your chin begins to tremble again. His hands gently massage your hips and he smiles softly.

“I love you.”

You feel every worry melt away, this kind, caring, selfless man is everything to you. You’ll spend everyday telling him that. But tonight, you’ll show him how much he means to you. And you do just that, for hours on end. Zayne has always had a surprising amount of stamina, but when you finally stop, it’s clear he is going to need the rest of the weekend to recuperate. As tired as he is, he still gets out of bed and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to clean up. 

“Let me help you clean up, please?”

While he’d usually deny you, he sighs and lets you help. The look of pure bliss while you wash his hair, yeah, you’re willing to beg to do this again. However, he still doesn’t let you walk when your shower is done. He wraps a towel around you and carries you to the guest room. He brings you a pair of pajamas and a pad. You put on the panties with a fresh pad and crawl into bed, reaching out a hand to Zayne. He glares at you before tugging off his t-shirt and sleep pants. He crawls into bed with you and savors the heat of your skin against his. His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep.

When you open your eyes, it’s still dark out. You make a mental note to put a digital clock in the guest room before crawling out of bed. Zayne wasn’t there and you were already feeling anxious. If he is cleaning up the bedroom right now, you swear you’ll start crying again. 

The guest room door squeaks as it opens - another mental note, fix that. The faint glow of the kitchen light draws your attention and you follow it. You lean against the doorframe and smile as you take in your half-naked boyfriend stuffing his face with the rest of his dinner. You clear your throat and he nearly falls off of the bar stool. He turns to look at you, a glob of sauce smeared across his mouth. 

“Midnight snack?”

He wipes his mouth and grabs a fry, reaching out to hand it to you. You walk up to him and take the fry. You don’t miss the way Zayne’s eyes roam over your bare chest and he winces. You really did a number on him if getting even slightly hard makes him tense up. You cross your arms over your chest and lean down to look at him.

“You okay?”

He sighs and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“Just a little sore and very hungry. It’s been a while since we –”

“Fucked like rabbits?”

His cheeks redden as he looks down to the floor. You pull away from him and round the island to retrieve your leftovers from the fridge. You set the box down to pick up a blanket from the laundry basket sitting at the dining table. You wrap the blanket around yourself and sit beside Zayne. 

“Thank you.”

Zayne tilts his head and raises a brow, his mouth too full to say anything.

“It did help with my cramps.”

Zayne swallows and leans over to kiss your cheek. His thumb follows to clean off the sauce he left behind. 

“I’m glad. But if this is going to be a regular occurrence I think we should invest in a few things.”

You poke at the frozen surface of your milkshake.

“Like what?”

“Like a waterproof blanket, would be useful even when you’re not on your period with how much you –”

“ZAYNE!”

He chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss you again. 

“I’m sorry my love, but I’ll never be ashamed of how good I can make you feel. You’re my world and like you said last night, your needs are important to me too.”

AN: I did literal research to make sure eating someone out on their period was safe and Doctor Zayne is spot on. It’s also important to make sure the other person is tested for any bloodborne diseases. Obviously Zayne would know since he is the primary care physician and I have a HC that they would share that information with each other without hesitation. So yeah, don’t ingest it, use a “dental dam” (basically a barrier/shield) and know each other’s boundaries & health status.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut@withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog

Sylus Period Smut - Crimson Intimacy Rafayel Period Smut - Crimson Tides Xavier Period Smut - Crimson Glow

[ffleurist]

💌 #one love letter mix-up.

you lived a perfectly ordinary life—until one day, you accidentally sent a love letter to Itoshi Rin, the guy everyone thought you had a crush on his older brother, when in reality, it was rin you were in love with all along.

wc 2.9k

you didn’t mean for it to happen. you were only trying to get the letter to your sister, studying abroad in the UK. but somewhere along the chaos of your thoughts, the letters got mixed up, and somehow it ended up in the hands of itoshi rin instead. to make it worse, that was a love letter you wrote for rin back in middle school. now, standing infront of you, itoshi rin, as he tried to make sense of your mistake—one that would change everything.

you first met rin when you were just 4 years old. you remember him as the small boy always trailing behind his older brother, the two of them standing awkwardly at the edge of your yard. they were the only neighbors your age, and your parents, seeing you bored and your older sister busy with her middle school activities, thought it would be cute to set up a playdate. you didn’t know it then, but that moment would mark the beginning of something far more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

"aren't you a little too old to be playing a prank on me? or did you think i was sae?" he said, his voice dripping with anger and confusion clutching the letter in hand. 

confused, that was when it hit you—when you started middle school, everyone thought you had a crush on itoshi sae. sure, he was cute, independent, and exceptionally skilled at soccer at such a young age. but you never once corrected them, even though it was the younger itoshi who had truly caught your heart. you don’t blame him for thinking you still had a crush on his brother, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it.

the way he looked at you felt like you had just insulted him and it stung more than expected. you could feel your cheeks burn under the sun as the silence stretched between you and rin.

“look, rin," you started, your voice softer now, "it wasn’t a joke but it was a mistake. i didn’t mean for you to find out like this."

he crossed his arms, still not buying it, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite read. was it hurt? or maybe confusion? you couldn’t tell.

letting out a frustrated sigh, stepping back slightly. "you know, everyone thought i liked sae. but the truth is, i always—" you stopped yourself. saying it out loud felt like an open invitation for everything to unravel.

"whatever. sae’s not here, in case you didn’t notice. you’re just wasting both your time and mine." he said, his voice laced with contempt, turning and walking away toward the school field.

you let rin walk away while you lost yourself in your thoughts. if only you could go back and tell the 4 year old itoshi rin that the way he was now—unapproachable and cold, wasn't the way it was supposed to be. you liked to think that it was sae’s departure to Spain that had caused him to turn out this way. rin, who had always depended on his older brother, suddenly found himself alone. after sae left, rin pushed you away and buried himself in soccer, determined to become the #1 striker in all of Japan.

it was hard to imagine that boy you once knew, the one who was always by sae's side, now so distant and driven by something else. you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about the old days, about how things used to be. and if he did, did he ever regret pushing everyone especially you away?

stunned at his behavior, you almost stormed off. then, a shrill squeal echoed from nearby, and you froze. it was the unmistakable sound of a group of girls giggling like seagulls in a movie scene. at the center of it all stood otoya eita, effortlessly basking in the attention, a cocky grin plastered on his face. famous amongst the ladies, always flirting, always playing around—and once upon a time, you had been the girl hanging on his every word but not anymore. as you almost turned away, you saw it. a pink letter, raised high in the air by one of the girls, fluttering in the breeze. your stomach dropped. the letter was unmistakable yours. it looked just like the one rin had been holding earlier.

No. No. No. No. No. you didn’t possibly send it to him too, did you?

a wave of panic surged through you as you stood frozen, watching the girls pass the letter around, unaware of the chaos it was about to cause. your mind raced, trying to remember every detail of your frantic letter mix-up. how many others had you accidentally sent your heart out to?

you couldn’t bear the thought of having a second letter out there—especially to someone like otoya. he was the last person you wanted involved in this mess.

without another thought, you spun around and ran straight toward rin. your heart pounded in your chest, your breath quickening as you passed through the crowd of students. the girls surrounding otoya, oblivious to the chaos, were nothing but a blur in your peripheral vision. 

when you finally spotted rin, standing by the gates with his back turned to you, something inside you snapped. you didn’t have time to think. the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat, tangled with everything you felt for him. instead, you reached up and pulled him toward you, closing the distance in one swift movement.

you kissed him. you kissed rin.

the kiss was impulsive, fierce, maybe even a little desperate. rin’s body went rigid at first, shocked by your sudden action, but before you could pull away, his lips began softening against yours. for a moment, everything else faded. the letter, the chaos, the confusion, it all melted away as you stood there, just the two of you. 

maybe your feelings for him had been tangled in the kiss, woven into the way your fingers clutched his uniform, into the way your heart pounded against your ribs. maybe, deep down, you had been waiting for this moment for longer than you realized.

but the moment didn’t last forever.

a sharp gasp from somewhere nearby shattered the illusion. you barely had time to process it before he pulled back, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something unreadable, shock, confusion, maybe even something deeper. 

“what the hell was that?” he muttered, his voice lower than usual, rough at the edges.

you swallowed hard, hands trembling as you took a step back. “that, that’s why i sent the letter,” you whispered, the words heavy as they left your lips. “it wasn’t for sae. it was always for you.”

rin stared at you, lips still slightly parted, as if he was trying to process what you had just said. you braced yourself for his reaction, for the inevitable storm of emotions that would follow. before he could say anything and before you could even breathe properly, otoya’s voice cut through the air.

“well, well,” he drawled, amusement laced in his tone. “that was quite the show.”

your stomach dropped. you had almost forgotten. he was still holding the other letter and now, judging by the smirk on his face, things were about to get even more complicated.

“fuck off, otoya,” you hissed, attempting to shoo him away like some annoying pest. but, as always, he didn’t know when to quit.

“aw, how could i, when i received such a heartfelt letter? i mean, i’m flattered," otoya drawled, leaning in with that same infuriating smirk. "but after how we ended things, i didn’t think you still cared."

his words were casual, but the implication hit harder than you’d like. of course he’d twist the knife like he always did. he teased, holding up the pink envelope between his fingers like a trophy. then, with that signature smirk, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in an exaggerated display.

“that letter doesn’t mean anything,” you said through clenched teeth.

he chuckled, tilting his head. “oh? that’s not what’s in the letter.” he mused, waving the letter slightly. “or should i read it out loud? i’m sure rin would love to hear all about it.”

your stomach twisted.

rin.

you had almost forgotten he was still standing there, watching the interaction unfold. you risked a glance in his direction, and what you saw made your heart clench. his expression was stoic, yet his eyes flickered with something darker.

annoyance? anger? jealousy?

you had no idea, but you weren’t about to let him push this any further.

taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders, looking at him dead in the eyes. “you can do whatever you want with that letter, but i don’t care,” you lied, voice steady. “because it’s old. that was the past.”

otoya raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but not entirely convinced. “then wh—”

before he could finish, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close. your breath hitched, your mind barely able to process what was happening before rin’s voice cut through the air— steady, unwavering, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“stop bothering my girlfriend,” he said, his tone sharp and unwavering. “she said it was in the past. let it go.”

your brain short-circuited. girlfriend?

otoya blinked, his smirk faltering for just a second before he let out a low whistle. “girlfriend, huh?” he looked between the two of you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “since when?”

rin didn’t hesitate. “since now,” he said flatly.

you snapped your head toward him, eyes wide. since now?!

“girlfriend, huh?” otoya drawled, but the amusement in his voice didn’t fully mask something sharper. “guess you like to recycle, huh? first me, now him?”

rin’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his gaze locked on the pink envelope. "if you’re done wasting time, we’re leaving." 

"alright, alright. i’ll back off for now," otoya said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. he took a step back, but not before flashing you a knowing grin. "just don’t come running back when he leaves you hanging. again."

with that, he turned on his heel and strolled off, whistling low under his breath like he hadn’t just cracked open something you wanted to keep buried.

the moment he was gone, you turned to rin, still trying to wrap your head around what had just happened. “what the hell was that?!” you whisper shouted, staring at him in disbelief.

rin barely moved. he just clicked his tongue, removing his hands from your waist, shoving it into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “are you seriously asking me that?”

“yes!”

he exhaled sharply, like this was the dumbest conversation he’d ever had. “you kissed me, genius,” he muttered, his tone flat, almost bored. “i just went along with it.”

your face burned. “but you can’t just call me your girlfriend!”

rin gave you a dry look, head tilting slightly. “then don’t act like one.”

your breath hitched, more out of frustration than anything else. he was so—ugh, asshole.

“you’d rather deal with otoya?” he asked, cocking a brow like he already knew the answer.

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. he had a point. and judging by the smug flicker in his eyes, he knew it.

satisfied, rin pulled out his phone, checked something, then slid it back into his pocket. “meet me here after school.”

you blinked. “for what?”

his gaze flicked to you, disinterested. “figure your shit out.”

and then, just like that, he turned and walked away. not even a glance back. like none of this had mattered at all.

great. not only had you accidentally sent love letters to two different guys, kissed one of them in a panic, and somehow ended up being rin’s girlfriend, but now you had to explain the entire disaster to him after school.

the rest of the day passed in a blur. by the time the final bell rang, your stomach was in knots. you had no choice but to face him.

sure enough, he was leaning against the school gates, hands in his pockets, waiting. his gaze flicked toward you. “you’re late.”

you crossed your arms. “i considered running away.”

rin scoffed. “yeah? and how’d that work out?”

you sighed. “not well.”

“figured.” he pushed off the gate, nodding toward the sidewalk. “come on. talk.”

you clutched your bag to your chest as you walked beside him. the silence was heavy, almost suffocating. but rin didn’t have patience for hesitation.

“well?” he pressed, side-eyeing you. “i’m waiting.”

you exhaled sharply. “okay, look. it was a mistake, alright? i was trying to send a letter to my sister in the UK, and somehow, my old letters got mixed in.” you gritted your teeth. “i didn’t mean for you to get it.”

he scoffed. “right. and i’m supposed to believe you just accidentally sent a love letter to me and otoya?”

you groaned, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement. “yes! i know how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s the truth.”

he didn’t respond right away. his silence was unnerving.

“that letter. middle school?”

you nodded hesitantly. “yeah.”

“no wonder there were so many spelling mistakes.” rin mocked.

“excuse me!”

another pause. then, in a voice so cold and monster-like, it made your stomach twist, he asked, “was it real?”

you stopped in your tracks.

rin turned slightly, waiting for your answer.

was it real? fuck yes. the feelings you poured into that letter, the words you had written with all the sincerity your younger self could muster—were they real?

the truth was, they were. back then, you liked rin so much it hurt. but as the years passed, rin had changed.

you bit your lip, choosing your words carefully. “it was real. back then.”

something flickered across his face, gone before you could catch it. he gave a slow nod. “i see.”

for some reason, his reaction made your chest feel tight.

before you could dwell on it, rin clicked his tongue. “so you kissed me over otoya?”

your face burned. “what, no! i mean—” you struggled to find an excuse, but nothing came.

rin tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “desperate move.”

“so, what are we doing about this girlfriend thing?” you asked, arms crossed.

rin barely spared you a glance, his voice dry and uninterested. “oh, yeah i’m breaking up with you.”

you blinked. “excuse me?”

he let out a slow exhale, shoving his hands in his pockets. “what? you thought i was being serious? you’re not my type.”

your jaw clenched. “then why the hell did you say it in the first place?”

“because it was the fastest way to shut otoya up,” then he shrugged. “and it worked.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah, well.” he glanced down at his phone, clearly done with the conversation. “good luck with your mess.” he turned on his heel, already walking away.

panic surged through you. no, no, no. if rin backed out now, it would be even worse than before. people had already seen you together. otoya definitely wasn’t going to let this go. and worst of all, rin had been the one to say it first. if he suddenly acted like it was a joke, you’d look desperate.

“wait.” the word left your lips before you could stop it.

rin slowed but didn’t turn around.

you swallowed your pride and forced the words out. “please. just… just go along with it. just for a little while.”

rin finally turned, raising an eyebrow. “you want me to fake date you?” he let out a short, humourless laugh. “that’s pathetic.”

your face burned. “it’s your fault in the first place!”

he gave you a blank stare. “and?”

god, he was insufferable. you inhaled sharply, trying not to let your frustration show. “it won’t be for long. just enough for otoya to back off.”

rin tilted his head slightly, considering. then, with the most obnoxious smile, he said, “beg for it.”

your stomach dropped. “what?”

“you heard me.” his voice was smooth, infuriatingly calm. “you want me to waste my time playing pretend? make it worth my while.”

your hands clenched into fists at your sides. this was humiliating. you hated him. absolutely hated him.

but you needed this.

“…please.” the word tasted bitter.

rin’s smirk deepened. “not good enough.”

your nails dug into your palms. “rin, please. just help me out.”

“why do you care about what otoya thinks?” rin asked, voice unusually quiet.

you hesitated. “because once… i did. and it hurt.”

he studied you for a long moment, like he was weighing whether this was worth his time. then he let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine.”

relief crashed into you.

“but,” he continued, stepping closer, “you listen to me. no whining, no complaining. and when i say it’s over, it’s over.”

you swallowed, nodding.

rin gave you one last amused look. “see you.”

and just like that, he walked off, leaving you standing there, hating every single decision that had led you to this moment.

notes from lily ❦⋆ : i wrote this on the day i made this fic so i have no idea what i wrote

accidentally yours

taglist: @levihanmyotp @antennaed-kenzy @mixolya @yuukiririix @sindulgent666 @captainshindo @nomyimi @megumismyhusband @kyutiipie @wonubby @anqelkoz @nevvynev @kaz-0e @mochiii-sama @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @x3nafix @elliehenry24 @bubybubsters @feliwnni @sfwrin @morgyyyyyyy @sapph1r3x @rreporterbby @kaidostwin @saeflrt @etherealrin @suksatoru @rinniebinniebay @yvieliny @ravenbc @luvrrin @dangerousluv1 @lily-isalittlegirl @kaemaybae @suguruscumslut @xumeikyu [tell me if i missed out ur names]

© ffleurist 2025 do not plagiarise, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission

[petersparkerrs]

back where we started

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: dark!joel x fem!reader

- summary: joel is a horrible partner post-outbreak. he yells. isn't too nice. fucks.

- warnings: dark!!! dubcon, slapping, choking, hair tugging, unprotected piv (don't do this guys!), smut smut smut smut, degrading, yelling, no established relationship, rough sex, crying, unsafe sex, angry sex, joel has crazy anger issues, blood, huggeee nasty age gap (legal, though! your choice for age), public / outdoor sex, size kink, joel's got a massive dick lols, power imbalance, submission, no aftercare, squirting, dirty talk, thigh riding if you squint, manhandling, joel is just incredibly mean. total asshole.

- word count: 4.5k

- author’s note: feining for mr joel miller recently so i wrote this... my first joel fic!! its gross yall. have your fun though!

—————————————୨ৎ

Partnering up with Joel Miller wasn’t ideal. He’s always looking at you like you’re some problem he doesn’t know how to solve – like you’re just cargo he’s exhausted of having to drag along. 

You don’t want to admit it, but he’s honestly an asshole. A real fucking dick, a mean bastard. To everyone else you meet, you’re a well loved, sweet girl. To Joel, though, you’re a burden. He’s a miserable person, and hanging around him only came with the positive that he knew how to hunt, how to keep you decently safe. But, hey, it’s better to be stuck with a brute of a man than to be infected. Right?

For whatever reason, the frustration has been building worse than usual for the past few days. You move like you’re on eggshells, do anything to not upset him, stay quiet when you’re asked and obey his every order. But it’s Joel fucking Miller. Nothing is ever enough with him. 

You’re young, but that's not a valid excuse for Joel. He expects as much out of you as he would another man his size and seniority, which is totally unfair of a girl your age.

So every little mistake ticks him off. Really riles him up. His temper is really fired up today for whatever reason, and you’re trying your best to not exacerbate it. 

—————————————୨ৎ

Joel should know now your most common flaws – he does pay attention, but that mind of his was too preoccupied with his fresh plan to head east to remember just how forgetful you tend to be. 

You remember twenty minutes after you leave. Everything is packed up, rifle on Joel’s thick shoulder, sleeping bags taken from Bill and Frank’s now deserted house strapped to your backs. Everything but one thing. And arguably, the most important thing for the new change of route. 

“Can y’get me out the map, girl?”

Girl. He always insists on calling you that. Rather derogatory, like he doesn’t wanna address you by a human name. Just girl.

At the question, your steps stutter. A little patch of dirt kicked up from your shoe hits the back of Joel’s calf, earning a soft grunt. “You fuckin’ deaf now? I said gimme the damn map.”

He knows what your silence means, and in that moment he's about to lose his goddamn mind. His feet stop bluntly, his large, brooding frame turning to face you. 

Your pace slows soon after him, halting to a nervous stop while your gaze flickers from its usual spot on the ground up into his dark eyes. A warning look.

“Better not tell me you lost the fuckin’ thing.” 

No words come out of your mouth, let alone even pop into your head; all you can seem to do is stare up at him like a mindless idiot, his height towering over yours when he takes a small step closer.

Again, your steps follow, this time backward. You stumble back half a foot, a twig cracking under the shift of your weight. Out of nervous habit, your left hand reaches for the right wrist, gently stroking the skin to keep yourself somewhat calm.

“Joel, I didn’t–”

His movements match your own, his large, calloused hands lurching forward to rip your hand off your wrist. It gets replaced with his own grip, but much tighter. Aggressive. Taut. Outraged. 

“Y’didn’t what? Didn’t think for once how t’not be a goddamned idiot?” He snarls, his untamed fingernails digging into the skin for a moment and leaving tiny crescents into the first layer. “Why d’you always gotta be like this, girl? Fuckin’ stupid…”

He trails off, removing his tight grip on your forearm, but not without hostility. He lets go but ends it with a good yank. Not hard enough to pop it out of place, but hard enough to get a quiet whimper out of your shy throat.

You never know what to say when he gets like this. Whether to defend yourself, whether to stay shut up and take the tirade. But you sure know well enough not to fight back – that’s how to get your arm pulled out of the socket.

“I–I swear, Joel. I had it, I don’t know where it went.”

He never takes your stupid excuses. They’re useless, he’ll never believe you. He knows that you know you forgot it at the last spot you camped out. And this time, the excuse was a pathetic mumble, your eyes glued at your wrist and the mark he left when he gripped it. Even more to make your pitiful case unconvincing. 

“Yeah, the hell you do. Quit lyin’, you know damn well where that map is.” He scoffs, brushing past you with a shove to the shoulder, his larger figure knocking you a few inches with a soft oof. “Back in the woods where you left it, ain’t it?”

Of course, you can’t plead your case anymore. You give in, nodding in submission and trudging after him once he turns around, back in the direction where you surely left the damn map. 

“...Yeah.” You murmur, rubbing a dry hand across the bottom half of your face, against your snotty nose. Not because you’d been crying, this is nothing from Joel yet. Just because the month has been terribly cold and sleeping outside every night isn’t doing you well. “At our last camp. M’sorry.”

“Always fuckin’ sorry. Sorry for almost gettin’ yourself killed, sorry for forgetting somethin’ again and again. M’sick of your shit.” He grunts, readjusting the rifle strapped over his shoulder. 

When you first met him, words like that got to you, as much as you hate to admit it. But now, everything seems to fade together. He’s just Joel. That’s how he is. And you’ve gotta live with it and try your best to not piss him off. 

To your luck, he shuts up and stops berating you – at least until you’re close to the previous camp spot. Just silence, interrupted only by the awkward shuffling of your steps behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his longer strides and stay quiet to not worsen his anger.

But when you get close enough and he has to start looking for the damned map, his mumbling and annoyance boils over once again, infiltrating the somewhat comfortable silence that your ears just got used to.

“Map was the only fuckin’ thing getting us around… no goddamn compass.” Joel mutters under his breath. Not at you, for once, but just a natural spilling of his frustration. He’s always gotta be mumbling about something, even in his sleep. “Slow me down enough as is. Gotta lose everythin’, too.”

You joined aimlessly behind him, searching around the patchy grass, anywhere for the map that was stressing him out so terribly. 

Minutes go by. He’s getting angrier by the minute, his hands flexing while he crouches down and searches. Mad, but still pretty tame for a pissed-off Joel Miller. 

That is, until he glances up and actually gets a look at you for the first time in an hour. He normally avoids any eye contact, avoids even peeking over at you. At that damn little frame… so much younger, sweeter. He seemingly hates having you around because you always tick him off, but what he hates more is the temptation that comes with having a pretty little girl by his side at all times.

He finally lets his eyes fall on you. But this time, he can’t even get his usual peek at your lips or neck, because something else catches his eye. A familiar shred of paper – just the fucking corner – poking out the zipper of your backpack. 

He genuinely slaps himself in the face, eyes turning dark and fists curling up in pure rage at the sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

He growls. Not a question, but a threat. His eyes are black at this point, breath speeding up while he takes another step toward you. Not cautious like he’ll sometimes let himself be, but warring. 

You’re confused for a bit, as you hadn’t seen the map in your own bag. Or even thought to look before you turned around and walked a half hour back, a complete waste of your time. “Oh…”

He starts again, his voice much lower than usual. Dangerous.

“You wanna tell me…” Joel breathes, stepping towards you even more until he’s got you backed against a tree. Bark pushing your shirt and jacket up, scraping at the bare skin of your lower back. “Why the hell we just wasted an hour of our time, when the map was practically right in your fuckin’ hand!”

As he curses, your heart drops. You don’t have time to react before his hands are up, flying at you. You flinch, thinking they’re coming to hurt you, but they’re reaching into your backpack. 

And sure enough, there it is. The map you spent so much valuable time fussing over. Right on your damn back. 

‘I didn’t know, Joel. Didn’t think to check.” You whimper and choke out from the back of your throat, weak and apologetic. Again, he’s not one for excuses and apologies. He’s on you before you can even think, hand forcing the map in your face.

His palm hits your mouth when he shoves the paper, a direct blow to your jaw. Your lip comes in forced contact with your bottom row of teeth, tearing the skin and swelling instantly. The only thing that can escape your mouth now is a pained whimper, which agitates the furious man on top of you worse. 

“Fuckin’ idiot. Wastin’ my damn time like always. Do you ever think?” He scoffs and backs up, maybe half an inch. 

When he notices your slightly busted lip, it brings him a sense of triumph. You ticked him off and now you’re gonna pay for it. And you sure enough feel guilty enough to not stop him, so he’s got you trapped now.

You’re frozen in place against the tree, refusing to move or utter out even the smallest of another noise. Suddenly, Joel’s mind is more occupied by the girl under his grip, shaking like a damn leaf with a bleeding and busted lip. 

“Asked you a question, little shit.” He grunts and lets his hand venture up to your jaw, pushing it around like a toy before settling with a tight grip, squeezing your cheeks and watching how the blood oozes from your lip at the pressure. “Said, do you ever fuckin’ think?”

Sure, he’s yelled at you plenty, disciplined you, maybe put his hands on you out of frustration a couple of times before. But it never feels like this. His hands usually let up after they land on you, but now he’s squeezing at your face and looking into your hazy eyes as if this is a challenge.

“Mm.” You whine, throat bobbing while you adjust to the feeling of his huge hand gripping your face. “N-no.” 

Your voice is only the softest of a mutter. 

“Speak up, girl. Didn’t hear ya’.” He rolls his eyes, giving your face a nice knead and jerking it to the side to jolt you up more. 

A shuddering breath leaves your mouth, head jerking to the right at the flick of his wrist. He holds it against the tree, your ponytail getting caught on the rough edge of the bark, the lumber scraping your ear.

“No. Don’t–don’t ever think enough. M’sorry. Wasn’t… wasn’t thinkin’.”

You sigh, head lifting up while you feel the familiar sensation of your throat tightening up, eyes starting to burn. But you keep it in. 

Joel hums, jerking your head again and shoving it harder onto the hard bark. “Damn right. Don’t think. A fuckin’ burden on me.”

He’s not doing it because he’s mad anymore. Hell, he’s already forgotten about the stupid map that caused all of this. He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.

And you know that’s all he wants.

His gaze is different, his tone similar to but not matching the genuine anger you hear from him most of the time. There's a hint of more challenge in it, maybe even passion. The hand on your jaw only confirms that.

“Shoulda’ left you behind when I got the chance.” He mutters, knowing that threatening to leave you really gets under your skin. Honestly, he’s all that you have, and you’d be dead without him. So that always seems to hurt a little more than some name calling. 

You don’t react, gulping and keeping still at his arduous words. Getting no reaction from you riles him up worse, his free hand coming down to strike at the wood above your head. You flinch, and a tear unpromptedly rolls down your cheek. You don’t feel it until Joel curses, laughing in disbelief and moving his hand from your jaw down to your throat.

He squeezes. Not tight, not yet. A groan escapes his throat, low and almost pained. And before you know it, he’s got his body pressed against yours, rubbing you uncomfortably into the rotting tree. 

“Such a fuckin’ mess.” He grunts, one hand around your throat to cut off any words and the other moving to your chin to move your gaze up to him. “Cryin’ like a baby when you were the one that lost the map.” 

Your pulse jumps when he degrades you, and he swears he sees something else in your eyes this time. Not the usual fear, but something that looks like arousal. 

It sparks something in him, and he wants to see it again. His hand tightens on your neck, earning a pained gasp from your pretty throat. Your eyes lock, and he watches your head tilt back against the tree, your eyes fluttering slightly.

He can’t take much more. A tiny whimper comes out of you when his knee presses against your thigh. 

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

Joel growls. Low. Frustrated. He gives up on the choking, instead gripping the back of your head and taking hold of your messy ponytail. He tugs, tilting your head more, his big aquiline nose moving down to bump under your ear and rub along the cold curve of your jaw. 

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” He whispers, his unkempt scruff that he calls a beard brushing up against you, scratching deep into the skin he just had a hand wrapped around. “Feel you gettin’ turned on. Fuckin’ slut, getting all worked up when I’m angry with you.”

You can’t do anything but take his advances and cry softly, feeling the cotton of your panties dampening each time his gruff voice comes out against your ear, his harsh breath biting at your neck. 

“Don’t got time for th’shit.” He mutters, but you hear his resolve dropping. He’s getting less and less frustrated over you wasting time, but more frustrated over the fact that he’s got his knee between your legs and he can feel the heat seeping through the fabrics, even in the biting cold weather. “Don’t got time for you makin’ me… makin’ me–ngh.”

His words stop, replaced by a low grunt into your ear the second your body even twitches against his. The grip on your ponytail tightens, tugging backward and earning a needy whine from you.

As much as he wants to keep degrading you, making you feel worthless under him, he’s feeling pretty pathetic himself. And he never gets like this with women.

His nose bumps your ear one more time before he can’t take it – his lips crash into yours. It’s not friendly. It’s not intimate. It’s fucking rude.

He intrudes, letting go of your hair and grabbing your body instead to push you against the damn tree harder. Mouths battle, and he wins, nipping hard and tasting the metallic blood from where he busted your lip earlier. Yum. 

“Joel.” You whimper, finally. It’s music to his ears, but he can’t show that. He has to be tough, not show that he’s into this. Not into the young girl he’s supposed to be training.

Joel grumbles, bringing a hand up to mindlessly slap at the side of your face at the sound of your whimper. 

“Shut up.”

And you do.

You’d do anything he told you right now. The feeling of him slapping you, biting your lips, pressing his thick knee between your thighs has got you absolutely pathetic. It’s fucking disgusting, you know that. To be so grossly into the fifty-six year old man that’s been taking care of you, the one that relentlessly bullies you and makes you feel like a worthless burden.

But you like it. You’d be anything for him, even if it meant being a worthless, pathetic burden. 

Joel’s got control. Obviously. His hand that slapped you runs over the heated skin in the same spot, almost to soothe it. What a gentleman. His lips slow on yours for a moment, latching onto the neck he had his hand around earlier instead.

In the deep woods, the only sounds heard are the birds above and his angry gasps against your skin, breathing like a madman. The softer sounds are interrupted by one of his belt clinking, being unbuckled mindlessly. And then the rustle of fabric. And then the unfamiliar sound of denim against Joel’s rough skin.

He’s straining against his boxers. Hard. Harder than he thinks he may ever have, but you don’t know that. You can tell he’s big through the fabric. It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind maybe once or twice, but you would never have expected for it to be pressed against your thigh, dangerous amounts of precum slowly leaking through the thin fabric of his briefs. 

You distract yourself while he gets busy attacking your neck and working your pants off – you don’t wanna believe it. Joel Miller is about to fuck you. He slapped you, choked you, degraded you, sure. That’s believable. But now he’s going to fuck you with that giant cock of his. 

As if it helps you not give in too much, you look everywhere to try and distract yourself. Down. His boxers read CALVIN KLEIN at the top. Up. The top button of his flannel came undone. He’s got a lot of chest hair. Behind him. There’s a bird watching him gnaw at your neck and tear your pants off, watching his bulging cock rub against your covered thigh. 

And the map is on the ground behind him.

“Fuck you lookin’ at?” He finally interrupts your private session of ‘I spy,’ breathing heavy against your skin and cupping your clothed cunt through your panties. “Look at me.”

You look up, gaze locking with his again. His eyes are equally as dark, but not with anger anymore. Desire. 

He’s gripping extra hard, hands splayed across your waist – almost big enough to wrap around, to grip you real good. Joel’s eyes travel all down your body in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, your pants torn down and now discarded on the forest floor. 

“Gonna fuck the stupidity right outchya’, yeah?” He chuckles, hoisting your body up to keep you settled between him and the tree. “‘N I want you lookin’ at me while I do it, kay’, girl? Eyes up. C’mon now.”

You can do nothing but oblige. Your eyes dart up, staying on him, even when he pulls his cock out that you so badly want to get a look at. The sound of him stroking himself, little grunts escaping his throat mindlessly, is so fucking tempting. 

But you listen, eyes staying on him, hoping to get some kind of praise from him for the first time in your life. Or maybe you want to keep getting debased. Maybe both. You seem to like the shame of it. 

“Gonna fuck you s’good you never forget anythin’ again. M’still pissed about that map, y’hear me?” He grunts, lifting you effortlessly to move his cock up into place. He’s so strong, and you’re so little. He can manhandle you however he wants, use you for his pleasure. And maybe you want that. 

From your mouth slips an obedient hum, your head shaking in a little nod so he knows you’re listening. You swear you see the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk, but he replaces it within half a second with a grumble to maintain the tough guy look. 

His cock meets your slick after he pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off. You’re not worth the time. Not after wasting that time with the map debacle. 

The pulsing head of it drags along your slit, collecting a bit of you on the tip, making a filthy mix with his precum. It’s been a minute since any intimacy for Joel, but he can’t let you know anything. Can’t show any kind of vulnerability. He keeps it in, biting his lip and grunting to avoid any embarrassing soft noises.

“Ain’t stoppin’ if you can’t take it, by th’way.” He grumbles into your ear, his tip just barely edging into your soaked cunt. You whimper, and he squeezes your waist in warning. If he didn’t have to be holding you up, he’d have hit you again. 

But, the soft noises you let out make him want more. You seem to let them out when you’re scared – or maybe it's out of arousal. Only from when he totally degrades you. He doesn’t care, he just wants to fuck you senseless.

“Could break ya’ if I wanted. Little… tight fuckin’ pussy.” He groans, head hitting the tree next to yours when his cock finally slides in. It was a fight to get in, your tight walls not stretched enough for his fat dick to fit due to your lack of experience. “Take ya’ how I fuckin’ want.’

If this was any other man, you’d cry and beg for him to stop. But Joel. It’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. 

It hurts, but his threatening words seem to egg you on. They prod you to take it, try harder to take the thick cock that’s splitting your body right in half.

He doesn’t start slow like some guys. Joel doesn’t start slow. Ever. Joel Miller fucks, and he fucks how he wants. This isn’t about you, this is about him getting his worth back after you wasted all his damn time. 

His hips slam into you at an alarming pace, no time for you to stretch out and adjust to the movement. He’s already hitting deep enough to where, if your shirt was off, you could see the print all the way in your stomach. But no. Your shirt is on. Joel Miller doesn’t care enough to worry about a shirt, that’s foolish. He just wants pussy – no, needs it. He’s a man with priorities. 

You’re screaming, pain and pleasure. Usually he’d tell a woman to ‘shut the fuck’ up for being too loud, but you’re in the middle of the woods. Nobody around, except for the same fucking bird that’s continuing to watch you get destroyed and ripped open by a fifty-six year old. Great.

“God, baby. You’re fuckin’ helpless.” He grunts into your neck, resolve slowly slipping more. His noises get worse, louder. He doesn’t care enough anymore to pretend like this is some chore. 

He’s fucking you and he means it. 

Joel’s hips stutter after a few minutes, just in time with your own. Synced up perfectly. His rhythm is getting out of pace while you feel the pull deep in your core you haven’t felt in so long ��� white hot pooling in your stomach. You clench around him.

He can’t speak anymore, just like how you haven’t been able to for minutes now. All he can manage out are little grumbles into your hair, squeezing your body while he struggles with words. Getting pathetic himself.

“Fuckin’-- mm. Baby. Baby. Gon’cum soon.” 

At least he warns you. 

You could tell, anyway. The stuttering of his hips, the way he’s only hitting nice and deep now. But you’re in worse, you can’t warn him because your mouth is hung open entirely, spilling out the most pitiful string of moans that doesn’t seem to ever end. 

Without warning, you clench again. He groans, but gets louder when he feels you spill. Burst. All over his aching cock. 

“Shit, shit. You – you squirtin’?” Joel grumbles out, body spasming at the feeling of your liquids all coming out at once. Your legs are shaking, and he feels his own limbs join in. It was too much for him. 

He cums. Hard. Maybe harder than he ever has before, but you don’t have to find that bit out. 

The moment melts into a disgusting mess of simultaneous moans, whimpers, even from Joel. Despite the cold weather that was almost making you sick earlier, you feel hot. Sweaty. Both of  you.

Joel’s head comes to rest atop yours, stroking the back of your ponytail that he’d been tugging at the whole time. And for a moment – just a short moment – you thought he’d maybe take care of you after. Like a real man. 

But no. Apparently, you don’t know Joel well enough by now. He’s his own kind of man.

Once his breathing returns – somewhat – he’s back to ole’ Joel Miller. Grunts, huffs and drops you down by the tree. Tucks his spent cock back in. Before you know it, before you can speak, his pants and belt are back in place and his rifle is strapped back on his shoulder.

Your eyes shut, back scraped up from the rough tree he fucked you relentlessly against. Taking a shuddering breath, you rest for a moment, thinking that if he didn't give you any aftercare he’d at least let you have a moment to breathe. 

But again, no.

“Fuck you doin’?” 

Your single moment of silence is rudely interrupted by his southern drawl, entirely back to normal as if he didn’t have the most intense sex of his life only two minutes ago. As if forgetting it ever happened. 

And the map is back in his hand. And he looks so normal compared to you. And it makes you want to cry for whatever reason. 

There’s nothing else to do but hold back a pained whine from the soreness already building in your body, the blood you feel dripping on your back from the tree, and the metal taste of blood where he hit your lip. The slap on your cheek. The handprint on your throat. Fuck.

“C’mon, little shit. Gotta hurry. Now you wasted an hour of my time.”

[goldfades]

Heyyy!!!!! I loveeee your Luka series, I literally didn’t know this man before you!! I was wondering if you can write a long fic about the crash out couple getting into a fight!! A lot of angst and then a happy ending.. thank youu!!

ouuu you know i cant resist a good angst-to-fluff!!! i hope you enjoy. also so glad to have put you on this sexy man<3

It had been brewing for days.

Little things—missed calls, clipped tones, the kind of silence that wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t easy. The kind that filled the room like static, like something waiting to explode.

You weren’t even sure when it started, not exactly. Maybe it was last week, when Luka was late to dinner. Or maybe it was the other night, when you had a game, and he was supposed to be there, supposed to be courtside like always, but he never showed. He said he was tired, that it had been a long week, but all you could hear was I didn’t feel like coming.

You tried to brush it off at first, to tell yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t needy. You didn’t need Luka at every game. You were used to doing things alone, used to holding your own.

But this was different.

Because Luka was your person. Luka was the one who showed up, no matter what, no matter how tired he was, no matter where he had to be the next morning. Luka was the one who screamed the loudest when you hit a three, the one who talked so much to the refs that you got fined by association. Luka was the one who gave a fuck, even when the rest of the world didn’t.

And lately, it felt like he was slipping.

He was always somewhere else—on his phone, in his head, anywhere but here. He’d come home late, eyes heavy, voice distracted, answering in hmms and yeahs that barely felt real. And when you called him on it, he brushed it off.

"Nothing’s wrong, mačka. I’m just tired."

But that wasn’t enough. Not this time.

So, yeah, maybe that’s where it started. Maybe it was all those little moments, stacking on top of each other like bricks, until the weight of it all became too much.

It starts small.

It always does.

You’re standing in the kitchen, barefoot, arms crossed over your chest, watching Luka move around like he’s trying to avoid looking at you. His shoulders are tense, the set of his jaw rigid, and you can already tell—he’s not in the mood for this.

But neither are you.

The air between you is thick, charged with something unspoken, something sharp.

You should let it go. You should turn around, leave the room, pretend like everything’s fine. That’s what you would’ve done in the past, when you were still figuring each other out, when you weren’t sure how much Luka could take before he shut down completely.

But it’s different now.

Because this isn’t just a bad mood. This isn’t just exhaustion or frustration over a game. This has been building for weeks, creeping into every conversation, every silence, until you can’t ignore it anymore.

Until you don’t want to ignore it anymore.

"Luka." Your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, something frayed at the seams.

He exhales, slow and heavy, before finally looking up. "What?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "What? That’s all you’ve got?"

He leans against the counter, rubbing a hand down his face like this conversation is already exhausting him. Like he’s already decided how it’s going to go.

"You wanna fight, huh?" His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s no real humor in it. "That why you’ve been looking at me like that all night?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "Looking at you like that? Luka, I’ve barely seen you all week. You come home late, you barely talk to me, and when you do, it’s like—" You cut yourself off, dragging a hand through your hair. "It’s like I’m pulling teeth just to get a full sentence out of you."

Luka huffs a breath, pushing off the counter. "I’ve been busy. You know that."

"Oh, busy—right," you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Too busy to text me back? Too busy to show up to my game? Or what, too busy to give a shit?"

The second the words leave your mouth, you feel them land. Luka flinches—not much, just a flicker of something in his eyes—but it’s enough. Enough to make your chest tighten, to make you wonder if you’ve gone too far.

But you don’t take it back.

Because fuck that.

You’ve been biting your tongue for too long, letting it slide every time he brushed you off, every time he made you feel like an afterthought.

Luka shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" You fold your arms tighter, nails digging into your skin. "Because that’s how it feels, Luka."

He exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

You step closer, forcing him to look at you. "I want you to say something. I want you to tell me what the hell is going on with you, because I feel like I’m talking to a ghost."

Luka looks away, jaw clenching. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, feel the way your body is coiled tight, ready to snap.

Luka exhales again, but this time, it’s different. Not exasperated. Not dismissive. Just—tired.

"You don’t get it," he mutters.

Your stomach twists. "Then make me get it."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and something in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s not just anger, not just frustration—it’s something deeper. Something that looks an awful lot like doubt.

"You think I don’t care?" His voice is quiet now, but there’s an edge underneath, something sharp. "You really think that?"

You hold your ground. "You’re the one making me feel like that."

Luka scoffs, shaking his head. "You have no idea what it’s like."

"What what’s like?"

"This." He gestures vaguely, his hands moving like he’s trying to grab the right words out of the air. "Playing like I do, being expected to be—" He stops, exhales sharply. "To be everything all the time."

You blink, momentarily thrown off. "Luka, I—"

"You think I don’t show up for you?" His voice rises slightly now, something defensive creeping in. "I always show up for you. Every game, every moment. But do you have any idea what it feels like to be stretched so thin you don’t even feel like a person anymore?"

Your breath catches. "Luka—"

"You get to be pissed at me. You get to yell and fight and say whatever the fuck you want." His voice is raw now, cracking at the edges. "But I don’t get that. Not on the court, not with the team, not with—" He stops, running a hand down his face. "Not with you."

Silence.

Your pulse is hammering. You don’t know what to say.

Because—he’s not wrong.

You do expect him to be there. You do expect him to show up, to fight for you, to be the Luka you’ve always known—loud, passionate, present. But you never stopped to think about what it costs him.

And maybe that’s the real problem.

Maybe you’ve both been keeping score, tallying up moments of disappointment, waiting for the other person to slip first.

You inhale, slow and careful. "Luka—"

But he’s already shaking his head, stepping back like he’s retreating, like this whole conversation is too much. "I don’t wanna fight anymore." His voice is quieter now, tired. "Not with you."

Your chest tightens. "Then talk to me."

Luka sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, finally, he exhales, slow and heavy.

"I don’t know if I can."

And just like that, the ground shifts beneath you.

Because those words? Those words feel a hell of a lot like giving up.

A couple of hours pass.

Luka showers first, steam curling out of the bathroom when he steps into the bedroom with damp hair and a clean t-shirt. He moves through the space quietly, the usual ease of his presence feeling heavier, more careful. He eats in silence, sitting at the counter while you finish up your post-game workout in the home gym. He doesn’t say anything when you pass through the kitchen for a water bottle, and you don’t push him, either.

You know Luka.

You know how he gets when things weigh on him—how he folds into himself, lets things sit heavy on his shoulders before he’s ready to let them out. He doesn’t like to be pushed, doesn’t like to be dragged into a conversation before he’s settled his own thoughts.

So you let him be.

You take your time finishing up, putting your body through the motions, not thinking too hard about the argument still hanging between you. By the time you shower and step into the bedroom, towel-drying your hair, Luka is already sitting on the bed, phone in his hands, but you can tell—he’s not really looking at it.

You pretend not to notice.

Instead, you move to the bathroom, tying your hair back before you start your skincare routine. The mirror is slightly fogged from the heat of your shower, and as you smooth moisturizer over your face, you feel the weight of Luka’s eyes on you.

He hates when you’re mad at him.

You’ve learned that over the years—how he can brush off criticism from fans, the media, even his coaches sometimes, but when it’s you? When he feels like he’s let you down? It sticks with him.

Still, you don’t rush him.

You move through your routine like normal, giving him the space to figure out where to start. It’s only when you cap your moisturizer and reach for your lip balm that he finally exhales, the mattress dipping slightly as he leans forward.

"I hate this."

His voice is quiet, a little rough.

You glance at him in the mirror. "Hate what?"

"This." He gestures vaguely, looking up at you with something raw in his eyes. "Fighting with you. Feeling like this."

Your heart tightens a little, but you keep your face neutral, fingers pausing over the curve of your lip.

"You think I like it?"

Luka shakes his head immediately. "No. I know you don’t."

You cap your lip balm and turn to face him fully, leaning against the sink. "Then what are we doing, Luka?"

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I don’t know." A pause. "I just—I hate when I can’t make you happy."

You exhale slowly, taking him in—the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, the way his knee bounces just a little, like he’s working off nervous energy.

"You do make me happy," you say, voice softer now. "Luka, you make me so happy."

His brows pull together slightly, like he wants to believe you, but there’s something holding him back.

"But?" he says.

You sigh, stepping forward until you’re in front of him. "But I need you to be happy, too."

His gaze flickers up to yours, something vulnerable in it.

"You've been shutting me out," you continue, keeping your voice steady. "I know you’re stressed, I know it’s a lot, but when you don’t talk to me, I feel like I’m the only one fighting for this."

Luka’s throat works as he swallows. He looks down for a moment, fingers tracing the seam of his shorts. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

"I don’t mean to shut you out."

You nod, waiting.

He exhales, eyes flicking to yours again. "I just—I get in my head, you know? And I feel like if I start talking about it, it’s just gonna sound like I’m complaining. And I don’t wanna do that. I don’t wanna bring all that shit home to you."

Your heart squeezes at the honesty in his voice.

"Luka," you say softly, reaching for his hands. He lets you take them, your fingers threading together easily, naturally. "I want you to bring it home to me. That’s what this is. That’s what we are."

His fingers tighten around yours slightly. "I know. I just—sometimes I feel like I gotta be everything for everyone. And when I can’t, when I feel like I’m falling short, it’s—" He exhales sharply. "It’s easier to shut down than admit I can’t do it all."

You nod, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. "I get that. I really do. But, baby—you don’t have to do it all. Not alone."

Luka exhales again, this time a little shakier. He squeezes your hands, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

"I really am sorry."

You feel it in your chest, the way he means it.

"I know," you say.

He looks at you for a moment, searching, like he’s trying to find reassurance that this—you—are still solid beneath him.

Then, finally, he tugs you forward, arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face against your stomach. You exhale as your hands slip into his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

His voice is muffled against you. "Are we okay?"

You sigh, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "Yeah, Luka. We’re okay."

He tightens his hold around you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel him fully there.

Luka stays like that for a while, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed against you like he’s anchoring himself. You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the weight of everything he’s been carrying slowly start to lift. His breathing evens out, and when he finally looks up at you, there’s something softer in his eyes, something open.

"You sure we’re okay?" he murmurs, like he just needs to hear it again.

You cup his face, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. "Yeah, baby. We’re okay."

His hands slide up your back, pulling you fully onto his lap like he needs you close. You settle against him easily, arms draped around his shoulders. It feels like the tension from earlier has finally melted away, leaving only the two of you, just you and Luka, in the quiet of your bedroom.

"I really hate when we fight," he admits, voice low.

"I know." You sigh, resting your forehead against his. "But we’re always gonna be okay, Luka. You know that, right?"

He nods, exhaling. "I know. I just—" His hands tighten around your waist. "I don’t ever wanna let you down."

"You don’t."

His lips twitch slightly, like he wants to believe you but still needs convincing.

"Even when I act like an ass?" he asks, tilting his head.

You snort. "Even then."

Luka huffs out a small laugh, his grip around you tightening as he buries his face against your shoulder. "I don’t deserve you."

"That’s true," you tease, running your fingers through his hair again. "But I’m keeping you anyway."

He grins against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone before leaning back to look at you fully. His hands skim down your sides, his thumbs rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your skin.

"I love you," he says, quiet but firm. Like a promise.

You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you too."

His arms wrap around you fully, pulling you into a deeper embrace. You can feel the shift in him—the weight he’d been carrying has lifted, his body no longer heavy with stress. He holds you like he knows this, knows that at the end of everything, it’s always going to be you and him, no matter what.

"You wanna sleep?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Luka groans dramatically, flopping back onto the bed and taking you with him. "Not yet."

You laugh as he tightens his grip around you, rolling you both onto your sides. "You’re like a giant teddy bear."

"A very handsome teddy bear," he corrects, smirking.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away, instead nestling closer against him, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. The exhaustion from the day finally starts to settle into your body, but there’s a peace in it now, in the warmth of his hold, in the steadiness of you and him.

"Love you," he murmurs again, his voice already laced with sleep.

"Love you more," you whisper, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before finally letting yourself drift off.

And just like that, the fight from earlier feels like nothing but a distant memory—just another storm weathered together, another testament to the fact that no matter what, you and Luka always find your way back to each other.

[artvscvntymullet]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER (AND FORGET) - ARTHUR TV

looking after a very drunk arthur after a football pub golf...

content warning: drinking, heavy pda, nausea, dizziness (everything that comes with drinking, basically)

word count: 1850 words

It had been one of those weeks—the kind where the days blur into one another, and all you can do is keep your head down and get through it. Work had been a never-ending stress-fest, and you were more than ready for a quiet evening with your boyfriend, Arthur. The plan was simple—order takeaway, watch a film, and try to forget about the chaos of the week.

But of course, you should have known better than to expect a quiet night when Arthur was involved.

It all started when your phone buzzed on the couch, startling you out of your daydream. You picked it up and saw a message from Harry, probably the only one sober enough to still type a coherent sentence.

Harry: Hey, can you come pick us up? Arthur’s absolutely hammered, and we’re all kinda a mess. The others are too drunk to drive.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. You were no stranger to these texts. Arthur’s friends—Chip, Chris, George, and Bach—had all been out at a pub golf event. And while Arthur always swore he’d take it easy, you knew better. Pub golf was practically an excuse for them to drink until they couldn’t remember their own names.

You: How bad is it?

Harry: Arthur’s the worst. It’s bad. Like, ‘can’t get him in the car’ bad. Help?

You tossed your phone aside and grabbed your keys, resigning yourself to the fact that you were going to have to rescue your intoxicated boyfriend and his equally tipsy friends once again. You knew this wasn’t going to be a simple task, but it was just part of the deal with Arthur. He had this way of turning any night out into an adventure.

The drive to the pub was short, but it felt like a lifetime. You could already imagine the chaos you were about to walk into. Arthur, drunk off his mind and surrounded by his equally plastered friends, was never a simple task to wrangle. But as much as you were frustrated, there was always something about him, even in his most ridiculous moments, that made you smile.

When you pulled up outside the pub, you saw the familiar mess of Arthur’s friends hanging around. There was Chip, grinning like he was the happiest man on earth, Bach trying to steady himself against a lamppost, and Chris—who, if you were being honest, probably could’ve stayed sober but never did. And, of course, there was Arthur, slumped against the wall, his hair a dishevelled mess, his eyes half-lidded, but when he saw you, a goofy smile spread across his face.

“Y/N!” he slurred, his voice louder than it should’ve been. “You came for me! You came to take me home!” He stretched his arms toward you like a drunken child, nearly toppling over in the process.

You took a deep breath. Here we go.

“Arthur, you’re a mess,” you said, walking up to him with a half-smile. “What did I tell you about going easy tonight?”

“I did!” he protested, swaying slightly. “I did go easy, babe. But then—” He paused, seemingly deep in thought. “Then I had a couple more shots, and then I had another pint... and now I’m here, and I’m perfect.”

“Perfectly drunk, you mean,” you muttered under your breath, already starting to loop his arm around your shoulder to help steady him. You could feel the weight of his body leaning into you, but you were used to it by now. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.” You shot a glance at his friends, who were all either laughing or trying to help in their own, very wobbly ways.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked George, who looked like he might fall asleep standing up. “I’ll need you guys to keep it together while we get him out of here.”

“We got it, we got it!” Chris grinned, leaning on Chip for support. “We’ll keep him safe... ish.”

“Thanks,” you said dryly, leading Arthur out the door and to your car. “You guys really owe me one.”

“Not true,” Chip called after you, “Arthur owes you at least ten after tonight.”

Arthur turned his head to look at him and slurred, “I owe her my life, mate.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing it would be a challenge getting him into the car without him doing something ridiculous.

Getting Arthur into the car was like trying to fit a particularly tipsy octopus into a seatbelt. He flopped around, giggling at his own antics, and it took you a solid ten minutes to get him to stop trying to wrestle with the seatbelt. You were just about ready to give up and shove him into the trunk when he finally settled, his head resting against the window, eyes half-closed but still managing to smile at you with an idiotic grin. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Arthur murmured, his voice surprisingly soft. “I’m... the luckiest guy.”

You smiled at him, reaching over to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You’re a pain, Arthur.” He pouted, the drunken sincerity in his eyes making you feel a pang of affection despite the chaos. “I know. But I’m your pain, right?”

“Only when you’re drunk,” you teased, glancing over at his friends. They were scattered around the car, not exactly being much help but still trying to make sure Arthur didn’t roll out of the car halfway home.

As you drove, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. The chaos of the night had brought out a side of Arthur that was both frustrating and endearing. But no matter how messy the situation was, you knew you’d always be there to pick him up—literally and figuratively.

When you pulled into your parking spot, you didn’t even bother asking Arthur to help. Instead, you practically dragged him out of the car, his legs uncoordinated as he leaned heavily on you. His arm was slung over your shoulders, and you could feel his warm breath against your neck as he muttered things you couldn’t quite make out.

“Arthur,” you groaned, “You’re killing me here.”

Arthur giggled, the sound muffled as he rested his face against your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so so sorry. But you love me anyway.”

“You’re lucky I do,” you said, your heart softening even though you were clearly at the end of your rope. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Once you got him inside, it didn’t get much easier. Arthur kept stumbling over his own feet, and you had to support most of his weight as you guided him to the couch. His friends—Chip, George, and Bach—had all somehow made it inside with you, but they were far too gone to be any help.

“Alright, I’ll take it from here,” you said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Go get some water, or... whatever it is you guys need.”

“Hey,” Arthur suddenly slurred, “Can we... can we cuddle? Like, I just need you so close, Y/N.”

You gave him a look. “Arthur, you can’t even sit up straight.”

Arthur just grinned, too drunk to be embarrassed. “I’ll try my best... promise. Please, babe?”

Rolling your eyes but secretly unable to resist his puppy-dog face, you helped him recline on the couch, your body automatically curling up next to his. His arm draped across your shoulders as he settled into your side, his breathing softening as he nuzzled into your neck. “You’re so warm,” he murmured, the words coming out in a low, almost drowsy tone. “I just want to be here forever.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

Arthur chuckled, his grip tightening on you slightly. “I know. But I’m your impossible.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. “You really are a mess tonight, but I still love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice slurring, but there was a sincerity in it that made your heart skip a beat. “Even if I’m drunk. Even if I’m an idiot. I’ll love you forever.”

You rested your head against his chest, the chaos of the night slowly fading into a warm, sleepy haze. Arthur was still talking, but the words became less coherent as he drifted off to sleep, his head lolling against yours.

As you lay there, wrapped up in him, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the madness. Because, despite all the drunken mishaps, the chaos, and the messiness, this was where you wanted to be—right here, with Arthur. The idiot who loved you more than anything, even if he had a funny way of showing it.

In that moment, with his breath warm against your skin and his friends snoring in the other room, you were content to let the world fade away. No matter how wild the night got, you knew you’d always be there for each other—through the chaos, the mess, and all the little moments in between.

[maddie0101]

desperate measures

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny! ❤︎

summary: murphy’s thirst for revenge forces bellamy into an impossible choice, himself for the reader and jasper. But deals with the desperate rarely go as planned, and the aftermath leaves nothing the same.

warnings: fem!reader, friends to lovers, violence, unhinged murphy (we love him in later seasons tho), mentions of hanging, bell almost dying, blood, reader has a mouth on her, protective!bell, hurt/comfort, happy ending, cussing, we don't like murphy in this fic, guns?, taunting, groveling!bell, reader gets injured, lmk if I missed anything?

word count:8.3k (yes, I’m actually insane)

note: based off the episode ‘we are grounders part one’. it is NOT exactly how the episode goes. I loosely wrote my own version but kept the same plot. I know the episode was a lot different to how I wrote this but idc, lol. enjoy!

The first thing you noticed was the cold, hard floor beneath you. The second was the dull, pounding ache at the back of your head. You groaned softly, shifting, only to realize that you couldn’t move your arms. Your wrists were bound behind your back, a rope biting into your skin and around your ankles, too.

Panic flickered through you, sharp and sudden. You blinked, trying to force your vision to adjust to the dim light around you. The metal walls, the familiar scent of rust and old fire—the dropship.

Why the hell were you in the dropship?

A groan beside you made you turn your head, your breath catching as you spotted Jasper slumped against the wall. His head lolled forward, and a thin streak of dried blood trailed down his forehead.

“Jasper,” you hissed, nudging his leg with your foot.

He let out a sharp breath, blinking sluggishly. His eyes flickered open, unfocused at first before they darted around, taking in the metal walls, the ropes, you.“What the hell?” Jasper mumbled, shifting against his restraints. His face twisted in confusion as he tugged at them. “Why am I—”

“Finally,” a voice cut through the air and your blood ran cold.

A slow, mocking clap followed, the sound bouncing off the dropship’s walls. Jasper inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid beside you.

Murphy.

He stepped into view, his movements slow and deliberate. The rifle hung loosely at his side, his fingers drumming against the barrel. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something unhinged, as he looked down at you both. “About time you two woke up,” Murphy drawled, tilting his head. “Thought maybe I hit you too hard.”

Jasper stiffened. “You knocked us out?”

Murphy grinned. “What can I say? Didn’t think you’d come quietly.”

Your jaw clenched. Anger burned beneath your skin, hot and sharp, pushing back the fear threatening to take hold.

“What’s the matter, Murphy?” you sneered, lifting your chin. “Got tired of playing the victim, so now you’re back to being a psycho?”

Murphy’s grin twitched, his fingers tightening around the rifle. “There it is,” he mused. “That sharp tongue of yours. Always thought you were a little too bold for your own good.” He took a slow step forward, crouching in front of you. His eyes flicked over your face, his smirk widening. “Bet Bellamy just loves that about you.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral.

Jasper, however, wasn’t as composed. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded, his voice sharp and laced with frustration. His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast — the panic was setting in, even if he was trying to hide it.

Murphy’s smile stretched wider, that twisted, smug grin that always made your skin crawl. His fingers flexed around the rifle at his side, a casual movement that felt far more threatening than if he’d actually raised it. Like he was just waiting for an excuse.

“Revenge,” he said simply, like the word itself should be enough to explain everything.

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” you muttered, your voice thick with sarcasm. “This is about the hanging, isn’t it?”

Murphy’s smile faltered, his expression hardening. His grip on the rifle tightened just enough for his knuckles to go white.

“Jesus, Murphy,” you scoffed, shifting against the rough rope that cut into your wrists. “You tried to kill people. Hell, you killed Charlotte. And now you’re throwing a tantrum because things didn’t go your way?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, that totally screams ‘victim.’”

“Careful,” Murphy warned, his voice low and sharp like the edge of a knife.

“Or what?” you shot back. “You’ll bore me to death with your sob story?”

His eyes darkened, something ugly flickering behind them. The air in the dropship seemed to shift, suddenly heavier, colder. Murphy took a slow, deliberate step closer, boots scuffing against the metal floor. “You always were a mouthy little bitch,” he muttered, voice curling with contempt.

You didn’t flinch, you refused to. Instead, you met his gaze and gave a cold, humorless smile. “Yeah?” you drawled. “Well, you always were a miserable little prick, so I guess we’re even.”

Murphy’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek ticking. “You really think this is funny?”

“I think it’s pathetic,” you snapped. “You’re pissed because Bellamy didn’t let you die? Seems like your real problem is that you’re still breathing.”

For a second, Murphy’s face twisted with pure rage that sharp, barely-contained violence that always simmered just beneath his skin, but then something cruel flickered across his features. His expression shifted, cold fury melting into something far more calculated.

His lips curled into a smirk.“I bet that’s why Bellamy likes you so much,” he sneered. “He’s got a thing for the feisty ones.”

Your stomach twisted. “Screw you,” you snapped, but there was an edge to your voice now, too sharp and too defensive.

Murphy’s smirk widened, and you knew he’d caught it. “Yeah,” he drawled, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “I’m sure that mouth of yours drives him crazy.” His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, like he was peeling back your defenses layer by layer. “Maybe that’s why he’s always hovering around you.”

Your chest tightened. “Go to hell,” you spat, but the words didn’t feel as steady as before.

Murphy chuckled, low and dark. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Jasper’s fingers twitched against the dusty floor of the dropship, eyes flicking toward the old radio lying just inches from his hand. Murphy had left it behind, probably too caught up in his own rage to notice.

Carefully, painfully slow, Jasper stretched his arm out, moving slow enough not to draw attention. His fingers brushed the edge of the radio. Murphy’s back was turned, still pacing and spitting insults your way.

"Go to hell, Murphy." You spat, anger only rising in your frame.

Murphy’s boots scuffed loudly as he stopped in his tracks, turning to face you again. “Careful,” he warned, voice low. “You’re not exactly in a position to be running your mouth.”

Jasper’s hand finally closed around the radio. He kept it close to his side, thumb pressing down on the transmit button. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“Or what?” you snapped. “You’ll whine me to death? Cry some more about how no one likes you?”

“You really wanna push me right now?” Murphy shot back, stepping closer.

“You already pissed off half the camp,” you said coldly. “What’s one more person who hates you?”

Murphy’s face twisted with rage, and before you could react, his hand shot out — backhanding you hard across the face. Your head snapped to the side, a sharp sting blooming across your cheek.

“Shut your mouth,” Murphy growled.

The radio crackled softly in Jasper’s hand, still broadcasting everything.

Bellamy was at the campfire, a rare moment of calm as he stripped a branch for kindling. The sounds of the camp buzzed around him. People chatting, the clang of metal, footsteps crunching on dirt. But none of that mattered when a voice — your voice, crackled suddenly over the radio.

“…already pissed off half the camp. What’s one more person who hates you?”

Bellamy froze, his hands tightening around the branch. His head jerked toward the source of the sound. What the hell?

The sharp crack of skin hitting skin shot through the speaker, followed by a sharp gasp. His heart dropped into his stomach. “Shut your mouth,” Murphy’s voice growled.

Bellamy was on his feet before he could think “Where’s that coming from?” he barked, spinning around.

Octavia bolted from the tent, the radio clutched in her hand. “It’s Jasper’s radio — it’s them. Murphy’s got them.”

Bellamy snatched the radio from Octavia, fingers curling tight around the device as he held it close to his ear. His chest tightened as Murphy’s voice came through again, smug and taunting.

“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” Murphy sneered. “Bet you’re not feeling so smart now.”

“Oh, go to hell,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering.

Despite the panic clawing at Bellamy’s ribs, he felt a flicker of pride. That’s my girl. You were still running your mouth, still fighting, but that pride was quickly swallowed by something else. Murphy’s not stable, Bellamy thought. She’s pushing him, and he’s just crazy enough to kill her for it.

His fingers tightened around the radio like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His mind raced, anger boiling beneath his skin, fear gnawing at his chest.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” Octavia muttered behind him.

Bellamy’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He knew you. Knew that sharp tongue of yours, that stubborn streak that never let you back down — even when you should. Part of him was proud, hearing you stand your ground like that. But the rest of him? The part that knew Murphy was just unhinged enough to put a bullet in your head for pissing him off? That part was fucking terrified.

“She’s not gonna die,” Bellamy said, more to himself than anyone else. “I won’t let that happen.”

The radio crackled again.

“Look, man,” Jasper’s voice broke through the static, rough and desperate. “You don’t have to do this.”

Murphy’s bitter laugh followed. “Yeah, I really do.”

“No, you don’t,” Jasper pushed. “You got your revenge, right? He's already dead—”

“This isn’t about him,” Murphy snapped. “This is about me. About what’s gonna happen when your fearless leader finds out what I did.”

Bellamy’s fingers tightened around the radio, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What did you do?” you demanded, your voice sharper now.

“Shut up,” Murphy growled, his tone low and dangerous. “You’re just a bonus. You weren’t even supposed to be here.”

“Yeah?” you shot back. “Well, lucky me.”

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, frustration boiling in his blood. Damn it, why couldn’t you just stop pushing him?

Murphy let out a dry chuckle. “You think you’re funny?” he sneered. “I’ll tell you what’s funny — the king losing his goddamn mind when he finds out."

“Finds out what?” you shot back, your voice sharp.

Murphy’s smirk widened. “That I’m the one who killed Connor.”

Your breath caught. Jasper stiffened beside you.

“You’re lying,” you said, but your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be.

“Am I?” Murphy’s eyes glinted with twisted satisfaction. “Ask Jasper.”

You turned to Jasper, who wouldn’t meet your gaze. His silence told you everything. A sick feeling curled in your stomach. “Jesus,” you muttered, turning back to Murphy. “You actually killed him?"

Murphy grinned, sharp and cruel. “Damn right I did.”

Jasper swallowed hard. “That’s why you took me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Because I saw you.”

Murphy gave a mock bow. “Bingo. Knew you’d piece it together sooner or later.” His expression darkened. “Couldn’t have you running to Bellamy, now could I?”

You clenched your jaw. “And me?”

Murphy’s smirk returned. “You?” He chuckled. “You were a bonus.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “See, when I heard you moving around upstairs, I thought, ‘Well, shit. That’s my lucky day.’ Knocked you out cold before you even knew I was there.” His grin widened. “Because what better leverage against Bellamy than you?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Murphy went on, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You really think he wouldn’t do whatever the hell I wanted to get you back? Hell, next to Octavia, you’re the best damn bargaining chip I could ask for.”

Outside the dropship, Bellamy’s grip on the radio tightened until his knuckles went white. His jaw was locked so tight it ached.

Murphy kept talking. “So yeah,” he continued, pacing now. “I’ve got all the cards. Bellamy’s gonna come running, and when he does—”

“You so sure about that?” you cut in, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Because from where I’m sitting, it kinda looks like you’re just another dead man walking.”

Murphy stopped pacing. His smile twitched, fingers flexing around the rifle at his side.

“You know,” you said, your voice tight with defiance, “for someone who acts like a victim, you sure seem to enjoy being a miserable asshole.”

Murphy’s expression darkened. “You really wanna run that mouth right now?” he growled.

“Why not?” you shot back. “You’ve already proved you’re a coward. What’s one more tantrum?”

His eyes flashed with rage. In one swift motion, he raised the rifle and pointed it directly at you.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you refused to flinch. “Go ahead,” you sneered. “Prove me right.”

“Murphy!” Bellamy’s voice exploded from the radio, sharp and furious.

Murphy jerked in surprise, whipping around to face Jasper, who was gripping the radio tightly, his thumb still pressed on the button.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Murphy snapped, storming over and snatching it from Jasper’s hands.

“Murphy,” Bellamy’s voice came again, colder this time. “You hurt either of them, and I swear I’ll kill you!”

“You’re in no position to make threats,” Murphy sneered into the radio, his fingers tightening around the device. His eyes glinted with twisted satisfaction. “But I’ll tell you what—I’ll make you a deal.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You swore you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Murphy’s smile widened, sharp and cruel. “You for them,” he said. “Trade yourself for Jasper and her.”

Your stomach dropped. No.

Your head snapped toward Jasper. His face had gone pale, eyes wide with the same dread you felt clawing its way up your throat. He knew exactly what this meant. Bellamy wouldn’t be walking away from this — and Murphy fucking knew it.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Your chest felt tight, like you couldn’t get enough air. “Don’t do it.”

The radio crackled.

“Deal.”

Your breath caught. “No!” you burst out, voice ragged. “Bellamy, don’t—”

Murphy clicked off the radio before you could finish “That’s enough out of you,” he muttered with a smug grin. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he turned to Jasper. “Well,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock cheer, “looks like we’re making a trade.”

“You’re gonna kill him,” you shot back, your voice shaking with rage. “That’s what this is — you’re setting him up to die.”

Murphy gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah? Not my problem.”

Your blood boiled. “You son of a—”

“Save it,” Murphy snapped, stepping forward and grabbing Jasper by the arm.

“Wait—” Jasper struggled, his eyes flicking desperately to you as Murphy hauled him toward the dropship door.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “Murphy, don’t do this!”

Murphy didn’t even glance back. He shoved Jasper hard toward the exit, and Jasper stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet. Jasper turned, his gaze flicking between you and Murphy. His expression twisted in confusion and then realization.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Murphy barked.

“You said both of us,” Jasper said, his voice low and uncertain.

Your heart thudded painfully. Murphy’s smile stretched wider, colder. He turned, looking straight at you, and the smug glint in his eyes made your stomach turn.

“I lied.”

The sound of the dropship door clanging shut felt like a gunshot in your chest.

Bellamy stumbled forward, barely catching his balance as he pushed through the curtain. His gaze locked on you instantly, wide and frantic, but then his eyes shifted.

Murphy stood too close with his hand fisted in your shirt and his gun jammed against your ribs and Bellamy froze. His body went rigid, hands curling into fists at his sides. His chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together. “Let her go,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Murphy grinned, that smug, twisted smile that made your stomach turn. He didn’t move the gun “You’re in no position to be making demands,” Murphy sneered.

Bellamy’s eyes flicked to you again. You saw the way they dragged over you, the tension in your shoulders, the way you kept perfectly still, like any sudden movement might make Murphy pull the trigger. The rage simmering beneath Bellamy’s skin seemed to burn hotter.

“I said,” Bellamy growled, “let her go.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Bellamy took a step forward and Murphy’s finger twitched on the trigger. The barrel pressed harder against your ribs, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

Bellamy froze again, teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw twitch. “I said both of them,” Bellamy snapped, his voice shaking with fury. “That was the deal.”

Murphy’s smile stretched wider, like he’d been waiting for Bellamy to lose it. “Yeah…” Murphy dragged the word out, mockingly casual. “But here’s the thing…” His gaze flicked back to you, cold and calculating. “I’m never letting her go.”

Your heart stumbled and Bellamy’s face twisted into something dark and dangerous. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Murphy said, his voice tightening, “she means too much to me.” His fingers curled tighter in your shirt, dragging you closer like you were some kind of prize. “I’m not stupid. I know how much you care about her. You think I’d give up something that valuable?”

“You’re fucking sick,” Bellamy spat.

Murphy’s grin turned sharp. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But you know what’s funny? I don’t think you’ll do a damn thing about it.”

“You think I won’t kill you?” Bellamy shot back.

“Oh, you will,” Murphy said, pressing the gun harder into your ribs. You bit down a wince. “But not before I put a bullet in her first.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened, panic flickering behind the anger. His gaze shifted to yours again, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. Murphy kept his gun trained on you as he took a slow step back, dragging the moment out like he was savoring it.

“You know what’s funny, Bellamy?” Murphy mused, a bitter grin curling on his lips. “You standing here, looking so goddamn righteous—acting like I’m the bad guy.”

Bellamy didn’t answer, his jaw ticking as his glare burned into Murphy.

Murphy let out a dry chuckle. “Let’s take a little trip down memory lane, yeah? Let’s talk about how you kicked the box from under my feet and almost let me fucking hang.” His voice sharpened, the anger cutting through the mockery. “Let’s talk about how you banished me—left me to die—all for what? Justice?”

Bellamy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, but his face remained unreadable.

Murphy scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He took another step back, finally putting some space between himself and you, but his gun didn’t waver. His free hand shot out, grabbing a nearby box, and with a loud scrape, he dragged it to the center of the dropship.

You glanced at Bellamy, confused, but he was just as lost as you were.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Murphy found couple of long, thick straps—seatbelts and ripped from the wreckage of the drop ship.

He tossed them toward Bellamy’s feet and Bellamy barely spared them a glance before his glare snapped back up.

Murphy smirked. “Make a noose.”

Your stomach lurched. “Murphy—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, not even looking at you.

Bellamy didn’t move. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump, his hands flexing at his sides like he was seconds from lunging.

Murphy sighed, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Bellamy,” he drawled. “You’ve done it before.” His smirk turned razor-sharp. “Should be muscle memory by now.”

Bellamy’s chest rose and fell, his breath coming heavier now. “You think this’ll make it right?” Bellamy said, voice low, shaking with restrained fury. “You think this makes you the good guy?”

Murphy’s face darkened. “I don’t give a shit about being the good guy.” His finger twitched on the trigger. “Now, make the fucking noose.”

Bellamy’s hands trembled as he twisted the seatbelt into a knot, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the worn fabric. The room felt suffocating, almost too quiet except for the faint sound of Bellamy’s ragged breathing.

“You know…” Murphy’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, cold and sharp. “The more I think about it… the more it makes sense.”

Bellamy didn’t react, keeping his eyes locked on the knot he was tying, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed.

Murphy leaned back in his chair, still keeping the gun trained on Bellamy. “The king and the queen,” he said with a mockingly sweet smile. “That’s what you two are, isn’t it?” He snorted. “Clarke’s the princess, the one everyone listens to… but you two?” He shook his head. “You’re the real power couple. Always side by side, always whispering to each other — doesn’t take a genius to see what’s going on there.”

“You’re full of shit,” Bellamy muttered, voice low and tight.

Murphy grinned. “Am I?” He gestured vaguely between you and Bellamy. “’Cause I remember how it started — you two couldn’t stand each other. Always bickering, always at each other’s throats.” His grin widened. “But then something changed, didn’t it?”

Bellamy’s hands stilled on the noose, fingers curling into fists.

“You started sticking close to each other,” Murphy continued. “Backing each other up, sharing those little looks. Always so protective of her…” His gaze flicked to you, and his smile turned colder. “And her? Man, she followed you around like a fucking shadow.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy snapped, his voice breaking.

But Murphy wasn’t finished. “I mean… it’s not hard to figure out why. I saw the way she looked at you — like you hung the goddamn moon.” Murphy chuckled darkly. “I bet she still does.”

“Murphy, I swear to God—”

“And you?” Murphy’s eyes slid back to you, sharp and calculating. “You’re just as bad.” His smile twisted into something cruel. “What’s it like knowing he’d do anything for you? Must feel pretty fucking special.”

“Stop,” Bellamy warned, his voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Murphy ignored him. His eyes stayed on you, cold and gleeful. “Tell me…” His smile sharpened. “Did you have to sleep with him to get him to care that much? Or did you just bat those pretty eyes and hope he’d notice?”

The words hit their mark like a slap, heat rising to your face. Bellamy shot to his feet so fast the chair beneath him scraped loudly against the floor “Watch your fucking mouth,” Bellamy snarled, his voice dangerously low.

Murphy just laughed, dark and humorless. “See?” he said, waving the gun toward Bellamy. “Look at him — all worked up just ‘cause I talked about you.” He smirked at you. “Man’s got it bad.”

Bellamy’s fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body tight like a wire about to snap. “You think this is funny?” Bellamy’s voice was rough, his eyes burning with rage. “You think you can push me until I break?”

Murphy’s grin widened. “I’m counting on it.”

Bellamy’s chest rose and fell in sharp, angry breaths. His fists were still clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap.

“Go on,” Murphy taunted, his grin widening as he turned the gun back on you. “Be a hero, Bellamy. Step out of line — give me a reason.”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your voice sharp with panic. Your eyes locked with Bellamy’s, silently pleading for him to keep his cool. He was barely hanging on, you could see it in the tight set of his jaw, the fire blazing behind his eyes.

“Look at her,” Murphy sneered. “So worried about you. Almost sweet, isn’t it?” He chuckled darkly. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re in love with someone.”

Bellamy’s eyes flicked to you again, something raw and unspoken flashing across his face.

“Don’t know why you two keep pretending,” Murphy went on, voice smug and cruel. “I mean, we all see it. Even the damn kids back at camp talk about it.” He smirked wider. “Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were already screwin’.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bellamy growled.

Murphy’s smile sharpened. “What’s the matter? Don’t like me talking about your girl?”

“She’s not—” Bellamy started, but Murphy cut him off.

“Please,” Murphy spat. “I know you’d die for her. And her?” He shot you a pointed look. “She’d do the same for you. Stupid, isn’t it? All that loyalty, for what?”

“Because he’s worth it,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Murphy’s smile faltered, just for a second, and then he was laughing again, cold and sharp. “Yeah? We’ll see how much you believe that when he’s the one with the noose around his neck.”

Bellamy’s fingers twisted the belt in his hands, the makeshift noose tightening as he pulled the knot into place. His hands shook, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cold air inside the dropship. He kept his head down, jaw clenched so tightly you swore his teeth might crack.

“Alright,” Murphy said, voice smug and satisfied. “Get on the box.”

Bellamy’s fingers stilled. His head lifted slightly, eyes locking on Murphy. “You’re out of your mind,” Bellamy muttered.

Murphy’s smile widened. “I said, get on the goddamn box.”

“Bellamy, don’t,” you blurted, unable to stop yourself.

Murphy’s expression twisted, all smugness gone in an instant. Without warning, he whipped the gun toward you and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

You flinched hard, a sharp yelp tearing from your throat as the bullet struck the metal wall inches from your head. The sound rang in your ears, and your heart hammered against your ribs.

“Next one doesn’t miss,” Murphy warned coldly, his gaze snapping back to Bellamy. “Now, get your ass on the box, or she dies.”

“Alright!” Bellamy barked, pushing himself to his feet so fast the chair skidded back. His voice shook with anger and with fear. His eyes flicked to you for the briefest second before he turned and grabbed the wooden crate near the center of the room.

“You’re insane,” Bellamy muttered under his breath as he dragged the box into position.

Murphy grinned. “Yeah? Maybe. But you’re still the idiot standing on the box.”

Bellamy shot him a murderous glare but stepped onto the crate anyway. The wood creaked under his weight. His broad shoulders tensed, muscles coiled and ready, but there was no fight left to pick. Not when Murphy’s finger twitched so damn easily on that trigger.

“Bellamy…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. His focus was on Murphy, on the shaking gun, on whatever slim chance there was to turn this around.

“Alright,” Murphy said with a grin, tossing the loose end of the noose over the metal beam above. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” Murphy tossed the loose end of the noose over the metal beam, the seatbelt strap hissing as it slid through his fingers. With ease, he secured the knot, yanking it tight until the loop hung in place, waiting.

Bellamy stared at it, his jaw clenched so tight you swore his teeth might shatter. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.

Murphy cocked his head, a cruel grin tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong, Bellamy? Cold feet?” He tugged at the strap, testing its hold before stepping back. “That’s funny. Didn’t hesitate to kick the box out from under me.”

Bellamy’s eyes flashed with something dark, but still, he didn’t move.

Murphy’s grin widened. “Oh, I get it,” he drawled. “It’s different when it’s you, huh? When it’s your neck on the line?” He shook his head with mock disappointment. “Guess you’re not as tough as you like to pretend.”

Bellamy stayed silent. His body was rigid, tension rolling off him in waves, but he didn’t react, not in the way Murphy wanted.

Murphy’s smile twitched. He hated that. So, he turned to you. “Or maybe…” Murphy mused, his voice slow and taunting. “Maybe you just need the right motivation.” Murphy’s eyes slid toward you, and before you could blink, he raised the gun and fired.

The crack of the shot ripped through the air, deafening in the tight space. For a second, you didn’t feel anything, just a cold, hollow shock spreading through your body, but then the pain hit.

White-hot and searing. You screamed, clutching your thigh as blood poured from the fresh wound. It was everywhere, spilling through your fingers, soaking your clothes, pooling beneath you. The agony stole your breath, your vision blurring with tears.

“No!” Bellamy lunged toward you, but Murphy was faster.

“Back the fuck up!” Murphy barked, jerking the gun toward Bellamy’s chest. “You so much as breathe wrong, I’ll put the next one in her head.”

Bellamy froze, chest heaving, face twisted in fury. His eyes flicked back to you, and you could see it, the panic, the helplessness, the rage simmering beneath it all.

“Put it on,” Murphy ordered, gesturing to the noose. “Now.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy gritted out, voice low and dangerous, “don’t do this.”

Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “I said put it on.”

Bellamy’s gaze darted back to you, to the blood still pouring from your leg and something in him broke. Hands shaking, he grabbed the noose and slipped it around his neck.

“Good,” Murphy sneered. He gave the strap a sharp yank, dragging Bellamy closer until his boots barely touched the box. Bellamy choked, rising onto his toes, his fingers instinctively clawing at the strap.

“Stop!” you gasped through the pain, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “Please, stop!”

Murphy shot you a twisted smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” His gaze flicked back to Bellamy. “Hurts worse watching someone you love bleed out right in front of you.”

Bellamy’s face was turning red, veins standing out on his neck. His furious gaze never left Murphy.

Murphy chuckled darkly. He grinned at Bellamy, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “Guess I can see why you love her. She’s a fighter — I’ll give her that. Not to mention…” His eyes dragged over you, lingering too long. “She’s easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t,” Bellamy ground out, voice raw.

“What?” Murphy smirked. “You pissed ‘cause I noticed?” He gave the noose another sharp tug, forcing Bellamy higher on his toes. “Or are you pissed ‘cause she’s bleeding out right now and you can’t do a damn thing about it?”

Tears streaked down your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to block out the pain. Bellamy’s face was darkening, his muscles straining to keep himself upright.

“You know,” Murphy mused, “if I were you, I’d start thinking about your last words.” He grinned. “’Cause I don’t think you’ve got much time left.”

Murphy’s grin widened as he gave the noose another hard yank. The strap dug deeper into Bellamy’s throat, forcing a ragged, strangled sound from him as his boots scraped against the box, barely keeping him upright. His face was turning red, veins bulging at his temples.

“You’re turning colors there, Bellamy,” Murphy sneered. “Starting to think you’re not gonna make it.”

Then there was a noise, faint but distinct coming from beneath the dropship.

Murphy’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression twisting in irritation. “Bet that’s your little grounder-pounder sister,” he muttered. His eyes narrowed, and before anyone could react, he fired a shot through the metal floor.

“No!” you screamed.

Bellamy’s instincts kicked in. Fueled by desperation, he lunged forward, yanking hard on the strap around his own neck and knocking Murphy off balance. The gun fired again, but the shot went wide, sparking off the metal wall.

“Son of a bitch!” Murphy growled, shoving Bellamy back and this time, his boot shot out, slamming into the box beneath Bellamy’s feet.

The box tipped over, crashing to the floor. Bellamy’s body dropped, and suddenly he was hanging, gasping, choking, his fingers clawing desperately at the noose cutting into his throat. His legs kicked out wildly, searching for something — anything to catch his balance.

“Bellamy!” you cried, panic crashing over you like a wave. You fought against your bonds, your fingernails tearing at the rope around your wrists. You twisted and yanked, sobbing through the pain.

Bellamy’s face was darkening, his gasps turning to garbled, desperate sounds. His fingers struggled at the strap digging into his throat, his eyes flicking to you wide with fear and pain.

The dropship door suddenly groaned and flew open, slamming against the wall.

“Shit,” Murphy hissed. He bolted for the ladder, scrambling up toward the second level.

“No, no, no!” you sobbed, still sawing at the ropes with your fingernails, desperate to break free as Bellamy’s body jerked violently above you. His kicks were getting weaker. His face was turning a sickening shade of purple.

“Hold on,” you begged him. “Please hold on.”

Murphy’s boots clanged against the metal rungs as he scrambled up the ladder, his breath ragged and frantic. He reached the second level, slammed the hatch shut behind him, and shoved the lock into place just as Octavia rushed inside the dropship.

“Bellamy!” she cried, her eyes widening in horror as she saw her brother dangling from the noose. Without hesitation, she ran beneath him, gripping his waist and trying to lift him. Bellamy’s weight sagged against her, his face blotched red and purple as his strained gasps turned weaker.

“Jasper!” Octavia shouted. “Cut the rope!”

Jasper didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a jagged piece of scrap metal, he lunged for the rope, sawing at it with desperate force. The fibers began to fray, splitting one by one. “Come on, come on,” Jasper muttered through gritted teeth.

Finally, the rope gave way, and Bellamy dropped like dead weight into Octavia’s arms. He collapsed to the floor, crumpling in a heap, his body jerking as he gasped for air.

“Bellamy!” Octavia knelt beside him, her hand on his chest, trying to calm him down. “You’re okay. You’re okay, just breathe.”

Someone rushed to your side, fumbling with the ropes around your wrists. The second they fell loose, you tried to stand, but pain shot through your leg like fire. You cried out, stumbling, barely able to keep your balance.

“Whoa, hey, easy,” the Harper said, looping an arm around your waist to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you ground out, teeth clenched against the pain. “I’m fine.” But you weren’t. Every step sent agony tearing through your thigh. Still, you forced yourself to limp forward, dragging yourself to Bellamy’s side.

His breaths were still rough and uneven, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His hand clutched at his raw, bruised throat, and his fingers shook violently. “Bell,” you rasped, dropping to your knees beside him. “Hey… hey, I’m here.”

His bloodshot eyes flicked up to meet yours, and something broke inside you.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bellamy choked out, his voice hoarse and ragged. He shoved Octavia’s hand off his chest and lurched to his feet.

“Bellamy, wait—” you grabbed for him, but he was already staggering toward the ladder. He barely felt the pain, barely noticed the way his legs threatened to give out beneath him. All he could see was red.

He reached the ladder and climbed, ignoring the ache in his throat, the burn in his muscles. Reaching the top, he slammed his fist against the locked door.

“Open the damn door, Murphy!” Bellamy roared, his voice raw and broken. He pounded again, harder this time. “You think you’re safe up there? I’m gonna kill you!”

“Open the damn door, Murphy!” Bellamy roared, his voice hoarse and ragged. He slammed his fist against the hatch, metal rattling beneath his knuckles. His body ached and his throat was raw, his muscles screamed but none of that mattered. Not after what Murphy had done.

“You think you’re safe up there?” Bellamy bellowed, pounding again. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Suddenly, there was a click, the faintest sound, followed by Murphy’s twisted laugh from above “Yeah?” Murphy called back. “Good luck with that.”

Then came the boom. The explosion ripped through the dropship like a thunderclap, deafening and violent. Bellamy stumbled back, nearly losing his footing as the force of the blast knocked him away from the hatch. The floor shook beneath him, metal groaning in protest.

Smoke billowed from above, filling the air with the sharp scent of gunpowder and scorched metal. Bellamy’s ears rang, but through the haze, he saw it — a gaping hole where the side of the dropship used to be. Chunks of metal still crumbled away, clattering to the ground outside. And Murphy that bastard was already sprinting through the trees, making his escape.

Bellamy lunged toward the twisted wreckage, climbing over the mangled metal. “Murphy!” he roared, but the coward was too far gone, his dark figure disappearing into the woods. Bellamy’s fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He could still feel the rope burn on his throat, still see the way you’d screamed when the bullet tore through your leg. He was going to kill Murphy.

“Bellamy!” Octavia’s voice yanked him back. He spun around, heart pounding as he stumbled down the ladder, nearly tripping in his rush to get back to you.

You were on the floor, pale as a ghost. Blood soaked your jeans, spreading fast. Harper was pressing a wad of cloth against your thigh, but her face was tight with panic. “She’s losing too much blood,” Harper said, her voice strained.

Bellamy dropped to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he took over. He pressed down hard, too hard and you let out a sharp cry. “Sorry,” Bellamy muttered, voice thick. His hand lifted just enough to ease the pressure. “I’m sorry… I just — I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Your eyes flickered open, glassy and unfocused. “I’m not going anywhere,” you mumbled, but your voice was barely a whisper.

“You better not,” Bellamy said, forcing a shaky breath. His hand found your face, thumb brushing along your dirt-streaked cheek. “I mean it… you don’t get to quit on me now.”

Your fingers twitched, weakly curling around his wrist. “I won’t,” you rasped. “I promise.”

Bellamy swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Good.” His voice broke. “Good… just… just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

But he felt your grip weaken your fingers slipping from his arm. Bellamy’s hands were slick with your blood, his fingers pressing desperately against the wound. His breath came in ragged bursts, panic clawing at his chest.

“No… no, no, no…” His voice shook as he pressed harder, trying to stop the steady flow of crimson. “Stay with me!” His voice cracked, raw and broken. “You hear me? Don’t you dare—”

Your head lolled to the side, eyes barely open, your skin deathly pale. Bellamy’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Shit…” He whipped his head around, voice sharp. “I need something, anything to stop the bleeding!”

“Bellamy—” Harper stammered.

“Now!” Bellamy barked, his voice snapping like a whip. But before Harper could even move, the sound of footsteps pounded against the metal stairs outside. Bellamy’s head jerked up, muscles tensing as the door burst open.

“Clarke?!” Harper's stunned voice broke the silence.

Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat. Clarke stood in the doorway, chest heaving, her hair damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. She was back.

“Oh my God…” Clarke’s eyes locked on you, on the blood pooling beneath Bellamy’s hands and her face paled. “What happened?!”

“Murphy—” Bellamy’s voice wavered. “He—he shot her.” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking again. “I—I can’t stop the bleeding.”

“Move!” Clarke barked, already rushing forward. Bellamy didn’t hesitate, he slid back just enough to give her space, his hands hovering above you like he couldn’t bear to let go completely.

Clarke knelt beside you, her fingers moving fast as she ripped open her pack and grabbed supplies. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” she muttered under her breath. “Too much…”

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Bellamy’s voice was sharp, desperate. “Tell me she’s gonna be okay!”

“I don’t know yet,” Clarke shot back, pressing gauze hard against your wound. “But I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down?!” Bellamy’s voice rose. “She’s bleeding out, Clarke!” His voice cracked on your name.

“I know!” Clarke snapped, eyes flashing. “And if you don’t shut up and let me work, she won’t make it!”

Bellamy staggered back like he’d been slapped, chest heaving. His hands curled into fists, your blood still warm and sticky on his fingers.

“Please…” His voice broke softer this time, barely above a whisper. “Please… save her.”

Clarke’s expression softened for a heartbeat, but just as quickly, she refocused, her hands steady as she worked to save you.

A dull, aching pain throbbed through your thigh as you slowly drifted back to consciousness. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and faint traces of smoke from the campfire outside. Your limbs felt heavy, exhaustion still clinging to you, but you forced your eyes open.

Dim candlelight flickered across the canvas walls of the tent, casting soft shadows. It took a second for your mind to catch up, to remember what had happened. The dropship, Murphy, the gunshot...You sucked in a sharp breath, your body tensing in panic.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice broke through the haze, rough but gentle. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Your eyes finally focused on the figure sitting beside you, slouched forward in a chair like he hadn’t moved in hours. Bellamy. His dark eyes were locked onto you, filled with relief but shadowed by worry. He looked exhausted, his jaw clenched, his hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it over and over.

“Bellamy…?” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

His whole body seemed to sag at the sound of your voice, like he’d been holding himself together by a thread. “Yeah. I’m here.” He leaned in, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You swallowed, trying to shift, but a sharp pain shot through your thigh, making you wince. Bellamy was up in an instant, his hands gently pressing against your blanket-covered leg to keep you from moving too much.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You lost a lot of blood. Clarke patched you up, but you’ve been out for almost a day.”

A whole day? No wonder your body felt like lead. You exhaled shakily, letting your head fall back against the pillow. “Jasper?” you asked, your voice still weak.

“He’s okay,” Bellamy assured you. “Thanks to you.” His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away for a second before he looked back at you. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

A small, tired smile ghosted over your lips. “Didn’t really have a choice.”

Bellamy let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” His expression softened, and this time, when his hand reached out, he let it rest over yours. His palm was warm, grounding. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, your eyelids already growing heavy again. “Can’t make any promises…”

Bellamy huffed out a breath but then his fingers curled around yours a little tighter, like he was anchoring himself to the feeling of your skin against his. His jaw clenched, his eyes flickering down to where your leg was still wrapped in bandages beneath the blanket.

“I should’ve done something different,” he murmured, his voice thick with guilt.

You frowned slightly, trying to shake off the haze of exhaustion. “Bellamy…”

“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I should’ve—” His throat bobbed, his grip on your hand tightening. “I should’ve just listened to Murphy. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have—” His breath hitched, and he looked away, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. “You wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

You stared at him, barely processing what he was saying at first. “You think this was your fault?”

Bellamy let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course it’s my fault. Murphy wanted revenge on me. I hesitated and didn't listen, and because of that, he turned his gun on you.” His voice cracked, raw with self-loathing. “I should’ve done something...anything to stop it.”

You could see it now, the weight of it pressing down on him, the guilt drowning him. He wasn’t just shaken up from almost losing you. He truly believed that if he had done something differently, you wouldn’t be lying here, weak and wounded.

You hated seeing him like this.

Summoning what little strength you had, you shifted your fingers beneath his, giving his hand a small squeeze. “Bellamy, look at me.”

He hesitated before finally meeting your eyes, and the sheer torment in his gaze nearly shattered you.

“This wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly, even though your voice was still weak. “Murphy was unhinged. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t have shot someone anyway. The grounders will take care of him now.” You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “You did what you thought was right and that's all that matters.”

Bellamy let out a slow, unsteady breath, like he was trying to believe your words but couldn’t quite let go of the guilt. His free hand hovered over your blanket-covered leg, his fingertips brushing the fabric just above the bandage. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted. “The second that gun went off, and you—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

The quiet confession sent warmth and pain curling through your chest all at once. You’d never heard his voice so raw, so vulnerable. “You didn’t,” you murmured. “I’m still here.”

His lips pressed into a tight line, his gaze searching yours like he wanted to believe you, but the guilt was still lingering, still gnawing at him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the distant crackling of the campfire outside, the muffled voices of the others going about their night.

Then then Bellamy did something that nearly stole the breath from your lungs. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against your knuckles.

When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, something unspoken burning in them. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you again.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the weight behind it was unshakable.

You felt your heartbeat stutter in your chest, your breath catching as you stared at him. There was so much you wanted to say. So many emotions swirled between you. Relief, exhaustion--something unspoken that had always lingered beneath the surface. But now, with his hand still wrapped around yours, his lips barely parted like he was holding back something important, you weren’t sure you could keep pretending anymore.

Bellamy exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching like he wanted to touch you again, like he wasn’t sure if he should. His eyes darkened, flickering down to your lips for just a second before meeting your gaze again. "I don’t think I can do this anymore."

Your brow furrowed. “Do what?”

His grip on your hand tightened as he leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your skin. “Pretend like I don’t feel something for you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like I haven’t felt something for you since the moment we met.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The exhaustion, the pain in your leg, everything else faded into the background.

He shook his head, his expression twisted in frustration, almost like he was angry with himself. “I was so damn scared to say it before. I told myself I couldn’t--there’s too much going on, too much at stake. But when I saw you lying there, bleeding out, I realized something.” He let out a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you. Not before I tell you that I—” He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling up inside you so fast it nearly stole your breath. You had dreamed about hearing those words from him, but hearing them now, spoken with so much raw, unfiltered honesty, was almost too much. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, your fingers curling weakly around the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer.

That was all it took. Bellamy closed the distance in a heartbeat, his lips crashing against yours, urgent, desperate, like he had been holding back for far too long. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your skin, a contrast to the sheer intensity of the kiss.

You melted into him, your body still weak but your heart pounding, your fingers gripping onto him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “I should’ve told you sooner,” he murmured.

A small, tired smile played on your lips as you ran your fingers lightly over his shirt. “You’re making up for it now.”

Bellamy let out a soft, breathy chuckle, but when he looked at you again, there was nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Not ever.”

And for the first time in a long time, despite the chaos of the world around you, you truly believed him. "I love you too, bell." You whispered with a soft smile on your lips.

author’s note:

heh, that was a long one 😅 if I’m being honest I really didn’t want to follow the episode exactly, so I just wrote from memory—but tweaked a few things.

also, I know I villainized murphy in this fic but I promise he’s still one of my favorites! I did hate him in s1 & s2, but he eventually grew on me and became of one my favorite characters in the 100.

I hope you liked it, nonny! y’all don’t be shy and send in some more requests! I don’t bite, I promise! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@rubydacherry42 @chalametsangel @imsiriuslyreal

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission.

[roxoxoxoxy]

Could you please do 18 with hanbin🙏thank you!!

That prompt suits him so well omg 🤭

Prompt game list

18- "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman."

Minors dni

When Hanbin had first matched with you he almost didn't even want to go on a date, not because of anything you did, but because of all the failed talking stages he hadn't been able to get out of. Every connection he'd made on this dating app always seemed to fizzle out before it got anywhere, leaving him disappointed and honestly feeling pretty undesirable.

However, to his delight, things have been going really well between you too. You talk on the phone all the time and have been going on dates pretty consistently. He's just about ready to make it official but....you two keeps dancing around the topic of sex. Or rather, more accurately, he's been avoiding the conversation all together.

It isn't like he doesn't want or, or that there's something wrong with you, he's just too nervous to do it. Things have been going so well and he doesn't think he'll have the heart to continue dating if things don't work out between you two. He really really likes you and he's just so scared of fucking something up.

On your end you're growing increasingly frustrated at his lack of an answer. He won't have sex with you but he also won't explain what it is that's got him so nervous. To be fair it's not like you've asked him directly to fuck you but you've been dropping hints the size of atomic bombs and he still won't give an answer. Which is why you've deviced a plan.

When you asked Hanbin to come over and watch a movie with you he agreed pretty easily. It's not like he has no idea what you're implying with that, it's pretty obvious, but he supposes he had to rip off the bandage eventually. He takes a deep breath before knocking on your door, adjusting his clothes nervously.

You greet him with a smile and..... you're wearing a big T-shirt and shorts so small he can barely see them. Hanbins sure you want him to die.

"Sorry i didn't bother dressing up, I mean we're just watching a movie so I didn't think I'd matter"

"No it's fine, you look great in everything" The smile you give him makes him melt a little inside, his hands stick themselves directly on top of his legs when he sits down on your couch. Back uncomfortably straight as he looks everywhere but at you.

When you turn on the movie you cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder and your arm wrapped around his. He tries to relax on the couch trying to ignore how good you smell and now soft your skin is, and how the way you're pressing against him is causing blood to flow directly to his dick. He shifts uncomfortably, trying not to look at you. You look at him with faux concern, as you if you aren't doing this on purpose, sitting up slightly to look at him directly.

"Are you okay Hanbin? You look uncomfortable"

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little tired today, I swear I feel okay" He tries to put on a convincing smile, hoping you won't notice how much of an obvious lie that it.

"...did I do something to upset you?"

"What? Of course not"

"so why won't you touch me?" hanbins ears turn a pretty pink at your words, he gulps, looking away from you.

".....I touch you." He insists, eyes growing wide when you move closer to him, practically straddling him.

"Not how I want you to." You're a bit shocked yourself with how bold you're being. Hanbin gulps slightly, hands stuck to his side so he doesn't touch you.

"You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

"Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman"

There's a moment of silence as Hanbin collects his thoughts, your hearts practically beating out of your chest as you wait for him to say something. You feel his hands grab your waist, tentatively pulling you closer to him so you're straddling him properly. He looks at you for confirmation one last time before he finally kisses you.

You should be embarrassed how you moan into the kiss but with how eager you've been all night you can't bring yourself to care. Hanbin shifts his hands down to your hips, making you grind against his hard cock as his lips leave your lips and trail down your neck.

He starts leaving hickies on your collarbones, causing you to throw your head back. You can't help but let out some small moans at the feeling of his cock grinding against you, you try to cover your mouth but Hanbin doesn't let you, grabbing your hand. He smirks when he heard you whine for more, talking about how just grinding against him isn't enough.

"I hope you know what you're signing up for."

Tysm for requesting :D

[tortademaracuya]

cant finish drawing cant fix the code can the deadline adrenaline kick in already before i kms

[art-from-the-juice-box]

gen loss dump part 2 :]

i have a gen loss playlist so the last two was me hitting randomize and drawing a pic based on the song before it finished. the second one technically isn’t that cause charlie’s inferno isn’t on apple music cause they hate me so it’s way more of the song out of spite because they wouldn’t give it to me.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story pt. 2 here A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

You decide to sleep on the couch after an argument

love and deepspace

characters: Zayne, Sylus (pt2 here pt3 here)

note: they might be a little mischaracterized so bear with me.

Zayne

Usually, arguments with Zayne don’t get this heated. There was no yelling, not on his part at least, but he could be really cold with his words when he wanted to be. Not that you were any better. Some things you said hurt him to no end. So you came up with a decision - to sleep on a couch tonight. To be honest, it was more because to be petty, than not wanting to spend a night beside him. You gathered your pillow and blanket and got comfortable on the couch, which made Zayne sigh out loud when he entered the room.

“What is this?”

You turned your back to him as an answer. Another sigh comes out of his mouth. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you acting like a brat doesn’t ease anything at all.

“I know you’re mad, dear but is this necessary?”

No answer.

“Alright”

He left the room and before you could convince yourself that you didn’t care he was back with a blanket of his own and took a seat in an armchair. You turn your head towards him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess we’re not sleeping in bed tonight”

“I’m not. You can go”

“I believe I didn’t stutter”

You scoffed and turned around again.

“suit yourself”

Minutes pass and sleep doesn’t come to you. Whether it’s because of an uncomfortable couch or an absence of his arms around you is hard to say, but after turning around thousands of times and still not being able to sleep is frustrating.

Finally, Zayne had enough of watching your struggle.

“How about we go to bed?”

“No” came your response after a second of hesitation. With a small amused smile on his face, he hovered over the couch.

“What do you say… I take you to bed and you can curse me out for it tomorrow?”

You shifted a little but didn’t answer, which made his smile widen. He gathered you in his arms and your lack of objection was all he needed to take you to your room and tucking you in bed. Even though you seemed to warm up he didn’t know how far he could push you, so kneeling beside the bed to be on your eye level he started:

“If you still need space I can-”

“Stay”

He smiled at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Okay”

He got up and kissed your forehead before slipping in beside you and pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter

"Shh, we'll talk about it tomorrow... but I'm sorry too"

You smile a little. You two will sort this out tomorrow.

Sylus

What Sylus says, goes around. His word is the law. This is what he’s used to. That's how it's always been.

Then you came into his life and even though he’s still in charge of how things go in the N109 zone, you just need to say the word and everything will be how you like it. No questions, no hesitation. He would give you the world if you so much as whispered the need. Whatever you want, whatever you need, he will make it happen.

Unless, when it comes to your safety. Now don’t get me wrong. Sylus knows you can defend yourself and then some. But when it comes to the N109 zone, there are things Sylus knows better than you. Additionally, The fact that you can be reckless in your battles does nothing to help ease his worries.

That was the reason for the heated argument tonight. Sylus with his harsh words and snarky remarks always finds a way to infuriate you. So you two go on and on for half an hour now and none of you seems to back down. You storm off to your room and take your things to get comfortable on the couch. However, on your way out Sylus blocks your way. He raises an eyebrow at the blanket and pillow in your arms.

“Now, what exactly do you think you are doing, sweetie?”

“move”

“I asked you a question”

“I’m not sleeping beside you- Sylus” you exclaim as he hoists you over his shoulder. you punch and scratch his back but to no avail.

“Careful with your claws, kitten”

He drops you on the bed climbing over you.

“Now listen, this is what will happen. You will stop acting like a wild kitten and sleep beside me. I am sorry for hurting you but we will discuss it tomorrow, when we are both a lot calmer. Understood?”

You don’t want to give in so easily. You also don’t want to sleep without him tonight. So you nod avoiding eye contact. He, however, doesn’t accept it and raises your chin with his finger to make you look at him.

“Use your words, sweetie”

“Yes”

“Splendid” He removed himself from you so you could get under the blanket. He laid beside you and pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest.

"Sy... I'm sorry too"

"So I'm Sy now?"

This man.

"Nevermind, you're still a prick"

You try to remove his arm but he holds you tighter as he laughs.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sweetie"

You felt him kiss the crown of your head as he caressed your shoulder with his thumb. you return to your previous position and listening to his heartbeat, sleep lured you in soon enough.

[solvisun]

011925. cw | slightly suggestive (?) i hate him (affectionate)

if tsukishima kei learns the full extent of you losing your mind over the minuscule of things with everything he does,

babe, you’re done for.

if he learns that removing his glasses while kissing you makes your stomach do saumersaults, or when he fixes your clothes casually; smoothing down your skirt or adjusting your shirt, hand on your waist. or when he cups your face and squeezes both of your cheeks together, when it shows that he loves the physical touch in ways that feel crude if you say it aloud. in ways that no one else can speak about, makes you so mushy with him. to the point that it makes you sick, head throbbing.

if he learns that you find his jealousy kind of attractive, all cutting and ruthless, snappy. that you're totally not weak in the knees. if he learns that whenever he leans in whenever you speak is the cause of why you feel flustered, when he hums softly in question, tilting his head, or when he just hook you in his arms to get closer.

god. he will take absolute pleasure in pushing those buttons even more—actually, he’d press them with the precision of someone who knows exactly how far he can go to leave you reeling, all while pretending it’s no big deal.

and this is exactly what happens, as expected, but no less frustrated.

when he realizes how much removing his glasses during a kiss messes you up, he’d start doing it slow and methodical, taking his time to set them aside while giving you that piercing look, like he knows exactly what’s coming next. “what, nervous?” he’d ask, leaning in just a fraction, his tone laced with mockery, but his lips soft when they finally meet yours.

those casual touches? forget it. his hands—though he would ask first—roam your body and let them linger around your waist dangerously longer than necessary, you're not making it up now, you know you feel the slight squeezes his does on your skin, letting his fingers graze, just enough to send shivers down your spine.

when he holds your face in one hand, there’s something about how his thumb lingers near your jawline or how he leans in just a little too close. it’s playful, sure, but there’s a tenderness beneath it that leaves you spinning. because he knows. he knows all too well.

it's game over when he finally does this—one arm braced above your head, his whole figure towering over you, casting a shadow which makes him look ten times more insufferable. you cannot breathe.

his lips hover just shy of yours, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. “do i really make you that nervous?”

"fuck off."

"really? that’s all you’ve got? how original.”

“kei, i swear to—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as his thumb brushes the curve of your jaw, the touch barely there but devastating all the same.

“what? gonna tell me to stop?” the glint in his eyes turns playful, pupils dilated, “you’re all talk, aren’t you?”

your hands twitch at your sides, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer. “i hate you,” you hiss, but it lacks any real bite.

“sure you do,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery, and then—because of course he does—he closes the infinitesimal gap between you, his lips brushing against yours with infuriating slowness.

he kisses you chastely. it feels so wrong with how he already built so much tension. that this all just a stupid game he can easily control.

there’s a distinct edge of smugness to it, like he’s savoring every second of your undoing. when he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, the smirk is still there, lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“still want me to fuck off?” he asks, though he already knows the answer to it.

you can only scoff and roughly smack your lips against his in a solid, and very straightforward reply. your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

he relents to you just as easily, this is why he simply can't get enough of you.

my stupid writers block is not making me write properly for the hershey’s kisses mini series so i had to pull this stupid drabble outta my sick ass (coughing loudly as we speak)

[gf2bellamy]

explanation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: an officer won't stop talking to you content warnings: annoyed spencer, light flirting between reader and spencer a/n: had to write something for glasses reid also he looks so good in this gif ohymgod also this is short sorry

You forced a polite smile, though your patience was wearing thin as the police officer in front of you continued his overly enthusiastic explanation.

His words blended together, a relentless drone that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Still, you nodded along, trying not to seem rude despite the growing urge to check your watch or glance elsewhere. 

What you didn’t notice was Spencer standing just a few feet away. He had been watching the exchange, his hazel eyes flickering between the officer and you.

From his position near the evidence board, he clutched a file in one hand, the papers inside creased slightly from the pressure of his grip.

His other hand, balled into a tight fist, remained at his side. 

It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop—at least not intentionally—but something about the way the officer leaned just a little too close to you made it impossible for Spencer to look away.

His jaw tightened as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, attempting to study the crime scene photos tacked to the board in front of him. 

But his mind wasn’t on the case.

It was on you.

On the way you shifted uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded at the officer, and the way your lips curved into that soft, practiced smile that Spencer had seen you use before when you were trying to be polite but had no real interest in the conversation. 

He knew you well enough to read the subtle signs.  

He didn’t want to interrupt—he wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate as he took a step closer. 

“I’ve already explained it to her,” he said flatly.

The monotone delivery caught you off guard, and you turned around quickly to face him, your eyes meeting his behind the familiar frames of his black glasses. 

Spencer wasn’t typically one to interrupt, especially not in such a dry way.

The officer, clearly thrown off by Spencer’s blunt interjection, shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a half-hearted nod. “Oh, uh… right. Well, if you’ve got it covered, then…” His voice trailed off as he stepped back, offering an awkward smile before retreating. 

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer as the officer walked away, leaving the two of you alone near the evidence board. “What was that about?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer shrugged, the file still clutched tightly in his hand. “Nothing,” he replied, his gaze darting to the board as if suddenly engrossed in the timeline pinned there. 

But you weren’t convinced. Spencer Reid was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them—not when it came to how he felt.

You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the faint crease in his brow, and the tension in his posture. 

“Spencer,” you pressed, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his fingers flexing around the edges of the file before letting out a small sigh. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I just didn’t think it was necessary for him to keep… explaining things to you,” he said, his words measured. "I already told you everything."

You frowned, trying to piece together the odd behavior. “I mean, he was being—” 

“He was wasting your time,” Spencer interrupted, his tone firmer now. His eyes flicked to yours, the frustration evident behind his glasses. “You already know what you’re doing. You don’t need someone like him hovering over you like that.” 

The realization hit you like a slow-moving train, the pieces falling into place.

Spencer wasn’t just irritated—he was jealous. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched him try to keep his expression neutral, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Spence,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, “were you jealous?” 

His eyes widened briefly, and he immediately shook his head. “Jealous? No, I… I wasn’t—” He faltered, his ears turning red as he fumbled for a convincing denial. 

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned slightly toward him. “It’s okay, though. It’s kind of… sweet.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing there was no way to argue without making it worse.

Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Your smile softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But you don’t have to worry—I’m not interested in anyone hovering over me. Unless, of course, it’s you.” 

That earned you a shy smile from Spencer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with relief. 

And just like that, the two of you returned to the case—but not before you caught the subtle glimmer of satisfaction in Spencer’s eyes. 

[doestarkey]

summary: sneaking onto drew’s phone after a gnawing suspicion of him cheating on you

the age gap between you and drew had always lingered in the back of your mind, quietly eroding your confidence in the relationship. no matter how much you tried to push the thought aside, it left you questioning—doubting. if it was a concern for you, surely it was for him too… right?

at twenty one, you were still navigating life—balancing college, exploring career paths, meeting new people, and experiencing things for the first time. drew, on the other hand, was in an entirely different chapter.

he had everything already figured out—a thriving career as the ceo of a globally recognized company, financial security, a beautiful home, and the kind of life experience that only comes with time. and, of course, there was the attention.

women—his age—throwing themselves at him, drawn to his success, his confidence, and the effortless charm that came with being an attractive man in his late thirties. women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

so what made you any different?

late nights at the office became a routine for him. he explained it all—overtime, project deadlines, the occasional presence of a coworker or two in the building. you never questioned it.

until one night.

maybe it was real, or maybe it was just your own insecurities manifesting into something tangible. but as you washed his suit, you could have sworn you caught the faintest trace of perfume that didn’t belong to you.

it gnawed at you. the doubt, the fear. until, finally, you caved to the one thing you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t do.

as he slept beside you, you carefully reached for his phone on the nightstand, your fingers hesitant but determined. the screen lit up, illuminating your face in the dark. you tried once. twice. a third time—

“it’s your birthday.”

his voice was soft, laced with sleep, yet fully aware. he lay on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watched you, offering the password without hesitation. a quiet reminder of the trust you were on the verge of betraying.

a lump formed in your throat, but you pressed forward. as the phone unlocked, you combed through everything—messages, photos, calls—desperate for proof of something that didn’t exist.

and there it was.

nothing. no betrayal. no late-night secrets. just the overwhelming weight of guilt settling in your stomach.

silently, you turned off the phone and handed it back to him, unable to meet his gaze.

drew chuckled, taking the phone and placing it back on the nightstand before reaching out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“feel better now?” he asked, voice calm, understanding.

you didn’t answer, just stared at him with a deep frown, the shame too heavy to put into words.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you softly, though there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “but talk to me, baby. why’d you do that? what did i do that made you go through my phone?”

“you didn’t do anything, i just—” you hesitated, frustration bubbling up. how could you explain this without sounding irrational?

his head tilted slightly, reading you with ease. “been in your head too much, thinking things you shouldn’t?”

you nodded, exhaling shakily. “i just got scared… you’re always working late, and there are so many women—women your age—”

drew let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s what you’re worried about? women my age?”

you pouted, not finding the humor in it, but his smile only grew.

“baby, if i wanted someone my age, i’d have them. but i don’t. i want you. age doesn’t change that.”

the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. “i’m sorry, drew,” you murmured, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment burned tears into your eyes.

“hey, none of that,” he whispered, pulling your hands away before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest. “c’mere.”

you clung to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your sniffles the only sound in the quiet room.

“m’not upset with you, sweetheart,” he promised, one hand threading through your hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“why not?” you mumbled into his skin, the warmth of him grounding you.

he chuckled. “because i know you didn’t mean any harm. just promise me that next time, you’ll talk to me instead, yeah?”

you nodded against him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “i promise.”

“good.” he sighed, his arms tightening around you. “now, let’s get some sleep.”

“i love you,” you whispered.

“i love you too, baby.”

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back on Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a fight with Lando, you’re nowhere to be found when he leaves for Austin, making him fear the relationship is over. But when you arrive at the track with Max, he gets a second chance to make things right, and the two of you reconcile.

Word count: 2061

Even though we're going through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah

You and Lando rarely fought. You’d been together since his final season in Formula 2, a bloody long time, and you could count the big fights on one hand. But this one was different. This was the worst of them all.

It was his last day at home before flying to Austin, and somehow everything went down.

"You're being clingy!" He shouted, running a hand through his messy curls, frustration etched on his face.

You stared at him, stunned. "I’m being clingy? Me? Lando, we’ve been together for years, and I have never asked you for anything. The one time I do, and this is what you say? Wow."

"Yeah, well, you’ve never acted like this before!" His face hardened, eyes sparking with irritation you weren’t used to. "Seriously, if you suddenly want some boyfriend who’ll sit around every night, watching dumb TV shows and cuddling you to sleep, maybe you should find someone else."

You shook your head, disbelief morphing into something different, something more hurt. "Maybe I should do that!"

He was beyond pissed. "Then please, do! I'm going out and I'll do the same." He turned, grabbing his jacket without a second glance. and strode out, slamming the door shut behind him.

You flinched at the echo, the silence crashing down around you as tears started to well up. "I hate you, Lando Norris." You whispered into the emptiness of the apartment.

Lando sat in the VIP section of his favorite Monaco club, gazing blankly over the crowded dance floor. The music pulsed, people laughed and danced, but his thoughts were miles away, thinking of you.

Max leaned in, breaking Lando’s trance. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Lando shrugged. "Was it that bad?"

Lando sighed, his gaze distant. "It was! It was the worst fight we’ve ever had." He swallowed, the words bitter. "She probably thinks I’m cheating on her right now."

Max’s eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about? Why would she think that?"

"Because, I pretty much said that." Lando muttered lound enough for Max to hear over the music.

Max looked at him, incredulous. "Why the hell would you say that, you absolute idiot? You love her."

Lando exhaled heavily. "I was angry! I didn’t even think. I just… said it. I realized how bad it sounded the second I left."

Max shook his head, staring at him with a mix of pity and frustration. "Well, congratulations: you’re an idiot!"

"Thanks for the information."

It was late when Lando finally got home. The apartment was dark, and silence filled the rooms. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, his mind caught between whether he should crash on the sofa or swallow his pride, apologize, and lie beside you.

He waked to the closed bedroom door, standing there for a long moment, nerves filling his body. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he stopped himself. He stepped back and with the sting of guilt he fell down on the sofa.

You were deep asleep when a hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see your best friend sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open, hair rumpled from sleep.

"What?"

She yawned, rubbing her eyes before looking at you. "Your phone won’t stop ringing."

Blinking, you glanced at the empty nightstand, remembering you’d left your phone in the living room. "What time is it?" You muttered. "It’s probably Lando. We were supposed to leave for Austin early."

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head and laying down next to you. "Then answer it or turn it off. It’s too early for this, and I’m exhausted."

"She rejected my call!" Lando exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

Max raised an eyebrow. "That’s good news."

"How is that good?"

"At least we know she’s okay." He said. "And still mad at you, which is probably deserved."

"I don’t even know if she was still here when I got home last night. The bedroom door was closed, and I just… crashed on the sofa. I only realized she was gone this morning."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "So, what’s the plan now?"

“I don’t know,” Lando groaned, slumping into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "The team’s going to kill me if I miss this flight."

"So go!" Max said firmly.

Lando looked up, shaking his head. "No way. I’m not leaving without her."

Max rolled his eyes. "Look, she knows you have to leave, Lando. Sooner or later, she’s coming back, and when she does, I’ll bring her to Austin myself. Just go."

"What if she refuses to go?"

"She loves you. She'll want t make things right. Trust me!"

Lando hesitated. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You slipped into the apartment two hours later, knowing Lando would be gone by now. The silence felt heavy as you shut the door, but before you could make it to the kitchen, Max appeared, stepping out from Lando’s streaming room.

You jumped, clutching your chest. "Max! What the hell? You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He said, raising his hands in apology.

"What are you doing here? Is Lando still here?" You glanced around, half expecting him to walk out from somewhere.

"He left. Had to, or he’d have missed his flight."

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a long sip. "I thought you were going with him."

"I am. I was just waiting for you."

You looked at him, understanding dawning slowly. "Max, I don’t think going with you is a good idea." You sank into a chair at the small dining table, and Max sat across from you.

"That’s not true."

"Max, you don’t know how he treated me, the things he said…" You swallowed, voice shaking. "He told me I should find someone else. And said he would, too."

Max leaned forward, shaking his head. "Look, he was furious and stupid. Belive me, I know what he said, and he regrets every word. He didn’t even want to leave. I practically had to drag him onto the helicopter."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Max, I don't know."

"He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, Y/N. He’s been calling you non-stop, hoping you’d pick up, and he’s completely torn up about it. So please, come with me. Let’s go to Austin."

Lando had been unusually quiet all day. Practice had gone well, but not well enough; the Ferraris were ahead, and so was Verstappen. His mind should’ve been on the upcoming sprint qualifying, but all he could think about was you and the fight. He could only hope that Max was somehow convincing you to come to Austin.

"Everything alright? You’ve been quiet, which is… not like you." Oscar asked, glancing over at Lando as they wrapped up filming a video for McLaren’s social media.

"Just tired." Lando muttered.

Oscar hesitated, then asked gently. "Where’s Y/N? Lily told me she was coming."

Lando’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking up to meet Oscar’s. "I… don’t think she’s coming." He admitted, his voice low. "I messed things up pretty badly."

Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Want to talk about it?"

Lando shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Not really. Just… hoping I haven’t lost her." He said, more to himself than to Oscar.

Lando was suiting up, pulling on his gloves and securing his helmet, trying to lock his focus onto the upcoming sprint qualifying. But the knot of anxiety in his stomach hadn’t eased since he arrived, knowing he might have to go through this entire weekend without you there.

Just then, Max appeared in front of him, grinning. "Hey, mate. Just came by to wish you luck. And, by the way…" Max lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. "She’s here."

"Fuck... thank you for bringing her."

There, standing quietly near the corner, arms crossed and headphones on, was you. You looked a little nervous, a shy expression on your face and when your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

A wave of relief fell over him, and he instinctively took a step forward, desperate to close the space between you. But Max put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not now." Max warned. "You’ve got a sprint to think about. You can talk to her after."

"But—" Lando began, his eyes darting back to you, a urge to apologize.

A couple of mechanics also intercepted him, nudging him toward the car with hurried reminders. "We’re starting in a few, Lando."

Lando clenched his jaw, glancing back at you. Taking a deep breath, Lando slipped into the car, his heart beating a little steadier, his mind clearing. For the first time all day, he felt ready. You were here and that was everything.

You watched the qualifying from the garage, heart pounding with every lap. It was always like this: nerve-wracking, pride and fear as you watched him push himself and the car to the limit. But today, your chest felt even tighter, knowing the tension lingering between you.

When the session ended, Lando finished fourth. Relief mixed with a bit of pride washed over you as you clapped, your gaze fixed on him as he came into the garage.

The moment he spotted you, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and without a word, he reached for your hand, gently but firmly, and led you out of the garage toward his driver’s room, ignoring the curious glances around you.

Once inside, he closed the door. "Y/N… Babe, I’m so sorry."

You looked down, your arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me, Lando. You didn’t just walk away, you made me feel like I was… too much."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand again. "I was an idiot. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. None of it was true. You’re not ‘too much.’ You’re… everything to me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "That could never be true. I can’t imagine any of this, my life, racing, anything, without you." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I was terrified you wouldn’t come. That I’d ruined everything."

You took a shaky breath. "Max convinced me… told me you didn’t want to leave, that you were just… scared of losing me."

"More than you know." He said, his hand holding yours firmly. "Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."

"I don't want you to give up anything, Lando."

"I know. I know. That's not what you asked me."

After a long moment, you squeezed his hand. "I’m here now." You said softly. "Let’s just start with that."

Relief flooded his face as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. "I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful you’re here. I don’t want to mess this up ever again."

You gave him a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I didn’t come all this way to hold onto what happened. Let’s just… move forward. Together."

He smiled. "Together."

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. "Lando?" A team member called from the hallway. "They need you back in the garage in five!"

Lando glanced back toward the door, then returned his gaze to you, clearly torn. "Go!" You murmured. "I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You melted into it, letting the last of the hurt dissolve in his warmth.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with a smile . "I’ll be quick." He said, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting it go and heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time. "I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered.